028: More Like a Professional Player (Please Keep Following!)

Sonny Vaccaro sat side-by-side with Reebok CEO Paul Fireman in the VIP box at the Palau Blaugrana.

Ever since Sonny had returned to Reebok with the proposal, "We must sign that kid for one hundred million dollars," he and Fireman had watched almost every one of Lynch’s games in the Liga ACB.

Today was the first time they had watched Lynch play in person, yet they had witnessed his worst performance since arriving in Spain.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, as Dejan Bodiroga established his sovereignty on the court, an interesting scene unfolded on the sidelines.

Lynch walked off with his head hung low, while Antonis Fotsis complained incessantly beside him. Louis Bullock joined the fray, only for Lynch to shove the Greek player's hand away, shout something, and storm angrily into the tunnel.

Compared to the seamless, cohesive unit that was Barcelona, Real Madrid looked like a scattered mess.

The aura of Lynch’s previous string of victories was shattered. Paul Fireman suddenly realized that winning could be deceptive; defeat was the true starting point for gauging a player’s real value.

"Our sales last year barely hit the 1997 baseline," Fireman said, his eyes fixed on the scene below. "This contract ties into Reebok's future, even our very survival. Signing the wrong person means we're out, but sitting idle is just a slow death..."

The air in the box seemed to solidify until Fireman pulled a cigar from his suit jacket. "Perhaps we should diversify our chips—use that same hundred-million-dollar budget to sign four or five high-potential prospects to hedge the risk."

He clipped a cigar and handed it to Sonny.

"I have never doubted your ability to unearth uncut gems; no one in America understands young players better than you. That is why we need you. But look at the look in this kid’s eyes after a major loss, look at how he reacts to his teammates. Who can guarantee he won't end up like Tracy McGrady—all talent but no fanatical desire to win, lacking the understanding of how to be a leader, never achieving any meaningful victory in the playoffs, and leaving Adidas always one step short of surpassing Nike?"

Paul Fireman thought back to Michael Jordan. The desperate losses against the Pistons almost destroyed him, yet it was those crushing defeats that birthed the "Air Jordan" dynasty.

For Lynch, tonight was a desperate loss.

He discovered that his talent could not solve everything. He discovered that Europe possessed a team with both collective brilliance and individual prowess. He discovered that while others were united, his own team was disintegrating.

How would he face all of this?

"Think about it, Sonny. If Michael Jordan had chosen to surrender like a coward after those consecutive losses, or simply given up on leading the Bulls to join the Pistons, Air Jordan wouldn't be worth nearly as much. My point is, a player’s worth isn't just about potential. True value is reflected in how they face the shadow of defeat, how much they hunger for victory, and whether they are a leader. Sometimes, ability alone is not enough to achieve greatness."

Sonny Vaccaro understood what Fireman meant. In the past, they only looked at a kid’s basketball potential, but time and again it had been proven that this was insufficient to judge whether a kid’s career would be legendary.

Sonny believed that this loss was precisely the opportunity to see Lynch clearly.

"Lynch lost this crucial battle, lost to the treble winners, was knocked off his pedestal by more seasoned guys, discovered he isn't omnipotent, and found that his teammates don't like him very much. It’s certainly a blow. But if he can turn the tide, lead this team to complete a revenge arc against Barcelona, and lead the currently fractured Real Madrid to the final championship... that would be the perfect American story. Americans would love him. People would put Lynch on a pedestal—my God, they would. We could mold him into something beyond imagination; he would change the world! Lynch lost, but he gained the perfect script, didn't he? Sign four or five players for a hundred million, or sign one for a hundred million. I would say, if Lynch can do what I’ve described, I’m willing to sign the one."

"Hmm," Fireman nodded in agreement. "Let us wait and see. We need more time to judge if he’s worth the hundred million. Let’s go, Sonny. Back to the hotel."

Before leaving the box, Sonny Vaccaro suddenly remembered something. "But what if Nike offers Lynch a hundred-million-dollar contract before we do?"

"They won't," Fireman smiled. "They are too obsessed with LeBron James."

***

*Marca* and *AS* might be the two sports newspapers with the highest circulation in Spain, but their sales in the Catalonia region were virtually zero.

They were viewed as the mouthpieces for Real Madrid. They had even stooped to absurd lengths to attack Barça, such as photoshopping a defender out of a frame to "prove" a Barcelona goal was offside.

Because of this, newsstands there wouldn't even carry *Marca* or *AS*, stocking only *El Mundo Deportivo*, which flew the flag for Barcelona. And the news there was far from kind to Madrid.

