009: The Moment the Legend Begins to Bloom (Please Follow!)

Since Lynch consistently delivered outstanding performances in the youth league, his life underwent a dramatic transformation.

At school, he became immensely popular, receiving countless pink envelopes adorned with lipstick marks every day.

Of course, Lynch never responded to any of these letters.

As he explained to Teodosic, “If the girls just want company to sleep, I’m fine with that, but romance—no way. I’m not someone who takes that lightly.”

Business at the restaurant improved as well. Every weekend, FMP fans wearing orange hats would flood in, ordering the dishes Lynch usually enjoyed.

Naturally, more and more basketball agents started showing up.

There were Americans dressed in Armani and Italian elderly gentlemen clad in Jean-Paul Gaultier.

They all looked different and spoke with varying accents.

Yet, before leaving, every one of them would say something similar to Mrs. Wu Lan: “Madam, I guarantee I will bring your son to the NBA draft and even help him become the next Yao!”

Each agent who said this was struck by Mrs. Wu’s calm demeanor. She never rushed to let anyone get close to her son prematurely, simply telling them, “If we need you, we will contact you. Thank you very much.”

That subtle rejection was anything but simple.

What did the NBA draft mean? Being selected in the first round meant the chance to sign a contract worth millions of dollars.

According to NBA labor agreements, once a rookie contract was signed, even if the player was cut later due to insufficient skill, they would still receive full salary for at least three years.

That was an unimaginable fortune for many.

Frankly speaking, participating in the NBA draft could represent a total reset in one’s life.

Most parents would jump for joy upon learning their child had the chance to enter the NBA draft.

Therefore, Mrs. Wu’s reaction baffled many men.

From start to finish, this mother kept a clear mind, reminding herself that whether Lynch could enter the NBA draft was not up to these smooth-talking agents.

This woman, who managed the kitchen’s affairs, understood what competitive sports were all about. Regardless of the sport, pursuing a professional path required early training and hoping for the favor of Lady Luck.

But Lady Luck rarely smiled on anyone.

If an agent could casually promise to bring someone into the NBA, the league wouldn’t be so valuable.

What those well-dressed men said didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lynch remained focused on basketball, undistracted by outside noise.

Moreover, Lynch already had an agent, Misko. Although they had not formally partnered, Misko was handling most issues.

More agents would only bring more disagreements and problems.

Fortunately, Lynch himself wasn’t blinded by his growing fame.

His daily routine remained the same as before he was famous: training early after school and then pushing himself for extra practice.

His weight was steadily increasing, and the muscles on his arms, torso, and thighs were visibly more solid—he looked like a real man now.

He seemed to have grown taller again. Mrs. Wu hadn’t measured him recently, but she firmly believed her “milk strategy” was working.

Lynch’s biggest improvement was in his post-up offense. In training, he could now use it as a regular weapon.

In the next game, he wanted to test the true level of his post-up skills.

Besides basketball progress, Mrs. Wu was also pleased that Lynch had found a true friend.

He and a boy named Milos Teodosic were growing closer and often came to the restaurant together.

Teodosic was polite but quiet, the opposite of Lynch’s outgoing personality, yet they got along perfectly.

Their friendship stemmed from their complementary teamwork on the court.

Lynch always helped clear threats on defense for Teodosic, who in turn found the perfect passing angles to Lynch.

They were like two halves of a whole on the court, inseparable.

Now, even their extra practice sessions started and ended together.

However, on this day, January 8, 2003, they did not train together.

That evening, Lynch treated Teodosic to a meal at his family’s restaurant to celebrate Christmas.

Serbians follow the Orthodox faith and the Julian calendar, so their Christmas falls on January 7 each year.

At this moment, the Serbian youngster, a magician with his passing skills, was clumsily holding chopsticks, trying to pick up food from his plate.

“Lynch, I think we should just go back to training. Taking a break makes me feel guilty.”

Lynch glanced at Teodosic in disbelief. A holiday? Guilt? What kind of chosen one are you?

“Come on, man, can’t you just enjoy the delicious food my mom made? If you can’t learn to enjoy life, how can you become a champion?”

