Sports Medicine Master System

"James, your rhythm is fantastic. You have a special talent that pulls your opponents into your tempo. That's an ability to control the game, which is outstanding."

George Gervin offered his assessment.

Chen Yu and the others all looked at him.

'Pulling opponents into your tempo, controlling the game... are you sure you're listening to yourself right now?'

Compared to these so-called talents and abilities, Chen Yu was more inclined to believe Harden's bizarre rhythm was simply a result of his own lack of stamina.

But he had hit the golden buzzer, and the rules were the rules, so no one could really object.

The golden buzzer was meant for finding hidden gems, after all.

It would be great if he really had talent, but even if he didn't, it wouldn't change anything.

Just then, Chen Yu suddenly sensed that something was wrong with Harden.

He was so excited about the golden buzzer that his chest was now heaving a little too violently.

"James, are you alright?" Chen Yu asked in a deep voice.

Harden nodded dazedly. He subconsciously tried to speak but suddenly found that he couldn't get any words out.

His eyes widened as he frantically fumbled for his inhaler. Only when his hand came up empty did he realize he had changed into his jersey and didn't have it on him.

"Fuck!"

Chen Yu cursed under his breath and shot to his feet, shouting at the executive director nearby, "Quick, find his things! His personal bag, his asthma inhaler!"

'The kid's having an asthma attack from being too excited.'

The words had barely left his mouth when Harden, on the court, began struggling to breathe. He clutched at his throat, his face a mask of panic.

The more he panicked, the more severe his body's stress response became.

While everyone else stood frozen in shock, Chen Yu had already rushed forward.

"Sit down!"

Chen Yu quickly pushed Harden down to sit.

"Don't panic. Stay calm." Chen Yu stared fixedly into Harden's eyes, trying to soothe him as the Eye of All-Seeing swiftly scanned his throat.

'His bronchial smooth muscles are already contracting violently, obstructing his airway.'

"Have you found it?! What about the first-aid kit? I remember we prepared an inhaler!"

Chen Yu yelled, turning his head.

As a doctor, Chen Yu had already considered the possibility of accidents when planning the show. He'd had the production team prepare first-aid measures, which should have included a corticosteroid inhaler for treating asthma.

At the same time, Chen Yu grabbed Harden's shoulder with his left hand. With his right, he quickly located an acupressure point at the base of Harden's throat and began pressing it firmly with his thumb.

Massaging this point could help open the airways and relieve the symptoms of an asthma attack.

"Found it!"

A staff member in the distance shouted, running over with an inhaler in hand.

Harden's small bag had been tossed backstage, and no one had paid attention to where it landed. They'd spent ages looking for it without success. If Chen Yu hadn't reminded them about the first-aid kit, it would have been a serious delay.

After a few frantic gasps from the inhaler, Harden's symptoms finally subsided. He lowered the device, his heart still pounding with fear. The whole ordeal had left him completely rattled.

His asthma had improved a lot since he started playing basketball, and his attacks were rarely this severe.

He wasn't sure what happened today. It was probably the overwhelming excitement that triggered such a violent attack. It had truly terrified him.

"How are you feeling? You okay?" Chen Yu asked.

Harden nodded dazedly, still shaken.

Chen Yu waved over a staff member and told him to take Harden to the hospital for a check-up.

Even though he seemed fine now, it was better to be safe and get him checked out at a hospital.

Just then, Jordan, who had gathered around with the others, suddenly began to applaud.

Soon, everyone in the venue—all the staff members—joined in.

Some even whistled.

"Chen, we have you to thank for that," George Gervin said, stepping forward to pat Chen Yu's arm. He had been frightened too; if he hadn't hit the golden buzzer, Harden wouldn't have gotten so excited and had an asthma attack.

It was a good thing Chen Yu was there.

In such a critical moment, only someone with Chen Yu's calm and decisive handling could have averted a disaster.

Otherwise, if something had really happened to Harden, he would have felt guilty for the rest of his life.

"Alright, alright. Let's take a break before we continue."

Chen Yu waved it off, though he made a mental note to remind the production team later. 'It might be a rare occurrence, but if an accident does happen, the emergency response needs to be faster.'

'And Harden... now that the kid's passed the auditions with a golden buzzer, we'll have to keep a closer eye on him in training camp to prevent any more issues.'

「Ten minutes later, the taping resumed.」

It was soon Curry's turn.

Number 143.

He didn't need much of an introduction. Everyone there knew him; they were all familiar.

Even TJ Ford had gotten to know Curry after coming to Phoenix.

Chen Yu could tell that Curry was fired up, clearly eager to prove himself in front of everyone. But Chen Yu wasn't optimistic.

'His build, his ability to handle contact, his technical skills... they're all nowhere near the level needed to compete with Ford.'

"TJ, take this seriously," Chen Yu added as a final reminder.

Chen Yu was prepared to give him a pass, but a one-on-one was a one-on-one. There could be no holding back.

Ford was slightly taken aback but nodded.

The one-on-one began.

The rules for an American one-on-one were actually very unfavorable for Curry.

His greatest strength at the moment was his synergy with the ball.

When dribbling at high speed, getting past defenders, and adjusting his body after contact, his ball control was exceptionally strong. He rarely lost the ball.

It was the same in his varsity games. Due to his slender frame, he couldn't withstand physical contact from opponents.

