Sports Medicine Master System

Amidst rising stage smoke, Gate 5 lowered, and a smiling Jabbar walked out, dressed in a loose-fitting suit.

Below, nearly all the players erupted in screams.

"Fack, fack, fack!"

DeRozan, ecstatic, shouted "Fack" three times in a row and jumped up and down on the spot. "This is insane! He actually got so many superstars to come!"

"What can you do? He’s Miracle Chen!" beside him, Holidays howled with excitement.

In the NBA, Chen Yu truly had that kind of clout.

But the surprises didn’t seem to be over yet.

After Jabbar finished his opening remarks and stood aside with a smile, a low-pitched sound slowly began to fill the massive warehouse, gradually growing louder.

"Fack!"

In a corner of the crowd, the normally shy Durant craned his neck. He could no longer maintain his composure. After a cry of shock, he began looking around frantically, trying to spot that figure.

Sirius. That man’s signature theme music.

The next moment, DJ Leclerc’s highly recognizable voice—one that countless people had committed to memory—rang out.

"And now, for our last guest, let’s welcome, from North Carolina, 6-foot-6, guard, the one and only number 23, Michael Jordan!"

As soon as that voice was heard, the nearly three hundred teenagers in front of the stage went absolutely wild.

If you were to interview them and ask who their idol was, at least ninety percent would say their idol was Michael Jordan.

Just as everyone was craning their necks, searching for Jordan, the spotlights flashing overhead suddenly stopped and focused on a spot behind the crowd.

Somehow, Jordan was already standing there in a silver-gray suit, smiling and waving at everyone.

The screams nearly blew the roof off.

The camera zoomed in, circling Jordan.

Ernest, who was in charge of camera direction, looked at the young faces, all ecstatic beyond words, and excitedly gave Chen Yu a thumbs-up.

He had designed this opening.

But to achieve this kind of effect, Chen Yu’s help had been indispensable. Without Chen Yu’s pull, they could never have invited these people or achieved such an unbelievably explosive show opener.

At that moment, Ernest had a strong feeling that this show was going to be a massive hit.

A combination of reality TV and basketball—a show like this had never been done before.

Listening to his signature theme music, Jordan walked steadily through the crowd.

Everyone scrambled to push forward, stretching out their hands, hoping for a high-five from Jordan.

The true center of everyone’s attention.

It even made the five old-timers on stage show expressions of envy.

But what could they do? Jordan’s appeal was just too great.

"I saw in the reports that the league’s media company also invested?" Brian suddenly asked, looking at the scene. He then said sourly, "Chen, how come you didn’t come to me?"

He felt that, from the looks of it, this show would definitely be great and sell big.

’If I’d known, I would have invested.’ he thought.

Chen Yu glanced at him, puzzled. "Didn’t I go to Jerry? He invested, right?"

With the goal of reducing investment risk, making money together, and strengthening relationships, Chen Yu had pulled in several parties to co-invest in the show.

The league had also invested, as the show was essentially free promotion for the NBA.

It was only because of this sufficient funding that Chen Yu could offer these guys a payment they couldn’t refuse.

Clout was clout, but you couldn’t skimp on the compensation.

Brian pouted. "He’s him, I’m me. We’re different."

Jordan struggled through the crowd and came to a stop in the center of the stage.

He didn’t say many words of blessing. Instead, he spread his arms wide with an air of dominance and shouted, "Everyone, let the show begin!"

With cold fireworks going off behind the stage and the nearly three hundred teenagers screaming wildly, the show’s opening sequence was officially a wrap.

"That was insane."

Four teenagers gathered together. DeRozan’s face was still flushed with excitement, and his voice was a bit hoarse.

He’d been shouting too much earlier.

"Do you guys think we’ll get a chance to play with Jordan? If we do, I think I’ll pass out from happiness," Little Fatty Harden said, his eyes wide with yearning.

You hear that man’s name, fall in love with a sport, and then you train and compete with all your might. You just want, one day, to walk the path he walked, dreaming of becoming the best basketball player on the planet, just like him.

And so, the moment you finally see him in person, all those fantasies, that passion, and that anticipation erupt like a volcano.

"Look at my hands, they’re still shaking." Harden held up his trembling hands.

"Whose aren’t?" Westbrook shivered, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

Holidays slapped his cheeks a couple of times to calm himself down. "Don’t even talk about it. I just want filming to start right now. To be able to show my skills in front of Jordan, Dr. J, and Celestial Hook... Fack, I’m really going to lose my mind."

The other three nodded in agreement. They were all afraid they wouldn’t even be able to hold the ball steady when the time came.

At that moment, the on-site assistant director started calling out names.

When they entered, everyone had been given a numbered tag, supposedly distributed at random.