"Just as Lynch said, he will certainly win the Liga MVP this year. That violent thug doesn't need to win games; he just beats everyone ahead of him, and he’s the MVP. That is Lynch—a brute with no technique, desecrating the art of basketball with an animal brain. Last night, the true artists of Barcelona taught him how basketball is played. Oh, and don't worry about the Real Madrid team splitting up after their quarrel on the court; our boxing champion will surely unify their thoughts through physical means."

Lynch stared at the rolling clouds outside the airplane window. *El Mundo Deportivo* lay crooked on his tray table, the mocking headlines of the Catalan media particularly glaring in the morning light.

He glanced at his system and the new mission that had appeared the previous night.

[New Goal: Revenge against Barcelona; surpass them in the final standings of both the ACB League and the EuroLeague.]

[Reward: 200 Talent Points.]

The mission had come at the right time, but Lynch didn't care. The temptation of 200 talent points could not outweigh the crushing weight of his current predicament.

Lynch was thinking about many other things.

His team had failed to defeat their arch-rivals, and his resume was no longer perfect. Those guys had such a superior team; what if they met in the league finals or the EuroLeague finals again? Could they win? What if they didn't win the championship? Why was the locker room of this team such a mess? Why weren't they as united as the FMP youth team? Could a divided team win a title?

If they couldn't win, if he couldn't crush Barcelona, would Reebok still offer him the nine-figure contract?

Although he was confident and famous, Lynch understood one thing from the start: "Signing a shoe contract that surpasses LeBron James is not easy."

You have to be perfect. You have to provide the media with a narrative of greatness. You have to make everyone believe that you are the one who can change the landscape of the NBA in a short time. Only then can you get that kind of money.

The teenager pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the porthole. His mind was a mess. Contracts, victory, the future, honor... these were clearly not things a seventeen-year-old—with a mental age of only nineteen—could fully process.

Teo leaned over and took the *El Mundo Deportivo* from the tray table. "It's all dog shit. Our perimeter shooting was terrible yesterday; it's not your fault."

In the back row, Antonis Fotsis, who had gone 0-for-5 from the three-point line, subconsciously felt Teo was talking about him. He stood up and roared at Teo.

"Shut up, kid! You haven't even grown your hair out and you think you’re qualified to judge me? I stand behind the three-point line for fifteen minutes just to touch the ball. You can't expect me to keep my rhythm under these conditions! I have to fight for rebounds, and most of the time I don't even get to touch the ball. How do you expect me to hit threes?"

"Shut up, Antonis! Try yelling at him again! Teo and I didn't even mention your name, you bastard! You’ve been complaining since the first scrimmage. You complained last night, and now you’re at it again? You think the world revolves around you, huh?" Lynch didn't back down. He really couldn't stand this whiner.

"Ha! Of course you wouldn't complain, because the whole team is playing your 'draft game,' making you the focus, letting you pad your stats. But honestly, your draft prospects have nothing to do with me. Why should I sacrifice myself!?"

Louis Bullock, wearing his thick gold chain, joined the fray. "What are you barking about? Who was it that carried us last night when our shooting was cold, absorbing the defensive pressure and keeping the score close? Who cleans up your mess on defense? If it weren't for Lynch, we would have lost to Barcelona by double digits!"

Louis Bullock protected Lynch unconditionally because Lynch’s presence meant he hadn't been blown past by any guard all season. The American guard knew who his friends were. But to those who weren't, he was the "difficult American" the media described.

The scene from the sidelines last night was replicated on the plane. Julio Lamas was so angry he kicked the blanket off his legs.

"Enough! I should let the reporters from *El Mundo Deportivo* see you like this! Wasn't it enough to argue on the court last night!? Do you want to embarrass yourselves even more?"

Beyond venting his emotions, the coach's reaction was ineffective. Julio Lamas was a bold coach with high tactical intelligence, but his cold, rigid personality wasn't suited for controlling a locker room.

Finally, the Real Madrid captain, Alberto Herreros, took control.

"We’re almost in Madrid, guys. When we get off the plane, countless fans, media, and kids will see us. Do you want to tell all the fans that we’re just a bunch of incompetent clowns, or do you want to go home quietly?"

Almost everyone stopped arguing, as no one wanted to play the clown on their own turf. But this only lengthened the fuse of the powder keg; the crisis was not resolved.

In the following days, the atmosphere during training was poor. Lynch’s performance in scrimmages was also suboptimal; those messy distractions had scattered his focus. Everyone knew that with this state of mind, Real Madrid would lose their next game.

When Fotsis made his snide, passive-aggressive complaints, and the question of "Will I get that hundred-million-dollar contract?" echoed in his mind, Lynch wished the system would pop up with a reward.

[Leadership Potion: Make teammates listen to you like game NPCs. (Bonus: Makes cheerleaders listen, too.)]
[Focus Potion: Makes you forget the mess and focus solely on the job at hand.]

