008: Only Two Matches Left (Please Keep Reading!)
Wu Lan traced her index finger over the largest photo on the sports page of the Political Gazette.
In the ink-printed image, Lynch was hanging from the basketball hoop, with the pride of Serbia’s U18 team, Blagota Sekulic, beneath him.
Above the photo, a bold Serbian headline proclaimed, “Chinese Meteorite Destroys National Youth Defense.”
Pride, joy, and a touch of bittersweetness swirled within Wu Lan’s heart. She had never imagined that seeing her son in the newspaper would stir such complex emotions.
She recalled the long stretch of time when Lynch was constantly injured, his eyes losing their sparkle.
Staring at Lynch’s ankle and his knee wrapped in protective gear in the photo, she could almost feel the chilling coldness of the hospital.
Thankfully, neither she nor Lynch had ever given up.
Now, his perseverance was finally bearing fruit.
“That little rascal,” Wu Lan wiped the corner of her eye, “telling me the opponents were weak—what nonsense. Look at this guy… look at his opponent, all big and burly, taller than Vladimir Radmanovic when he played in the NBA. How could he be weak?”
At this, the traditional humility of a Chinese mother kicked in, and she quickly tempered her excitement. “Oh well, maybe the national youth players on the other side just weren’t playing seriously.”
“That’s possible,” remarked a kitchen helper with a laugh, “As far as I know, the youth players from the Partizan team sometimes play with the senior squad, basically juggling two competitions. So maybe they weren’t giving their all in the youth league.”
No sooner had he spoken than he felt a cold wave wash over him.
Turning his head, he saw Wu Lan glaring sharply at him while chopping chicken vigorously on the cutting board.
The old lady humbly downplays things, and you agree with her?
The helper swallowed nervously and forced a smile. “Uh… what did I just say? My memory’s been a bit off lately, hahaha.”
Wu Lan withdrew her gaze and glanced again at the flamboyant business card on the table.
Professional basketball?
Just this morning, she had thought it was a distant dream.
Yet within two months, professional basketball had come rushing toward Wu Lan with unbelievable speed.
She found Lynch becoming a regular in the newspapers, even appearing on television.
Lynch and Teodosic had nearly brutal dominance over the Serbian youth league. In a recent match against Podgorica, Lynch posted a triple-double with 41 points, 22 rebounds, and 11 blocks, while Teodosic contributed 23 points, 12 assists, and 8 steals.
People called Lynch and Teo the “OK duo” of the Serbian youth league.
Lynch truly felt the thrill of the shark. After all, not every youth team has a 210-centimeter giant anchoring the paint.
Most of the time, Lynch faced opponents between 203 and 208 centimeters who weren’t particularly heavy.
This allowed him to wreak havoc inside, freely collecting rebounds and scoring at will.
As for Teo, his jump shot was invincible in the youth league, and his passes always found the running Lynch.
Both Lynch and Teo were flawless individually, but their invincibility was born of a synergy greater than the sum of their parts.
Lynch’s defense, reminiscent of Kevin Garnett, covered for Teo’s defensive weaknesses.
Teo’s exquisite feeding meant Lynch could score highly without even handling the ball.
The synergy between LeBron James and Luka Dončić feeding Domantas Sabonis was vividly reflected in Lynch.
They knew their strength but did not grow complacent from consecutive wins, nor did they revel in humiliating weaker opponents.
Their ambition stretched far beyond that.
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The day after the game against Podgorica, Lynch knocked on Bosko’s office door before training.
Inside, Bosko was combing his hair in front of a mirror.
“What can I do for my superstars?” Bosko said cheerfully.
The team’s continuous victories had not only made Lynch and Teo famous but also brought much attention to Bosko as a coach.
“Sir, when can we get a chance to play with the senior team?” Teodosic asked bluntly.
“Yeah, Mediterranean Commander, let us taste the real steel. Take us to the Adriatic League!” Lynch was already tired of playing meaningless games against youth teams with obscure names.
Lynch had already contacted Misko, who had proactively reached out before, though he hadn’t rushed to sign a contract (European minor players could also sign agents), only occasionally seeking advice.
In short, he was freeloading.
Eager to land Lynch as a major client, Misko spared no effort, enlisting his American media friends to create buzz and pave the way for Lynch’s move to North America.
But the hype was mediocre.
Because Lynch had never played in FIBA youth tournaments nor in Serbia-Montenegro’s adult league.
He appeared extraordinarily gifted, but Americans doubted the level of competition he’d faced.
“If you can show that kind of performance in adult matches, then in 2004, we’ll be hugging David Stern in the little green room,” Misko told Lynch.
The Adriatic League was the highest level of basketball Lynch could currently reach, the second-best European league after the EuroLeague.