"Number 1! Number 1! Ammon Johnson from Chicago, Illinois, United States! Where are you?"

"Number 2! Stanley Robinson from Harik High School in Birmingham, Alabama! Raise your hand, quick!"

Several assistant directors with megaphones were continuously shouting names, calling players over to a separate area to film their introductory VCRs.

In the crowd, Durant glanced at his own number: 35. ’It should be my turn soon,’ he thought.

He stood alone in the crowd, listening to the players around him discussing the opening show.

Durant felt a twinge of regret.

’I should have pleaded with Chen Yu a bit more to get a spot for my brother. Otherwise, Beasley could have been here to see his idol, Jordan, in person.’

But it was too late for that now. Durant was just frustrated with himself for not being able to talk Beasley out of it last night.

’He shouldn’t have been drinking, at least.’

As his thoughts wandered, one player after another finished recording their VCRs.

Durant noticed that they were leaving the current warehouse.

When he had arrived earlier, he’d noticed another warehouse of about the same size right next door.

After the opening show ended, Chen Yu, Jordan, and the others had also gone over there.

’That must be the actual set for the show.’

He just didn’t know what the audition process would be like. Durant had no prior information, but he figured it would probably be like American Idol: show off your skills on the court and then get scored by legends like Jordan.

It seemed like there were only 30 spots available in the end. Durant felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach, unsure if he would make the final cut.

Before coming here, he was ranked ninth among all high school players in the nation on the scouting website Rivals, which was quite high.

But there were many similar rankings, all subjective. They had some reference value, but not that much.

It was only after arriving here that Durant realized just how many talented players there were across the country.

Like Oden, for instance—he was the center of everyone’s attention.

Or his good brother Beasley, who completely outclassed him in every aspect.

So, facing all these guys, Durant had no idea if he could ultimately make that 30-man roster.

As his thoughts drifted, Durant heard someone call out number 34’s name.

"Number 34, Blake Griffin from Oklahoma City."

The assistant director called the name twice.

His turn was next. Durant looked toward the voice, his eyes locking onto a tall, powerfully built teenager with an afro in the crowd.

Before he had time to think, Durant heard his own name being called.

His heart skipped a beat. He quickly raised his hand and pushed through the crowd to the assistant director.

In a corner of the warehouse, five chairs were set up, along with a camera on a tripod and some fill lights.

At the assistant director’s request, Durant sat down and stared at the camera, suddenly tongue-tied, not knowing what to say.

The assistant director was a middle-aged man. He told Durant to relax and just briefly talk about his personal background, hobbies, dreams, and things like that.

Facing the camera, Durant still felt completely uncomfortable. He gritted his teeth and began, his voice trembling, "My name is Kevin Durant. I was born in Washington, D.C. I... have a mom."

He faltered. Durant wanted to talk about his parents, but his father had left when he was only eight months old and had only returned two years ago.

Although Durant had accepted him back, he still felt a sense of distance and resisted him deep down.

The assistant director across from him burst out laughing. He quickly signaled the cameraman to restart and reminded Durant to take a deep breath and relax.

After taking a deep breath, Durant haltingly began to introduce himself.

He talked about how he started playing basketball at age eight, and how his mother had to haul 70-pound mailbags at the post office every day to pay for his training. He also mentioned that even though he had won a national championship in the AUU League, he was still rejected by a local high school coach because he was too skinny.

Finally, facing the camera, Durant hesitated for a moment before revealing the dream buried deep in his heart. "I want to make it to the NBA and then earn money to buy my mom a big house. She’s worked so hard to raise me."

Perhaps feeling that this sounded too blunt and materialistic, he quickly added, "Of course, I also want to become the best basketball player."

The assistant director gave him an "OK" sign and waved him away.

Durant stood up, only then realizing he had broken out in a cold sweat at some point.

Following a staff member, he went to the warehouse next door.

Passing through the back, he arrived in a backstage area filled with all sorts of equipment.

The teenagers who had gone before him were all waiting here. They were gathered around a television, which showed a live feed of the main set. The dozen or so boys let out cries of surprise from time to time.

Only then did Durant get a clear view of the set—it was a standard basketball court.

On one side of the court, where the scorer’s table should be, there was a long table.

Jordan, Jabbar, and the other four legends, along with Chen Yu, were sitting there, facing the cameras.

And on the tiered bleachers behind the six of them, a crowd of thirty or forty people was seated, though he didn’t know who they were.

At this moment, player number 19, who looked to be about 6-foot-9, was in the middle of a one-on-one American-style duel with LeBron James.

Durant vaguely remembered this player, number 19, was named Earl Clark, from Luo Wei High School in New Jersey. Like him, he was also a sophomore.

What shocked Durant even more, however, was that he hadn’t expected them to have to play one-on-one against James.

That was the Rookie of the Year!