Chapter 104: Responsibility Makes a Boy Grow Up (Part II)

Turgon’s second three-pointer of the game did not draw much attention from the opposing team. Compared to his earlier performances, the players of the Capital Youth Team regarded this shot as more a stroke of luck. However, for the Border Youth Team, this sudden, fierce shot was the clarion call for their counterattack. Although trailing by double digits, the young men of the Border Youth Team never gave up their pursuit of victory.

The Capital Youth Team’s offense proceeded as usual. Tao Zheyong no longer dwelled on the earlier grudges. He was still young; even with remarkable talent, he lacked the courage and standing to challenge Liu Sicheng’s authority. This was a far cry from the days of Wang Lei, who confronted Liu Sicheng’s disdain head-on.

Meanwhile, Hawul remained undeterred in his perimeter defense. Though his stamina had waned considerably, Tao Zheyong’s energy was also nearly depleted. This was evident when Tao, upon receiving a pass from the outside into the paint, chose not to force a shot but instead passed to a teammate who had come around a screen.

Despite being down by double digits, the Border Youth Team’s unwavering spirit and their high-tempo style quietly began to carve out advantages. Entering the latter half of the fourth quarter, the Capital Youth Team showed cracks in both offense and defense. Turnovers increased, and the players’ hunger for victory seemed to wane.

Wang Lei’s insistence on rigorous conditioning had laid a solid foundation for the Border Youth Team. Against another youth squad, their stamina held a clear edge.

The Capital Youth Team’s possession ended with a missed shot. Tao Zheyong made no effort to battle for the rebound, which was grabbed by Wang Zhaohui, who had charged into the paint.

Suddenly, the Border Youth Team surged forward, their entire lineup reigniting. Their three-line fast break remained sharp, while the Capital Youth Team’s retreat was noticeably sluggish.

Turgon led the charge, and Wang Zhaohui immediately threw the ball ahead. Turgon caught it with ease and scored a layup, trimming the deficit to ten points.

A fifteen-point lead had made Liu Sicheng confident of victory, but he hadn’t anticipated such a swift shift in momentum. The previously sluggish Turgon had suddenly erupted.

Liu Sicheng called a timely timeout—partly to give his players a brief rest, fully aware of their stamina limits, and partly to disrupt the opponent’s rhythm.

Turgon had seemingly rediscovered his old form, bounding around like a little rabbit, embodying the pure joy that basketball brought him.

Hawul came up beside Turgon and ruffled his hair. The entire atmosphere of the Border Youth Team began to shift.

When play resumed, the Capital Youth Team made slight adjustments, substituting players with depleted energy for fresher reserves. Yet Liu Sicheng kept his core players on the court, placing his utmost trust in them.

After a brief rest, Tao Zheyong scored two points on a solo drive, successfully shaking off Hawul, though this effort drained the last of his stamina.

Turgon pushed back into the frontcourt but faced tight defense.

In his exhilaration, Turgon maintained his composure, opting not to take a reckless shot. Instead, he passed to Cai Aihong, who had moved up high, then switched positions with Wang Zhaohui.

Cai Aihong demonstrated good court awareness, using his body and a give-and-go screen with Wang Zhaohui to create space.

Wang Zhaohui accelerated toward the paint, drawing the Capital Youth Team’s collapsing defense.

At the baseline, Hawul moved to set a high-quality screen for Turgon, who was darting along the line. Tao Zheyong, feeling slowed on his feet, didn’t switch to defend Turgon.

Turgon smoothly received Wang Zhaohui’s timely pass from one baseline to the other, hesitated not at all, and released a three-pointer.

The gap shrank to nine points, and the game remained undecided.

With less than five minutes remaining, nine points was a precarious margin.

Liu Sicheng paced the sideline, shouting at his players to steady themselves. Meanwhile, across the court, Wang Lei sat back calmly, confident his team’s work was done. Now, it was up to these young men to perform.

Life is filled with stories—joys and sorrows, separations and reunions, legendary tales both witnessed and whispered. But the fans in Ji Song Gymnasium that day were witnessing a story verging on classic.

