Chapter Twenty-One: Formidable Foe

On the 15th, the Clippers were set to play the Pistons on the road.

Originally, this game wasn’t scheduled for national broadcast—after all, before this season, the Clippers had always lingered at the bottom, with little name recognition to draw viewers.

But ever since Hoshin Hui emerged, the Clippers’ spotlight had been growing brighter by the day.

So, TNT decided to broadcast the game live, with the wildly popular Barkley and Smith on commentary.

Even before tipoff, these two live wires were already heating up the atmosphere.

“Hoshin is demanding a ten-million-dollar annual sneaker deal. Kids these days have some appetite,” Barkley sighed.

Back in his day, even as a top star in the league, his own annual salary had only been a few million. And now, a rookie with only four games under his belt dared to ask for an eight-figure endorsement—utterly outrageous.

“The times have changed, Sir Charles. With Hoshin’s commercial value, I think he’s worth every penny,” Smith countered, as naturally as if their roles required opposition. After all, a lively debate was far more entertaining than mutual praise.

“No way any company will offer him that kind of deal. Let’s make a bet: if anyone gives him a ten-million-dollar contract, I’ll kiss your behind,” Barkley declared.

“Oh, come on, can’t we wager something less crude? Why are you always fixated on my rear?” Smith shot back.

As the two bantered and kept the laughs coming, the players took the court.

When it was Hoshin Hui’s turn to enter, the crowd responded with both applause and boos.

That, in itself, was a remarkable achievement—rarely did the final pick of the draft draw any notice, let alone reactions from opposing fans.

To Pistons fans, it was clear: Hoshin Hui was no ordinary rookie.

Their feelings toward him were mixed—some were disappointed, blaming Dumars for passing on him. Others staunchly supported Dumars and, by extension, took a dim view of Hoshin Hui.

But none of this fazed Hoshin Hui.

Tonight, he was in the starting lineup—whether it was Coach Dunleavy’s decision or the front office bowing to public pressure was anyone’s guess.

The game began.

Clippers’ starters: Mobley, Hoshin Hui, Maggette, Brand, Kaman.

Pistons’ starters: Chauncey Billups, Hamilton, Prince, Rasheed Wallace, Ben Wallace.

Looking at the opposing lineup, a chill ran down Hoshin Hui’s spine.

While the Pistons lacked a conventional superstar, every position was occupied by a hard-nosed competitor.

Billups’ efficiency rating was always among the league’s best—his stats might not jump off the page, but his impact was immense.

Hamilton, known as “Rip,” was basketball’s energizer bunny, racking up over twenty points a season with his deadly midrange game and frequent All-Star selections.

Prince, though less heralded, was a defensive specialist, regularly earning a spot on the All-Defensive Second Team. Even Leonard, the future “Death Grip,” sometimes landed there—anyone who held that spot for years was not to be underestimated.

Rasheed, dubbed “The Roaring Lord,” was a four-time All-Star.

Ben Wallace was a perennial Defensive Player of the Year and multiple-time All-Star starter.

Hoshin Hui vaguely recalled that the Pistons would finish this season 64-18, best in the league.

So, at this moment, Detroit was an even tougher opponent than the Spurs.

Fortunately, the Clippers’ roster was decent as well—historically, even without Hoshin Hui, they’d reached 47 wins, sixth in the West, and made the playoffs.

Hoshin Hui had lucked out. Some media outlets were already crediting the team’s strong start, at least in part, to him.

The whistle blew. Kaman, leveraging his height, secured the tip, and the Clippers took the first possession.

Hamilton was assigned to guard Hoshin Hui, who wasted no time stirring the pot: “Rip, AJ’s only for All-Stars, you know.”

This was a jab Michael Jordan had once thrown at Hamilton. Back in the day, Hamilton had eagerly pitched himself as an endorser for Air Jordans, only to be brutally shot down by “His Airness.”

These days, though, Hamilton was an All-Star in his own right, with an AJ endorsement to boot.

So Hoshin Hui’s barb didn’t cut very deep—it was just the opening salvo, and he wasn’t in any hurry.

He stuck to the coach’s playbook, moving energetically without the ball, but Hamilton shadowed him relentlessly, giving him no space to operate.

“Rip, mind if I check your backbone? See if it’s as soft as they say. After all, a man with true grit, after being turned down, wouldn’t go crawling back,” Hoshin Hui prodded further.

He figured that, after Jordan’s rejection, Hamilton must have sworn, “You may brush me off now, but soon you’ll wish you hadn’t.” Yet, when fame and fortune called, Hamilton ended up endorsing AJ anyway.

Was there a tinge of resignation in that choice? Hoshin Hui wasn’t sure, but he was willing to find out.

Sure enough, Hamilton, who’d previously been unfazed, shot Hoshin Hui a venomous glare—clearly, that one had struck a nerve.

At the same time, his anger meter ticked up forty points.

Hoshin Hui grinned inwardly. He was discovering that his system had a knack for prying into others’ sore spots.

On the Clippers’ first attack, Brand missed over Rasheed’s smothering defense. Except for Hamilton, every Pistons starter was a defensive menace.

Now on defense, Hoshin Hui immediately felt the pain of starting—this was a whole new level of pressure.

Hamilton’s stamina was out of this world; he ran continually in the offensive set, forcing Hoshin Hui to chase him relentlessly and draining his own energy far faster than usual.

“Rip, you know why you have to run so much?” Hoshin Hui needled.

“Why?” Hamilton couldn’t help but reply.

“Because you’re weak. Guys like Jordan can simply take the ball and attack. You, though, have to rely on endless motion to find your shot because you’re just not strong enough,” Hoshin Hui said.

“…” Hamilton’s anger meter climbed another twenty points—because it was all true.

He wasn’t a top-tier talent; he needed the system to shine.

Still, Hamilton wasn’t about to be outdone. “Even so, I’m still better than you. You can’t create for yourself, and you can’t even get a look off the ball,” he retorted.

“…” Hoshin Hui was left speechless and a little wounded himself.

If you play with fire, sometimes you get burned. Today, he’d been hit where it hurts, too.

“If that’s how you want to play, then I won’t hold back,” Hoshin Hui decided. Time to teach Hamilton a lesson—he opened up the system’s shop.

After the last game against the Pacers, he’d accumulated 450 anger points.

He’d planned to save them for attribute upgrades, but at this moment, he mentally entered the system and scanned the skills on offer.

Fadeaway Jump Shot (Jordan Edition): ignores defender, 80% success rate, lasts three minutes, costs 200 anger points.

That was it.

Hoshin Hui was ready to show Hamilton what real midrange mastery looked like.