As everyone knows, the EuroLeague gathers the strongest clubs from various European countries to battle, making it the world’s second-best, most popular, and commercially valuable league outside of the NBA.
The Adriatic League, considered a mini-EuroLeague, is a short-term competition uniting the best teams from seven Balkan countries including Slovenia, Serbia, and Croatia.
For some Serbian clubs, the domestic league was not the ultimate prize; the Adriatic League was the true battlefield.
Thanks to the Adriatic League, basketball standards in the Balkans have remained exceptionally high.
If the world resembled China’s CBA with closed-off, weak competition, the decline of basketball skills would be inevitable.
In brief, Lynch was eager to debut in the Adriatic League.
Recently, he had gained significant muscle mass, improved his vertical leap, speed, endurance, and post moves, and accumulated 18 talent points.
He believed he was ready.
Bosko was not surprised by Lynch and Teo’s desire to join the senior team. Ambition to rise is an unchanging truth in sports. He knew sooner or later they would come knocking.
Bosko held up two fingers, and Lynch immediately placed a cigarette between them, lighting it for him.
“What are you doing?”
“Lighting your smoke. Don’t think I’m careless all the time; I understand these little social graces, coach. Honestly, I’m a bit reluctant to leave you when we join the senior team,” Lynch said, grinning proudly.
Bosko twitched at the corner of his mouth, feeling Lynch was a punishment sent from heaven.
“I wasn’t talking about lighting a smoke. I meant two games! Senior head coach Vlad Durovic wants to watch you in at least two matches before deciding whether to bring you up!”
“Geez, why didn’t you say so straight away, Mediterranean Commander? What’s with the hand signals—are we shooting a gangster film?” Lynch instantly shifted tone by 180 degrees.
“I’ll say it again: don’t call me that! Keep it up, and I’ll make you play in a women’s swimsuit!”
While Lynch and Bosko turned their conversation into a playful quarrel, only Teodosic remained clear-headed and asked the crucial question:
“Why two games?”
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“Because there are still two super prodigies in the youth league you haven’t beaten yet. Vlad wants to see you tear those two monsters apart!
The first is Luka Bogdanovic, the talented small forward of Red Star Belgrade’s youth team, a member of the U18 national team, who last month helped the senior Red Star squad win the King’s Cup.
Don’t get it wrong—he wasn’t just warming a bench in the senior team. In the King’s Cup final, he came off the bench and scored a game-high 23 points.
He’s unstoppable on offense and fully capable of dominating adult competition. Although he was weaker than Aleksandar Gajic in the U18 national team, he has clearly surpassed him now.
More than five clubs from Spain and Italy are ready to pay hefty buyout fees for him. In North America, the Nike Basketball Summit has been eager to have him participate.”
Bosko recounted Luka Bogdanovic’s achievements with interest, watching Lynch and Teo’s reactions.
Observing others’ responses was one of Bosko’s rare pleasures in life.
This pleasure was not obscure; otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many videos titled “Foreigners React to Black Myth” on the internet twenty years later.
Teodosic remained expressionless, as always.
Lynch waved his fist and shouted loudly, “Another U18 national team player? Last time, Teo and I took down two at once. So, who’s the other one?”
Hmm, it seemed these two weren’t intimidated by Luka Bogdanovic.
But would the next one be able to shake them?
“Finally,” Bosko’s tone grew serious, without listing achievements like before.
He only had to utter one name to describe the sheer power of this player.
“Darko Milicic.”
That name was the Bible of Balkan youth basketball, the Pandora’s box the NBA was desperate to open, the nightmare of every Serbian youth player.
“Defeat them, and Vlad Durovic will roll out the red carpet outside the arena to welcome you. Fail, and you’ll be stuck here listening to my orders.”
“Darko? Perfect!” Lynch grinned widely.
Earlier, Misko had told him, “Besides playing in the Adriatic League, you have another way to boost your profile: beat Darko.”
Now, at the end of 2002, Darko Milicic was already well-known in America and a superstar in Serbia.
After all, he was a player considered for a top-three pick in the 2003 draft.
Unlike the eager Lynch, Teodosic merely furrowed his brow, silent. But the murderous intent in his eyes revealed his restless spirit.
Outside the office window, the last rays of sunlight over Belgrade gradually faded.
The light filtered through the glass, casting their shadows on the wall—one fiery and restless, the other cold and piercing.
At this moment, the long-dormant system finally came alive.
“Why can’t middle-aged men compete with young prodigies anymore?”
“New objective: defeat Luka Bogdanovic and Darko Milicic.”
“Reward: 40 talent points.”
Lynch had always known there must be some quick way to earn talent points.
Here it was.