023: This Is a Dreamlike Stage and Script (Please Keep Reading!)

The first time Lin Qi used a telescopic baton to draw blood, the victim happened to be a man. Eduardo Sonseca sat on the bench, his nosebleed already soaking through a pile of tissues.

At that moment, Teo arrived from the team doctor’s office with supplies to stop the bleeding. "Here's a tampon, shove it in."

Sonseca: "..."

"In Spain, we call these sterile cotton plugs. Tampons are for..."

Sonseca sighed. He couldn't be bothered to argue. Let it all just end. He finally understood the headline in the basketball section of *Marca*: "Two dangerous guys from the East have arrived." These two weren't just dangerous; they were devils!

Because someone was injured, the scrimmage was temporarily halted, but Lin Qi’s performance had already left a deep impression. Unlike the NBA, it was not uncommon for underage players to step onto the professional stage in Europe; the continent was filled with legends of teenage prodigies. Luka Dončić, as everyone knew, made his debut for the Real Madrid first team at just 16 years and 2 months old. Then there was the even more extreme example: Ricky Rubio made his Spanish League debut at 14 years and 11 months—a time when cheerleaders had to tone down their dance routines whenever he was on the court. There were many other European players who entered the professional ranks at such a young age.

"Conquering the Spanish League at 14," "Real Madrid’s 16-year-old genius"... headlines about these young talents were gilded and used to harvest traffic across the globe. Yet, these reports were deceptive—that was the brilliance of media narratives. The media would tell you that the genius Luka Dončić played for Real Madrid at 16, but they wouldn't tell you that the "16-year-old Real Madrid prodigy" only averaged 4.8 minutes per game, scoring 1.6 points and grabbing 1.2 rebounds, with single-digit stats that persisted for years. It wasn't until he was 19 that he truly became a star in the Spanish League. The media would tell you the golden boy debuted at 14, but they wouldn't mention that the so-called "conquest of the Spanish League" was merely a 2.6-minute-per-game allowance of "garbage time," where he couldn't create any real value.

While it was certainly difficult for young talents to earn a spot in a professional league, being able to play was different from actually making a mark. Every European player and coach shared a consensus: underage players lacked "instant impact." Their futures might be bright, but their present was dim. They could step onto the court to get a taste of the smoke and fire, but one shouldn't expect them to play a meaningful role.

Lin Qi broke that convention. Like other talents, he possessed infinite potential, but his instant impact was terrifyingly strong. Just now, no one on the team could stop him from scoring, and no one could score easily under his defense. For a fleeting moment, Julio Lamas was frightened by his own thought. A 17-year-old as the core of a Spanish League team? The idea made a thin layer of sweat bead on his back. It was a subversion of conventional wisdom. No coach in the history of the Spanish League had ever done such a thing.

But why care about age? He was simply that good. Julio Lamas did not believe in tradition; he only believed in how many points a player could score, how many rebounds they could grab, and whether they could defend. And so, the Argentine’s wild plan began. In the days following the training camp, Lamas began to build his tactics around Lin Qi. Lin Qi was the center of everything; everyone else was there to fill the gaps and make things easier for him. A meal needs many side dishes, but only one main course.

Most Real Madrid players had no objections to Lamas's decision. Louis Bullock was counting on Lin Qi to help him return to the NBA, so he fully cooperated. The team captain, Alberto Herreros, was an easygoing veteran who was more than willing to step aside to support a young player. He would do anything that benefited the team.

However, one person expressed dissatisfaction. After training one day, Antonis Fotsis went to the head coach's office for a private conversation.

"I play the four-spot in the NBA, and I played the four-spot when I won the championship in Greece. I’ve proven I’m an excellent player at that position. What has that minor ever proven? Julio, when you spent 4.5 million euros to bring me to Madrid, I thought Lin Qi was here to support me!"

It was fortunate this was a private conversation; otherwise, Ricky Davis would have been collecting royalties from Fotsis months later. Julio Lamas wasn't interrupted by the Greek’s shouting. He continued to study the newly released schedule, not even looking up as he replied:

"Oh, then why don't you go replace Mr. Florentino Pérez as club president?"

"What?"

"Look, you know as well as I do that this team isn't a place where you can do whatever you want or hold whatever position you please. So get your ass out on the court and play the five-spot. I didn't spend 4.5 million euros to listen to you complain!"

"Ha, you’re joking, right, Julio?"

"If I am, I'm gambling with my own career!"