“Is there really a connection between those two things?”

“Of course there is. Being a champion is a comprehensive experience. If you can’t enjoy it, then why bother fighting for it?”

Teodosic didn’t respond, perhaps unable to find a counterargument or simply focused on picking his food.

“By the way, I read in the newspaper that Olympiacos is sending someone with the keys to their treasury to watch your games. Is that true? How much are they willing to pay to transfer you?” Lynch suddenly asked with curiosity.

This was the hottest gossip throughout Belgrade. The performances of Lynch and Teodosic excited fans and attracted the attention of many European powerhouse clubs.

Olympiacos, the absolute dominant force in the Greek league, was rumored to be interested in Teodosic.

Local Belgrade fans certainly didn’t want the team to sell Teodosic, and the FMP club repeatedly emphasized that Teodosic was an important asset.

But this was European basketball; even the most valuable assets had their price.

European clubs didn’t adhere to the NBA’s player-for-player trade rules—they were allowed to buy players outright with cash.

If Olympiacos offered an enticing enough transfer fee, FMP might be tempted, as clubs needed money as well.

Not only FMP, but Serbian basketball clubs had struggled financially for years, so selling players was not unwelcome.

Even giants like Red Star and Partizan often sold their homegrown stars.

A fragmented Serbia had become a big cake, with talented players divided among European clubs.

In this context, some conspiracy theories arose: FMP’s delay in letting Lynch and Teodosic play for the first team was because they didn’t want them to “expose themselves” and hurt their transfer value.

Teodosic answered Lynch’s question simply: “The rumors are true.”

“Do you want to go to Olympiacos?”

“Maybe. I don’t know much about them.”

“I think you should seize this opportunity. Olympiacos has endless money. That means after you come of age, they can offer a professional contract that FMP can’t match.

Most importantly, I heard their maids and secretaries are all tall with slim waists and strong builds!

What I’m saying is, if you want to take more shots in the next game in front of Olympiacos scouts, I have no objections.”

Olympiacos was indeed wealthy. If Lynch remembered correctly, years later they would outbid the Atlanta Hawks with a three-year $20 million after-tax contract to snatch Josh Childress.

That was one of the rare cases in NBA history where a player in his prime was lured away by a European club.

If Teodosic could join this Greek powerhouse, he would certainly get a good deal when signing his professional contract.

But Teodosic shook his head at Lynch’s suggestion and delivered perhaps the longest speech he’d ever given.

“Take more shots? Just to impress Olympiacos? I refuse. I’d rather we both perform well and be taken by a big club together than sacrifice your own opportunity just to gain a big club’s favor.”

“Olympiacos only wants you, Teo. Their frontcourt already has several national team players.”

“So? Is Olympiacos the only big club in Europe?”

Lynch was stunned. Although the world always preached that basketball was a team sport, being unselfish was really difficult.

The drama of “selfishness” breaking up teams had repeated in basketball for decades.

You couldn’t expect everyone to be a Dwyane Wade.

But Teodosic seemed to have truly cast selfishness aside.

After finishing his words, Teodosic looked at Lynch, then shyly averted his gaze and stammered.

“Last night, in front of the bonfire outside the Saint Sava Church, I made a New Year’s wish.”

“To hope Mr. Bosko grows hair as thick as yours?” Lynch teased.

Teodosic’s throat sounded like a rusty old typewriter: “I wished... that our names will always be listed side by side in the European youth player value rankings and championship records! So... so sacrificing one person for another? That’s not acceptable!”

Lynch’s teasing froze at the corner of his mouth, then he struggled to hold back laughter.

“Ha, damn, are you blushing?”

“What!? Of course not!”

“Hey, next week when you see Luka Bogdanovic on the court, you won’t be blushing either, right?”

“Damn it, don’t tease me! I’m serious!”

Lynch fought to suppress his laughter, stretching out a long arm to press on Teodosic’s shoulder.

“Of course, you’ll fulfill that wish. Next week, Luka Bogdanovic will be the stepping stone for that wish. Teo, thanks for including me in your wish.”

“Young gentlemen, the food is here!” Mrs. Wu Lan emerged from the kitchen carrying several dishes, breaking the serious atmosphere.

