Chapter 22: Downpour (2)
Swish! Korea nailed the extra free throw, closing the gap to 5-9.
That kept them from falling into the nightmare of a 10-point deficit right from the tip-off, preventing the game from completely unraveling.
U.S. coach Billy Donovan watched the whole sequence closely.
'Snagging two offensive rebounds in a row against a bigger guy... Interesting kid.'
A flicker of personal interest lit up his eyes. As the current coach at the University of Florida, he couldn't help sizing up Seojun's potential.
Of course, he was utterly confident this game was a zero-percent loss for his team.
That's why he immediately signaled Marcus Smart, who had been about to call a screen from Randle to counter. Smart had no intention of letting Seojun's defensive presence linger unchecked—pulling him out to the perimeter with a screen would neutralize his paint dominance.
"Marcus! Stick to the plan! We don't need to tweak the game plan every time some random player shows up in a game like this."
But Smart, with his high basketball IQ, read the instruction differently. There was a way to control Seojun's impact without even needing a screener.
Just isolate Randle one-on-one.
Whoosh! Smart whipped the ball to Randle at the right 45-degree angle.
Randle caught it like he'd been waiting, dropped into his stance, and locked eyes on Seojun.
'Who the hell does this nobody think he is...'
Randle hadn't planned to throw down initially.
It started as small talk, and once he realized Seojun spoke English, he'd tossed in some jokes about kung fu and Yao Ming.
He'd even felt friendly toward the guy at first.
But Seojun's play after that had bruised his ego.
'Daring to iso me?'
A center over 2m10cm? Fine. But a smaller guy trying an isolation—and calling his bluff, no less?
From Randle's view, it felt like Seojun saw him as an easy mark.
'Fine. I'll show you a real bully ball.'
Randle twisted his body, shouldering into Seojun.
Thud! Thud! Seojun dug in desperately on defense.
Randle had the edge here.
Screech! Squeak! With superior strength and speed—plus ball-handling silky smooth for his size—he shook Seojun wildly left and right.
A masterful move blending power and finesse.
But Seojun's man defense was a thing of beauty too.
He clung to his one advantage—speed—until the end, shadowing Randle laterally to deny any drive option.
'This bastard...!'
Randle didn't like where he was positioned. By his math, he should've bulldozed deeper, pivoted, and floated one in—or powered through for the finish.
But now he was stuck midway between the rim and free-throw line. Too far for a simple flip-up.
Of course, getting this far was already a win for Randle. Another player was cutting in, reading the space.
"Hey!"
Austin Rivers darting in.
If Randle dumped it off for a rim attack, Seojun—pinned by Randle—couldn't contest properly. Any contact meant a foul nine times out of ten.
That was Smart's plan: isolate Randle to neuter Seojun's defense.
But Randle saw passing as humiliation. He bulled in stubbornly for a layup attempt. Seojun slid laterally, hand up in contest.
"Ngh...!?"
Randle had planned a dunk, but Seojun walled off the path with arms outstretched, forcing a layup switch.
Clang! Ping! It ricocheted off the backboard and rim—Jeong Ho-young snagged the rebound coming off help.
"Huff! Huff...! Nice board, Hyung!"
"Yeah, nice D!"
Korea transitioned.
Seojun went for another offensive rebound battle, boxing out Randle effectively—but the ball caromed toward Gordon, ending scoreless.
This back-and-forth defined the entire first quarter.
The deficit crept wider bit by bit, but they fought hard.
Seojun grabbed one more offensive board for points. Subin drained two midrange jumpers, Hae-young hit a three. With two minutes left, it was 16-27.
An 11-point gap, but against this talent disparity? Astonishing resilience.
The scouts in the stands buzzed.
"Who's that Asian kid?"
Holding off Julius Randle with athleticism and defensive instincts. Plus three offensive rebounds—elite box out skills.
Of course, Donovan's rotations helped. A colder coach might've kept center Jahlil Okafor parked inside, denying Seojun that matchup.
No one boxes out a 2m10cm, 120kg beast like that.
Even so, it was impressive. Randle faced a size mismatch too.
"Including rebounding control, his defense merits high marks."
"Four stars on D, maybe more?"
America's star-rating scouting system pegged players' value in stars.
Julius Randle and Aaron Gordon? Five-star super prospects.
Hanging with that? Star-worthy praise inevitable.
They figured if teammates were equal, Randle might even get contained.
"Always a thrill spotting an unexpected new face."
A man hummed, pulling out his phone. Beside him, Boston Celtics scout Kieran grinned.
"Gonna call the Lakers front office right away?"
Seojun dismissed them as generic foreign scouts. But shockingly, every one was NBA—checking next year's draft class.
College guys were already committed; no college scouts needed. NBA it was.
Lakers scout Jaren scoffed.
"Just checking the weather. If this rain keeps pouring, flights might delay."
"Heading out today?"
"Yeah, front office. Sent us to Czech for that, now 'no need, scout summer league scrubs.' Why care about a pure defender anyway? Especially an Asian who'd get crushed in the bigs."
"Fair point."
Four stars on D, three overall with athleticism—but that's it.
NCAA would bury him quietly.
Asian bias factored in: early peak, precocious type.
But soon...
They'd revise that.
First quarter ended.