The conversation ended there. Julio Lamas was not the type of guy to reason with. He gave a hard-line response to the Greek star forward and firmly defended Lin Qi’s core status. Antonis Fotsis, the ticking bomb, had been suppressed for now, but Lamas knew that once the team started losing, all the bombs would be detonated. He was dancing in a minefield.

Beyond the internal pressure, Julio had to deal with the external as well. When he discussed the starting lineup for the season opener and announced that Lin Qi would be the starting power forward, reporters raised their hands in protest.

"Lin Qi? Are you sure a kid who just turned 17 can handle a starting role?"

"Coach, are you a mole sent by Barcelona?"

"Have you considered that your decision will cost you your job, perhaps making you the shortest-tenured coach in Real Madrid history?"

Julio Lamas only told them: "Shut up. This is my team."

The Argentine’s unorthodox decision caused his reputation in the media to plummet to rock bottom. Almost every newspaper was mocking and ridiculing him. Under immense pressure, Real Madrid arrived at the season opener: the Spanish ACB League, Real Madrid vs. Baskonia.

Internationally, Baskonia wasn't as famous as Real Madrid or Barcelona, yet they were the most successful club in the ACB League outside of those two giants. Since the turn of the 21st century, Baskonia’s performance in the Spanish League had been dazzling. They reached the EuroLeague final in '01 and became double champions in Spain in '02 (League and Copa del Rey). If Barcelona hadn't been the supreme triple-crown winner last season, Baskonia would likely have been the most successful Spanish team of the 21st century to date.

The most unique thing about this team was that they were essentially the Argentine national team. Pablo Prigioni, Andrés Nocioni, Luis Scola, and Fabricio Oberto—the four "Pampas Warriors" who shattered the myth of the American Dream Team in 2001—had built a terrifying South American fortress at Baskonia. Non-EU quota restrictions? They didn't break them, of course, because all four Argentine players held dual citizenship. Scola had Spanish residency, while the other three had obtained Italian citizenship. Compared to them, Real Madrid—who didn't even make the playoffs last season and were now coached by a madman—was undoubtedly the underdog.

Even so, the Madrid fans in the stands were still cheering for their team. "Hala Madrid!!!"

The camera cut to Julio Lamas; his expression was grave. He knew clearly that his Real Madrid career might end tonight. Everything about coming to Spain felt like a fleeting dream without a conclusion. However, he still followed his heart.

"Lin Qi—" He looked at the eager teenager and tapped his shoulder with his fist. For a 17-year-old, the weight on his shoulders was too heavy, but legendary stars were forged in such circumstances. "Play freely. I’ll take the heat if anything goes wrong. But remember, don't you dare get stage fright."

Julio Lamas might have been a cold, hard bastard, but he was a real man.

The Spanish commentator was speaking at high speed, describing the Argentine coach's unorthodox decision. "He said at the press conference that he would start Lin Qi, who is only 17 and played for the FMP youth team last season. It seems he really went through with it. Lin Qi is on the court—yes, the kid who hasn't played a single professional game, nor represented his country in any FIBA tournament. His only resume is being undefeated in the Serbian youth basketball league. But this is the ACB League, and across from that kid is Baskonia, made up of the Argentine elite. Those are opponents he has never seen before. Julio is treating this child as a savior; he might succeed, but it’s more likely he’ll be buried in the dirt. Still, we should be lenient with the kid. It’s no shame to realize you aren't the best after arriving here."

As he spoke, the focus of the camera shifted from Julio Lamas to the young Lin Qi. Accompanied by the deafening "Hala Madrid" chants, the 17-year-old Lin Qi stood in his white jersey on the cliff of destiny. The spotlights from the dome poured down like a galaxy, focusing on him alone as if he were the natural protagonist. Lin Qi tugged at his pure white jersey; the feel of the FMP youth training shirt seemed to still cling to his skin, but the raised Real Madrid crest on his chest reminded him that he was on the professional stage now, in a game watched by all of Europe!

The announcer’s shout echoed through the arena: "Number 10, forward, from the FMP youth team in Belgrade, Lin—Qi!!!" The explosion of cheers in the stands cut through the dream like glass fragments, turning into starlight that bathed his young frame. This sound reminded the teenager, who was breathing deeply with his eyes closed, that everything was real!

The musty smell of the FMP youth training base's wooden floor suddenly welled up in Lin Qi's memory. When he opened his eyes again, he was inside the Vistalegre Bullring. The shadows of the four members of Argentina’s Golden Generation loomed on the opposite half-court like a gargantuan beast. Prigioni was hitting shots like a machine, Nocioni’s dunks made the rim tremble, Scola’s spin move kicked up a breeze that seemed to hit Lin Qi's face, and Oberto stood in the paint like a sturdy tree.