“Mom, that’s enough food already. Stop cooking and come eat with us.”

“What do you mean enough? Milos, Lynch didn’t tell me you’d come. There’s not much food—just make do.”

“Madam, you’re too polite.”

“Mom, I’m telling you, Teo even blushed when he talked to me just now…”

“Lynch! Do you want me to reveal the ‘only sleep, no talk’ matter?”

“What are you two kids talking about?”

“Ah, well... Mom, Teo, everyone, raise your glasses—Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year!”

In this lively little restaurant, amid the clinking of glasses, the most legendary story in European basketball began to take root.

Yet no one realized it then.

Elsewhere, Bosko was on the phone with first-team head coach Vlad Durovic.

“Old friend, you must come to the next game.”

“Of course, I’d love to see Luka Bogdanovic, that genius, fall.”

“No, no, no. I mean, you’ll see a completely new Lynch—a Lynch with dazzling post moves.” Bosko’s tone brimmed with undeniable pride.

I taught him everything! When Durovic sees this, he’s bound to get promoted and get a raise!

Vlad Durovic sounded skeptical: “Dazzling post moves? Really? Can Lynch improve that much in just a few months?”

“You’ll see for yourself.”

-----------------

One week later, the FMP youth team faced the Red Star youth team in a packed arena.

Huge team flags waved, and fireworks exploded among the crowd.

The usually lethargic Serbians seemed to shed their usual mellow masks only on the basketball court.

This was the Belgrade Arena, the shared home court of Red Star and Partizan, and the wildest basketball atmosphere in Serbia.

Because this was a marquee matchup, Red Star had given up their first-team venue for the game.

It was Lynch’s first time playing in front of such a massive crowd.

Before the game, Bosko seriously told Lynch and Teodosic, “Get ready. In this damn place, your test tonight isn’t just Luka.”

The roaring cheers ten times louder than usual made Lynch feel the floor tremble as soon as his shoe touched the hardwood.

“Lu—ka—!”

When Luka Bogdanovic entered, the roar tore through the air, escalating to an even more terrifying decibel.

Red Star fans loved this battle-hardened veteran and expected him to mercilessly crush FMP’s so-called potential stars.

The moment the referee tossed the ball, the arena fell silent. But as Red Star crossed midcourt, the crowd erupted like a volcano.

Luka Bogdanovic skillfully caught the ball beyond the three-point line, used his strong body to back down FMP’s small forward, and drove to the basket.

Lynch immediately rotated to defend and jumped at the moment Luka released the ball.

It seemed like the same old story—Luka was destined to be caught in Lynch’s carefully woven net.

But then, Luka stepped back, created some space, and shot over Lynch’s fingertips, the ball just clearing the rim and dropping through the net.

From this first possession, Luka showed why he could win over the demanding Red Star fans—he was a versatile small forward with first-team level strength and a full offensive arsenal.

The last superstar Red Star developed was Peja Stojakovic, now an NBA All-Star.

In the hearts of Red Star fans, Luka Bogdanovic was a Peja who could handle the ball, penetrate, and defend!

“Calm down, man. Don’t just think about blocking shots!” Teodosic shouted.

“Damn it, I know!” Lynch replied.

Just then, the entire crowd shouted:

“Hey! Hey! The two little bastards are gonna cry! Gonna cry! Hey! Hey! ...”

The jeers of over ten thousand fans crushed Lynch’s chest like a heavy stone, making him feel suffocated and furious.

This was the Belgrade Arena. These were the Red Star fans.

Bosko was right—tonight’s test was more than just Luka.

(To avoid unnecessary worry from the fathers, I declare: Lynch will definitely go to the NBA before this is published.)

(Thanks to the big supporters who wanted him in the Western Conference, kneeling in gratitude!

Thanks also to Ximen Not Loving Snow, Yixi Ya, Tian Cang Ren, Red Horned Triple Meow, Boss Mei Not Digging Coal, Lv San Ge, Confirmed Goods Received, Time for Tea, Super Handsome Old Dove, Dog Too Clingy, Ink Fragrance, and others for their support, deeply appreciated!)

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