“Rex!
Congrats on the Final Four!” In the Toyota Center mixed zone an ESPN reporter claimed the first interview slot.
“You just demolished projected top-three pick Derrick Favors.
After a performance like that, what’s going through your head?” Rex shrugged, then shook his head.
“Honestly?
I’m starting to question the entire value of the NBA draft.” “Every guy I’ve beaten so far was supposed to be a can’t-miss prospect.
And I’m supposed to share a draft stage with that level of talent?” The entire press corps sucked in a collective breath.
He had just called out the whole 2010 class in public.
Arrogant as hell.
Exactly the kind of nuclear-powered mouth the league and the fans loved.
In an era of carefully scripted answers, a kid this dominant who talked like a venomous snake was pure ratings gold.
A second reporter jumped in immediately.
“Rex, the official Final Four bracket just dropped.
Your semifinal opponent is the Ohio State Buckeyes.” “Their star, Evan Turner, has been locked in as the number-two overall projection behind John Wall.
Big Ten Player of the Year, 20.4 points, 9.2 rebounds, 6 assists.
One through five, peak Tracy McGrady template.
How are you preparing for a talent like that?” Evan Turner.
Current face of March Madness.
Wooden Award, Naismith, the complete package.
Consensus best perimeter player in the country.
Every camera locked onto Rex, waiting for the next piece of trash talk.
Perfect free advertising for the semifinal.
Rex’s expression never changed.
“Every single guy who’s matched up with me so far got sold to the country as generational talent.” “Maybe they really are.” “But me?
I specialize in curing geniuses.” On the other side of the mixed zone, a red-eyed and exhausted Derrick Favors was stopped for the obligatory exit interview.
“Derrick, rough night for you and the team.” The reporter’s voice carried genuine sympathy.
“You just faced a center who dropped 40-25-8.
How would you rate his game?” Favors thought for a moment.
“That dude doesn’t belong in the NCAA.” The reporter leaned in.
“You mean he’s already NBA-ready?
Same thing Monroe and Vučević said.” “No.” Favors shook his head and delivered the line that would live forever online.
“I’m not saying he belongs in the NBA.” “He belongs in Hollywood.
Or in some comic-book movie.
Put the Captain America suit on him and let him go save the world.” The reporter stood there with his mouth open, completely speechless.
The evaluation had just elevated Rex past human.
And somehow it still felt accurate.
Looking back at the game, Rex had never even shifted into full gear.
He had toyed with a top-three prospect the entire night.
For a second it felt like if the kid ever went all-out he might actually climb the Empire State Building and swat airplanes out of the sky like King Kong.
An hour later.
Downtown Houston.
High-end steakhouse.
Rex had changed into a loose hoodie and sprawled across a leather booth.
Across from him sat Yao Ming, who had specifically arranged the dinner for his younger countryman, and big brother Steve Francis.
“Here, little purple.
Eat proper food tonight.
Coming to Texas and not having a tomahawk steak is a crime.” Yao pushed a sizzling plate in front of Rex and even peeled a couple of garlic cloves in the classic -American hybrid style.
“Appreciate it, Yao-ge.
I burned a lot tonight.
Could probably eat a whole cow.” Rex didn’t stand on ceremony.
Knife and fork went to work immediately.
Francis sat with one leg crossed, swirling a glass of red wine, staring at Rex like he was watching a newly discovered species.
“Rex, that free-throw putback almost ejected my soul from my body.
I swear, no matter what team you land on next season, I’m your number-one fan.
That style is pure catnip for every guard in the league.” Conversation drifted naturally toward next season and Yao’s injuries.
Yao looked down at the thick bandages wrapping his ankles—already ruled out for the rest of the year—and a flicker of quiet regret crossed his face.
“Little purple, next season you’ll step onto that stage for real.” He gave a self-deprecating smile.
“I’ll be honest.
While I was rehabbing in the hospital this year, I started thinking about retirement.
My weight is too much.
These feet can’t carry a career much longer.” Francis sighed beside him.