Seemingly sensing Lin Qi's gaze, the four Argentines stopped what they were doing and looked toward the other half-court. These legends, who had crushed the American Dream Team on video tapes, were now sizing up the white-clad teenager—a 17-year-old starter in the Spanish League—with the look one gives a strange new species.

Lakers overseas scout Antonio Marcellas wiped the sweat from his forehead, his throat feeling as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand. This was an epic stage—an Eastern boy in a Real Madrid jersey against the Pampa legion, the killers of gods! Either be crowned in blood under the spotlight or be torn to shreds by the beast's fangs! If Lin Qi could win, he would soar to the heavens!

The starting lineups gathered, and the referee tossed the orange-and-black European game ball into the air. The dream began!

Antonis Fotsis, forced to play center, couldn't beat Oberto on the tip-off. Prigioni grabbed the ball and steadily brought it across half-court. Nocioni immediately signaled for the ball in the low post. This Argentine forward was a very "unconventional" South American player; his technique wasn't the standout feature of the flashy Golden Generation, but he was world-famous for his extraordinary athleticism. In the 1999 Olympic qualifying tournament, Nocioni broke past Kevin Garnett on the baseline and dunked over both Garnett and Tim Duncan, forcing a US timeout. That moment was the start of his shocking the world. Garnett later remarked, "That dunk was enough to get him into the NBA."

Nocioni was an athletic forward, and with his strong body, he was responsible for testing the hardness of this 17-year-old kid. Although Lin Qi looked very strong and had a big frame, in basketball, physique didn't directly translate to defensive grit. The Argentine veteran pressed his arm against Lin Qi's chest and caught the ball steadily. Then, he performed a rough back-turn, not forgetting to hook Lin Qi with his off-arm.

It gave Lin Qi the feeling of looking into a mirror. A post-up relying on strength and athleticism? Buddy, if that's how you want to play, I'm wide awake now!

"BANG!" The tempered glass of the backboard gave a deafening roar, and the entire hoop structure shook. It was such a merciless, brutal block—Lin Qi looked like he wanted to embed the ball into the backboard!

Julio Lamas’s clenched fist trembled slightly. Vlade Đurović’s words, spoken with a Balkan accent, suddenly pierced through his memory: "Sir, he has already shattered two backboards in my gym." He hoped his block wouldn't shatter the backboard too.

The Vistalegre Bullring was set ablaze; the audience seemed to have witnessed the matador delivering the final strike to an enraged bull. "Andrés Nocioni has been stopped! 17-year-old Lin Qi easily blocked the Argentine who has hundreds of professional games of experience! His athleticism, his vertical leap—they are completely outclassed by Lin Qi!"

After the block, Lin Qi handed the ball to Louis Bullock. The American dribbled to the three-point line, ignored the tactics and everyone else, and pulled up for a three-pointer. It wasn't that he deliberately refused to pass—he meant it when he said he would support Lin Qi. It was just that the basketball genes etched into him always made him subconsciously take that shot.

"Idiot!" Real Madrid captain Alberto Herreros cursed. The American played too self-indulgently. Although he was the Spanish League's three-point king last season, his team hadn't made the playoffs for a reason. The ball rattled out; Louis Bullock’s impatient shot missed.

Luis Scola grabbed the rebound and was just about to look up when a pair of massive hands clamped onto the ball. The experienced South American diamond instinctively put strength into his arms; the muscles of a professional player pulled against the raw power of a 17-year-old star. But the crushing advantage of that primal strength made Scola’s effort seem insignificant.

"What!?"

Scola watched helplessly as the ball was ripped from his fingers by Lin Qi. He lost his balance in the tug-of-war and fell to the floor. Like an old man who had his wallet snatched by a youth, he didn't know what to do, only able to watch powerlessly as Lin Qi jumped on the spot and dunked!

This beast—feral, brutal, and unstoppable—had already caused a crack in the South American fortress just two possessions into the game! After the basket, Lin Qi looked down at the Scola sitting on the floor, his sneakers stepping over the Argentine’s trembling knees.

The Spanish commentator’s Adam's apple bobbed as he shook his head in self-mockery. "I think I got the recipient of my pre-game words wrong. Now, I’d like to say it again: It’s okay, Luis. It’s no shame to realize you aren't the best after arriving here."