Back on the bench, I collapsed into my chair, wiping sweat endlessly.
"Haa! Haa! Haa...!"
Blame the humidity from the downpour outside, but mostly? I was gassed.
Offense: endless physical battles with bigger Randle. Defense: man-up and help everywhere. Timeouts helped, but not enough recovery.
Opponent's bench depth hurt too. Montrezl Harrell, Justise Winslow—replacements as tough as Randle.
'Unlike me, Randle rests and returns fresh. By late third, I might fade hard.'
Coach Kim Kyung-min seemed to agree, smacking his lips.
"Seojun, take a breather. Hyeong-cheol starts second. Two-big with Hoyoung to hold the paint."
Game resumed.
I watched, resigned.
Fought to avoid first-quarter blowout—but that revealed the truth.
No tactic, no miracle wins this.
'Too many team D holes.'
Nothing I could fix alone.
They optimized every possession.
'And that coach...'
He could tactically erase me on O or D—but wasn't.
'Damn, this humiliation.'
Last felt it since Ten Hag sicced Lisandro Martinez on me. (Punished him then; no shot now.)
Even with their complacency, 10+ point gap. Unwinnable.
Two minutes into second without me? 19-point lead.
Bench guard Elfrid Payton toyed with our two-big set.
'This the world's level.'
Undeniably high. Way higher than imagined.
Team-wise. Personally? Not broken yet.
Stuff left to show. To Randle. To that testing coach.
Second quarter, 3:17 left: 21-41. Exact 20.
Coach Kim sighed softly, eyes on me.
"Seojun, no rush. Rest up, tell me when you're ready."
Conceding the game.
Made sense now.
I nodded.
"Put me in when their #8 returns."
"Julius Randle?"
"Yeah."
Randle re-entered at 5:13 left in second. They rotated bench heavy—no need to grind stars.
Lead still ballooned.
"Changmin."
I told courtside Chang-min.
"Set iso at left 45?"
"Right, like early first."
Offensive rebounds too luck-based now. (Chase irrelevant anyway.)
Needed direct scoring.
"How? Post-up flopped."
"...Yeah. So, that thing from before."
"...!"
Pre-national team call-up.
Sangwon tourney finals over.
Specialized athletes hit studies; I dove back into solo work.
Focus: position drills.
Transfers coming—SF mine. Learned 45-degree play from Subin.
Plus jump shot. Endless patterns.
First: pull-up jumper.
Thud, swish! Subin crossovered crisply, midrange beauty.
"Whoa, Subin—that was Durant!"
"Say Jordan, not Durant."
Tried dribble pull-ups. Both grimaced.
Chang-min blunt.
"Pull-ups? Nah. Dribble too clunky. That crossover fools no one—even strays. Form collapsed too."
"Khm... Fools a stray?"
"Next: fadeaway."
Post-up options: back-in turnaround, fake drive to fade/step-back.
Nope.
"Two-of-ten? Useless in games. Scarecrow defends better."
"Khum! Dissin' scarecrows?"
"Anyway. Jumpers need months. Half-year minimum."
"Figured."
"Not pro coach, but your form tanks success rate."
"Rookie issue. So...?"
Wait for open shots?
Pondering. Subin muttered.
"Jab step then."
"Jab step?"
Chang-min nodded.
"Keeps form. Demo, Subin."
Face-up psych play.
Catch, square up.
Jab foot like a punch—feint drive or shoot?
"If they bite drive! Pull feet, rip jumper."
"On-ball rise, form intact."
"Yeah. Can shoot without, but gathering fakes 'em, stabilizes form—do it."
"Got it. And?"
"Next: they close? Or fake fools 'em? Drive. Jab step basics."
"Gotcha. Carmelo, Kobe thing?"
"You know."
"Let's go."
Jab-step training clicked unexpectedly.
Shots amid contests—but interference barely registered. Weird mental block?
"Zone on rim? Or high release ignores it? Doesn't faze."
"...!"
Chang-min freaked.
"Dude! That's insane talent!"
Left 45. Planted.
'Not game-ready yet...'
But had to now.
Only way to meet Randle's eyes.
Staying at 45—not crashing? Randle smirked.
"Ditching desperate offensive board hunts?"
"Talk big after getting cooked there. Want more? Or begging off?"
"..."
Chilling glare.
No more words needed.
Mild power tussle. Secured elbow inside three-point line. Waited for Chang-min pass.
Back to Randle, catch—pivot left foot base. Squeak! Squeak! Face-up.
Randle waved arms, eased distance. Knew face-up too tight = drive city.
'Max range?'
His lead foot to mine: ~20cm.
Jab right foot further. No bite.
'My green? Or he ignores jumpers...'
Whatever. Shoot.
Squeak! Quick! Gather, rise.
"...!"
Randle contested instantly.
Fiercest interference ever—but zoned out, fired clean.
'...In.'
Sensed it: flow state, my rhythm.
No FT warmup even.
Why? Burning desire peaked focus...
'Nothing to lose feels good.'
Zero failure risk. Pure success conviction.
Swish! Net.
"Tch."
Randle shrugged it off—lucky.
Told him:
"Showdown starts now. Know it?"
"Ha, one bucket? Don't get cocky."
Grinning Randle.
That grin wouldn't last long.