However, his outstanding dribbling always allowed him to weave through tight spaces. He might look like he was getting knocked off-balance and about to lose possession, but he never did.

This ability to control the ball was so good that Chen Yu would have even had James practice with him to learn a thing or two.

But in an American one-on-one, you were limited to three dribbles.

Without being able to string dribbles together, he couldn't showcase that ability.

Creating a shot opportunity through physical contact was not his forte.

Sure enough, just as Chen Yu had that thought, Curry's shot was blocked.

He started with a behind-the-back dribble, followed by a quick stop and a change of direction. The moves were clean, but unfortunately, he was too slow and couldn't handle the physicality. Ford reacted in time, recovered to cut him off, and the instant they made contact, Curry was bumped so hard he almost lost his dribble.

But he didn't lose it. With a flick of his fingers, he regained control, instantly stepped back, jumped, and released the shot.

It was still his signature push shot.

Regarding Curry's shooting form, even now as a high school sophomore, he still shot that way.

Old Curry had told him more than once that he needed to change it because that form was too easy to block.

But it couldn't be helped. He was too slender and lacked upper-body strength.

Chen Yu had tried to help him adjust his form in the past, even having him do targeted exercises to improve his upper-body strength.

But the results were limited.

When he tried a standard shooting form, Curry's accuracy plummeted.

After some consideration, Chen Yu eventually gave up and just told Curry to shoot in whatever way felt natural to him.

Since forcing the change tanked his accuracy and created an even bigger flaw, it was better to just let him be. It wasn't like there weren't one or two other players in the NBA with weird shooting forms.

Finding the form that suited him best and then making adjustments based on that foundation was the ideal path.

SMACK! The rushed shot was, unsurprisingly, swatted down by Ford.

At the judges' table, the men exchanged glances, their expressions mixed.

The Curry before them had obvious weaknesses. His physical disadvantages were just too great.

But he wasn't without his bright spots. At the very least, his ball-handling skills made them take notice.

But if he weren't Stephen Curry, a performance like this wouldn't be nearly enough to earn their votes.

Good ball control was an asset, of course, but if that's all you looked at, you could find a dime a dozen streetballers on any blacktop with great handles.

If you're six-foot-eleven and can handle the ball like that, it's called generational talent. But if you're only five-foot-seven, it's just considered normal.

Curry's performance also struck the other players waiting their turn as laughable.

Among the hundred-plus people in attendance, quite a few let out jeering laughs.

"He's too small," Kevin Love muttered from within the crowd.

Klay Thompson, beside him, nodded in agreement. But after hearing the derisive laughter from those around them, he hesitated before adding, "Actually, I think everyone just has expectations for him that are way too high."

He sighed. There was something else he left unsaid.

'Just like me.'

Curry was the son of an NBA star, just like him. In fact, his own father was even more famous.

Ever since he was a kid, people Thompson met would always say, "Look, that's Michael Thompson's son. His dad was a number one draft pick, a key member of the Lakers' Showtime dynasty."

And then, whenever Thompson had a bad game, he would be followed by those same looks of disbelief and ridicule.

It was as if people expected him to be just as great as his father.

It was a terrible feeling, and it was the main reason Thompson didn't have many friends.

The reason he got along so well with Love was that Love also had an NBA player for a father. Misery loves company.

And now, watching Curry's performance, Thompson truly empathized.

Thanks to Chen Yu, Curry had received even more attention, appearing in newspapers and media reports since he was around ten years old.

'And here I am, still a nobody.'

'Now that he's on this show, performing so badly... you can only imagine the kind of ridicule he's going to face.'

On the court, Curry's second attempt was contested again.

The jeers from the crowd grew louder.

Thompson sighed quietly, a headache of his own starting to form.

He was number 214.

'When I get on the court tomorrow, Johnson and Jabbar will definitely recognize me.'

'My dad was their teammate, and since we live in Los Angeles, I met both of those legends when I was a kid.'

Love, beside him, had similar worries.

His dad, Stan Love, had been brief teammates with George Gervin on the Spurs during the '74-'75 season. He later went to the Baltimore Bullets, where he was teammates with Wes Unseld for two years.

Even though Love hadn't been born yet, they'd probably figure out who he was just by looking at his bio.

As his mind wandered, a sudden wave of gasps erupted from the crowd.

Klay Thompson quickly looked up.

"What happened?" There was no instant replay, but seeing the ball fall through the net, he figured it must have gone in.

Love, beside him, said urgently, "His release was so fast! And he made it."

At the recording, Chen Yu and the other six judges were also momentarily stunned.

On that third possession, Curry hadn't initiated contact or driven to the basket. Instead, taking advantage of the step of space Ford was giving him, he had dribbled diagonally away from his defender.

This wasn't a good choice. Other players had tried it before.

You're moving backward while the defender, Ford, is closing in.

No matter how fast you retreat, you can't outpace an advancing defender.

Moving away from the basket also increased the shot's degree of difficulty.

But to everyone's surprise, as Ford lunged forward, Curry had already gotten the shot off.

The gather and release were incredibly fast.

The onrushing Ford only had time to get a hand up before the ball was gone.

The crucial thing was that this shooting form was slightly different from Curry's previous one.

Before, Curry's shot was a standard push shot.

But now, Chen Yu noticed his release point was a little higher, up around head level.

Also, it looked like he had very little hip bend.

It was a significant departure from his previous shooting form.

'The key is, when the hell did this kid change his shooting form? I had no idea.'