With four minutes left, Turgon sank his third three-pointer of the match, cutting the deficit to seven. Tao Zheyong had earlier drawn a foul inside, converting one of two free throws.

At three and a half minutes left, Turgon hit his fourth three-pointer, narrowing the gap to six. The Capital Youth Team had just scored a sneaky basket under the rim through team play.

With two minutes and fifty seconds remaining, Turgon drained a fifth three-pointer, bringing the difference to five points. Tao Zheyong again scored two points.

By now, the crowd in Ji Song Gymnasium applauded Turgon, the white-haired young man whose consecutive three-pointers had made them forget his earlier clumsy displays.

Liu Sicheng grew anxious. He tried to reassure himself: there were still over two minutes left; the opponents couldn’t keep shooting endlessly.

But in the next moment, with two minutes and six seconds remaining, Turgon launched his sixth personal three-pointer—an outrageous shot taken a full meter behind the arc.

The arena erupted in applause. Many marveled at Turgon’s audacity and luck—shooting from so far out, daring to do so. Most attributed it to fortune.

The gap shrank to two points; the Capital Youth Team players grew flustered. Yet their tactical discipline remained. After Liu Sicheng called the final timeout and adjusted, they executed a brilliant inside-outside play. An outside shooter nailed a three-pointer, pushing the lead back to five.

Only ninety seconds remained.

Turgon entered a mystical state. The basket seemed as vast as the ocean to him. A subtle sensation infused his hands, making every touch feel effortless.

In the ensuing Border Youth Team possession, the Capital Youth Team deployed relentless double and even triple coverage on Turgon, sticking two defenders to him like glue.

Yet, now in a near-divine zone, Turgon received a sideline pass and, contorting his body, lofted the ball toward the hoop with an unorthodox motion.

He rushed the shot because the shot clock was nearly expired. The Capital Youth Team’s defense had been tight, stifling ball movement, forcing the ball out of bounds with just over two seconds left.

The ball struck the backboard in an almost miraculous arc and bounced into the net. After a brief silence, Ji Song Gymnasium exploded in cheers—what a magical shot.

One minute remained.

Liu Sicheng panicked. The Capital Youth Team panicked. They hadn’t expected such resilience and luck from their opponents. It was astounding, almost unbelievable.

With no timeouts left, the Capital Youth Team’s final possession descended into chaos. Tao Zheyong tried a tough drive but was tightly guarded by Hawul and Cai Aihong.

In the final moments, the Capital Youth Team forced a desperate shot that missed everything, flying out of bounds.

With thirty seconds to go, the Border Youth Team trailed by only two points.

Wang Lei did not call a timeout, even if he had one. Instead, he stood at the sideline, shouting to his players, “Let the little rabbit take it. Let him take it.”

The entire crowd rose to their feet. They had seen fierce games before, but such an exhilarating youth match was rare.

Li Weihong and Ma Pingdong’s faces flushed with excitement, swept up by the atmosphere. This was the magic of basketball, the allure of competitive sport.

Turgon calmly advanced past halfcourt. The Capital Youth Team, without timeouts or alternative tactics, pinned their hopes on their last defensive stand and a dash of luck against Turgon.

Seconds ticked by. Although unaccustomed to such pressure, Turgon remained remarkably composed. Today’s ordeal would be unforgettable. From now on, this white-haired boy nicknamed “Little Rabbit” would grow into a true man—responsible and mature, regardless of whether his final shot found the basket.

Ten seconds. Turgon moved, screens set, double teams converged. Players summoned their last reserves of physical and mental strength.

Five seconds. Dribbling space vanished as three defenders closed in around him.

Four seconds. Amid the throng, Turgon leapt and propelled the ball forward in a motion reminiscent of a shot put.

Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on the soaring basketball. Though this was a seemingly ordinary match, the charged atmosphere had drawn all into a state of heightened tension.

“Swish—”

The sound of the ball slicing through the net was exquisite. Everyone knew then: this white-haired young man was no mere lucky shooter. He believed in his shot. He knew he had grown up.