Unfortunately, none of these existed. Not every problem in this world could be solved by a system.

The day before the next league game, practice ended with the same unpleasant locker room atmosphere. After resting for a while, Lynch and Teo went back to the court for extra shooting practice. Before long, a bald man walked in.

It was the captain, Alberto Herreros.

"Still training?" He greeted the two young men with a smile. "Ten years ago, Arvydas Sabonis loved extra practice like this, though that guy could drink a liter of vodka after he finished."

"Captain." Lynch and Teo nodded in response.

"I envy your energy. Unlike me, even my wife is starting to complain that I don't spend enough time at home."

Lynch was surprised. "Oh? I thought, with a professional athlete's physique..."

"Stop right there, she's complaining that I spend too little time with my family!"

The three practiced for a while. During a break, Herreros looked at Arvydas Sabonis’s jersey hanging in the training hall—he was the former captain of Real Madrid.

It was he who taught Herreros, who was once just a player with average talent looking to punch the clock and collect a paycheck, how to be a professional. Herreros learned how to be a captain from him as well. Because of Sabonis, Herreros went from being an average player about to be sold by Madrid to one of the most important players in the club's history.

Now, he intended to fulfill his duty as captain just like Sabonis had.

"Lynch, things have been tough lately, haven't they?"

Lynch nodded. "Professional basketball is much more complex than I imagined. It's not just about playing on the court."

"Professional basketball is indeed more than just 40 minutes of competition, but it's not actually that complex. I know what you’re worrying about, but let me tell you this: stop focusing on the shoe contract, and stop focusing on the money. That’s not important. It’s not that money isn't important, but because you are already destined to make a lot of it. In half a year, you will possess unimaginable wealth. Could you even fail to get drafted? Could your shoe contract really regress to 80s levels? Don't let things that are already yours trouble you."

"There is one thing you haven't fully grasped yet, and that is achieving greatness. You have to fight for that yourself. Listen, Lynch, everyone in this locker room will be forgotten after they die, except for you. You will be remembered forever. Your story will inspire countless children to fly. Only you have this ability, provided you focus on victory. I think we have every chance to fight for the championship, even the European title, but that requires a focused version of you."

"For a professional player, the most important thing is to focus on the victory in front of you at every moment, without distraction. If you’re playing in the finals, you can't be lost because of thoughts like, 'Can I win the FMVP?' If you have the chance to create greatness, you can't be troubled by things that will belong to you sooner or later. This is the foundation of greatness. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me: do you want to win? Do you want to be a great player? Or do you just want a big contract and everything else doesn't matter?"

Herreros’s gaze was firm. Lynch stared into his eyes, his fingers gripping the basketball tightly. "Of course I want to win!"

The example "You can't be lost because of thoughts like 'Can I win the FMVP?'" had struck a chord deep within Lynch.

Herreros’s serious expression vanished, replaced by a smile. "Fotsis, I'll take care of him."

"How?"

"I have my ways."

The next day, in the ACB regular season, Real Madrid faced Valencia. Lynch did not lose his way as he had in practice. When he stepped onto the court, his mind was only on victory, only on taking down the opponent in front of him.

As for Fotsis, he received more shots today and had a larger role on the offensive end. Because Alberto Herreros sacrificed his own movement to set more off-ball screens for the Greek player, Fotsis frequently found himself open, eventually scoring 23 points.

More shots and better stats made him temporarily forget to complain.

When the game ended, Real Madrid had defeated Valencia by 14 points, continuing to lead the Spanish league rankings.

The reporters’ eyes were on Lynch, who had dropped 27 points, 11 rebounds, and 3 blocks, as well as Fotsis with his 23 points. No one cared about Alberto Herreros, who had finished with 3 points, 2 rebounds, 3 assists, and 2 steals; people just saw him as an old bone nearing retirement.

Only Lynch stared at him when answering a reporter's question about what was different between this game and the last.

"The difference is that someone made me more like a professional player. Now I know what kind of person I want to become," Lynch replied.

Unnoticed, Herreros walked into the tunnel and saw the poster of Arvydas Sabonis.

The Lithuanian giant was flicking the basketball with his fingertips, his gaze piercing through ten years of time, straight to the heart. Sabonis hadn't played for Madrid for long, but he left behind two league titles and a European championship, making him a legend beloved by Madrid fans.

But in Herreros’s eyes, those championships weren't the most important legacy Sabonis left. The most important thing was what he had once said to a lost and confused Herreros.

"Why do I always manage you? Do you think the captain's title is just for show? Helping you become a better player isn't my goal; making you a better version of yourself is what a captain does. Don't let yourself down, Alberto."

Herreros let out a long breath.

"I think I’m a qualified Real Madrid captain now, Arvydas."