Chapter 15: The Unknown Stage
The next quarterfinal was set for Sunday, two days later. With the semifinals scheduled for Monday right after, that left just one day—Saturday—for training, making it absolutely critical.
Our basketball team hit the gym early Saturday morning to get after it.
The lessons from the last game were crystal clear, so the training plan was straightforward.
"Let's each shoot at least two thousand shots by the end of the day! As long as your success rate hits over 30%, we're golden—no pressure!"
Under Chang-min's command, the specialist kids started firing threes from the corners and the 45-degree angles.
They weren't exactly offensive threats, but the last game had shown we couldn't afford to have zero options from them.
'The defense just completely ignored them.'
By the middle of the third quarter, whenever I drove, two defenders had already rotated down to the paint. Combined with the center trailing me, it turned into an instant triple-team.
According to Chang-min, it was because we had zero spacing.
So these guys needed to hit wide-open threes at around 25-30% to force the opponent out of that extreme shell. At that expected value, they'd have to respect them, giving me a shot at offensive boards too.
While the specialists camped out on one side of the court, chucking threes non-stop, Subin's sister, Suryeon, had posted up under the basket, retrieving balls and feeding them back.
"Nice! Great job! Fighting, fighting! Whoa! In again! Jinhyeok, you're on fire!"
"Heh heh heh. Thanks!"
"Byungsu, your form is perfect! You look just like Jeong Daeman!"
"Yes, yes! Thank you!"
Every make got a cheer, so the kids were pouring everything into each shot.
Anyway.
That extreme defense from the last game had left me with my own homework too: layups.
'Dunks are tough when they're set in the paint. I need to master efficient layups.'
Layups were way more versatile than dunks by default. Dunks were limited to the rim, but layups covered the whole backboard.
Even that drive maestro LeBron James finished way more layups than dunks, and my role model Vince Carter—Mr. Dunk Contest himself—had a hefty layup percentage too.
"Hup...!"
Thud! Launch, lay it softly over the rim.
Basic stuff, easy enough.
'The advanced stuff is the killer.'
Not talking double-clutch or scoop layups or finger rolls.
The real alpha and omega was banking it off the backboard—hitting any spot and finishing regardless.
That's what the American skill trainers said in those videos, anyway. Even if you get blocked, it's goaltending. Plus, your shot tempo's way quicker than a flat jumper, and you can release from anywhere.
'Bank it off the glass...!'
Easier said than done.
Banking from the far side was tricky, but even close-range off the glass right next to the rim required fine-tuning your finger pressure based on your climb rhythm, speed, and the defender's pressure.
'I get it now. This is that legendary touch...'
I focused on that feel for about an hour of reps, building experience but no real breakthrough.
'Guess this is one of those walls separating pros from amateurs, first-class from second-class in basketball.'
Basic, yet brutally hard.
Like passing in soccer. Amateurs can pass, but drop 'em in a pro game and they crumble. Even among pros, you've got otherworldly guys like Kevin De Bruyne or Xavi.
'This one's gonna take serious time. No guarantee it'll make me world-class...'
So I decided not to rush it.
"Whew!"
Wrapping up the session, I reached for a towel to wipe sweat—and there was Suryeon, approaching with a towel and water bottle in hand. How long had she been watching?
"Great work! Here!"
"Yeah... thanks."
"You were amazing! I could feel your 100% focus!"
"..."
Her whole vibe had flipped. No more gripes about me crashing at their place.
Kim Yun-mi was warmer too, but it felt like motherly kindness to her son's friend. Suryeon? She was treating me like royalty.
If I asked her to grab bread, she'd bow and sprint.
Curious, I tested it.
"This water?"
"Yeah. Oh, want something else? Energy drink? Got 'em in the cooler."
"Nah, too many junk additives."
Water was fine, but if anything...
"Got coffee?"
"Coffee? I'll run grab some now. Iced Americano?"
"No, hot but mild. Not too hot, though."
"Mild Americano, lukewarm... Got it! Be right back!"
She bolted out the door.
"...What's her deal?"
The words slipped out. Nearby, Chang-min let out a dry chuckle.
"She's the one who started this basketball team."
"Meaning?"
"She was student council president here. Pushed for the new indoor gym to be a space for arts and PE kids who'd given up on academics. It tied in with the parents' association somehow, and boom—basketball team. Perfect timing with her brother and his friends hunting for a high school squad. She convinced 'em herself. Promised the school would back us hard."
But the school flipped the script—no support, total neglect.