Yao’s chronic injuries had been a constant ache for the entire Rockets organization.
“But,” Yao continued, “after watching your three March Madness games, the fire came back.
I want to stand on an NBA floor again.” “I’m going to cut weight this offseason, completely rebuild my body and my game, and try for a few more years.
Ideally long enough to face you on the court.” Rex raised an eyebrow and offered professional advice with a light, joking tone.
“Yao-ge, weight loss is only step one if you want to extend the career.” “You bulked up for years chasing contact and paint bulk.
That completely cooked your ankles and knees.” “I’ve got a feeling the NBA is about to enter a skill era.
Shooting is going to take over.
Bigs who can only bully in the paint won’t survive.
You need to polish the mid-range and even develop a three-point shot.” “A 7’6″ center who can stretch the floor is unstoppable.” Francis nearly sprayed wine across the table.
“Rex, you serious?
You’re telling a 7’6″ moving Great Wall to start launching threes?
That sounds like a bad joke!” Yao didn’t treat it as a joke.
He sank into long silence.
His entire career had been spent adding weight to battle Shaq, Ben Wallace, and every other physical monster of the era.
That decision had destroyed his lower body.
Looking back, it was the single biggest regret of his professional life.
If he could start over—lighter frame, spacing-oriented game—the injuries would have been half as bad and the career years longer.
Still, he murmured under his breath, “Is it too late to change now?” The question stayed inside his head.
A seed toward an entirely new continent had already started to sprout.
While the three of them ate, both American and sports media exploded all over again.
American headlines: **ESPN: Top-Three Prospect Destroyed — Rex Just Collapsed the 2010 Draft Board, Number-One Overall Race Is Open** **Bleacher Report: Favors’ God-Tier Quote — Rex Exists Outside the Dimension of Regular Basketball Talent** **DraftExpress: Favors Sliding Toward End of Lottery, Rex’s Stock Climbing at Record Speed** platforms locked every trending list: **Historic Broadcast!
40-25-8 Immortality — Rex Rewrites Basketball History** **Destroys America’s Projected Third Pick — Four Straight March Madness Wins, Final Four Locked, Next Up: Number-Two Turner** **Yao Ming’s Public Endorsement: Rex Will Surpass Everyone — National Team Enters a New Era** **I hereby declare the basketball “Thanos” era has officially begun.
Who agrees?
Who objects?** Shortly afterward the NBA scouting collective released a full official evaluation report on Rex.
It spread across the internet like wildfire.
**Rex Valen — 2010 Draft Scouting Report** Height: 7’1″ Weight: 265 lbs Wingspan: 7’7″ Position: Center **Strengths** 1.
Peak-Shaquille-O’Neal level strength combined with elite wing-level straight-line speed and lateral burst.
The only true heavy-duty supercar on a basketball court.
2.
Insane vertical and hang time with elite mid-air body control.
Opening-tip alley-oops and poster dunks are standard weapons.
3.
Perfect rim protector.
A walking iron wall.
No one scores freely in the paint when he is anchored there.
**Weaknesses** 1.
Free-throw consistency is poor (51%).
Form is rough.
Over-relies on putback dunks after misses.
2.
Virtually zero mid-range or three-point shooting.
Offensive range is limited to the paint.
3.
Elite trash-talker who destroys opponents mentally, but the same mouth has zero filter with the media.
Publicly questioned the quality of the NBA draft.
Potential locker-room friction risk.
**Template: Shaquille O’Neal + Bill Russell + Wilt Chamberlain** The moment the report hit the web the entire league lost its mind.
Especially the template line.
Shaquille O’Neal + Bill Russell + Wilt Chamberlain.
What kind of non-human combination was that?
Yet the more people studied it, the harder it was to argue.
Rex carried Shaq’s raw power, Russell’s defensive aura, Chamberlain’s bounce and agility… And the legendary iron kidneys that never quit.
In other words, the only draft prospect in NBA history whose template was the fusion of three all-time epic centers.