"Good intentions, I guess. Anyway, she's got massive responsibility for it. Senior year, cramming for college entrance exams, but she's here every day supporting. Kept coming even after starting college."
"Explains Hanna."
"Kinda. That's why she's fawning over you. You're carrying me and Subin."
"Got it."
Made sense now.
"She should quit this gig soon, though. That's why we gotta win it all this time."
Chang-min burned with resolve.
Just then, Suryeon returned, sweating bullets.
"Kids! Coffee's here! One for each!"
The team swarmed, chugging coffee they never drank, buttering her up: "How'd you know I wanted coffee?!" "This is fancy—Starbucks?!"
I sipped mine... but my Euro-trained palate rejected it. Set it down and got back to work.
Sangwon High's rampage continued.
On June 9th, the quarterfinal against Songhwa High.
Songhwa countered me with a fast-break heavy run-and-gun style—textbook against a dominant center.
Centers lag in stamina compared to other positions.
Rapid transitions and constant running wear them down first, slowing the pace they can't match, neutering their impact.
Coach Lee Chan-uk planned to grind me out that way.
Big mistake.
When push came to shove, I was dictating the fast-break tempo.
Chan-uk couldn't believe his eyes.
A 2-meter center? Yet...
'What the hell? He's the fastest, running the most?'
I had 90-minute soccer stamina and pro-level pacing. Wearing me down at this level? Impossible.
Eventually, I blew past their gassed players for coast-to-coast dunks, slamming the first quarter shut: 35-21.
They pierced our sticky D thanks to the tempo, but hemorrhaged points in return. Game over.
'Shit...'
Chan-uk's mind went blank. With the gap widening, they had to keep pushing offense.
Final: 92-66. A 26-point blowout in a frantic shootout.
I dropped 46—new personal best—bumping my tourney average to 43.5.
The very next day: semifinals vs. Shinil High.
Coach Im Cheol-min sighed deeply. The monster's here.
He'd seen my potential in that Baesung scrimmage, but this exceeded expectations.
'Didn't think he'd be this much of a freak.'
Not his offense—that was pro-containable.
I owned mismatches across the board, but pros would sic specialists on me: mercenary centers, lockdown wings.
'Manageable.'
Even forcing defensive load on a hireling was huge value.
'But that defense is insane!'
Pick-and-roll mismatches? I'd smother their guards with speed, stonewalling one-on-one.
'How the hell do you stop this?!'
And his board-crashing rebounding slashed their efficiency.
Rim protection forced jumpers, then he scooped every miss.
'Still, a weakness!'
Our two specialist scarecrows on offense.
Im sagged off them, packing the paint. Even I couldn't bulldoze two set defenders at high efficiency.
It worked early—first quarter, my kickouts to corners missed every time.
I snagged three offensive boards for points, but they led 17-16 at the horn.
Tactics meshing perfectly.
But second quarter...
Swoosh! Byungsu's threes started dropping.
"Say my name!"
He pumped his fist, and the bench roared back: "Flame Man Jeong Daeman!" "Daeman hyung!"
Two straight wide-open bombs flipped the lead. Shinil panicked.
I added two more offensive boards. Halftime: 42-35, us up 7.
The bleed accelerated.
Their center, Kim Han-ul, wilted under fatigue and fouls, coughing up four offensive boards to me in the third alone.
Spiraling out of control.
"Ugh..."
Im couldn't think straight anymore.
Switch to straight defense now? Too late—I'd feast.
'It's over.'
He hung his head.
Final: 80-64.
I tallied 35 points, 9 assists, 31 boards—including 12 offensive—carrying us to the nationals finals.
"Yesssss!"
"Nice one!"
The specialists screamed in finals ecstasy, bouncing like kids.
Makes sense—they'd never dreamed this far.
For me, Chang-min, Subin—a title was just bragging rights. Process over trophy.
But for them? This resume punched their special admissions ticket.
Plus, they hit seven threes combined today—huge contribution.
"Phew!"
One full rest day before finals.
'Chill with three-point work.'
No offensive board battles today meant zero outside looks. One three in quarters? Brick.
'Gotta show something in the finals.'
Stewing on it, heading to the locker room—a suited middle-aged man approached.
"Seojun, got a minute?"
"...? What's this about?"
"Here, this is me."
He handed over a business card emblazoned with the basketball association emblem, name, and contact.
Flashing white teeth in a grin.
"Name's Park Sung-hyun. Wanted to chat about the FIBA U-19 World Cup. You free?"