Chapter 29: An Astronomical Endorsement

After the game between the Clippers and the Pistons ended, Mark received the latest offers from several major companies.

Nike was willing to offer a seven-year, eighty-million-dollar shoe contract, but only fifty million of that was guaranteed. The remaining thirty million depended on He Xinghui making more than four All-Star appearances, being named to the All-Rookie Team, and maintaining an average of over twenty points per game. In other words, Nike’s executives still didn’t truly believe He Xinghui would make it; they were simply betting on his potential for publicity.

Of course, one couldn’t really blame them. Given He Xinghui’s physical gifts, skepticism was understandable.

Adidas’s contract came with no such strings, but the price was much lower: four years, forty-one million. The mere one million rounding showed just how stingy Adidas was. If He Xinghui hadn’t previously claimed his endorsement price would rise by ten thousand a day, Adidas probably wouldn’t have added that extra million at all.

Besides these two, Reebok and Puma also made offers. Puma’s contract was even smaller than Adidas’s—who knew where they got their confidence.

Reebok, however, surprised Mark with their offer: seven years, ninety-five million, higher than LeBron’s deal. But getting all that money wouldn’t be easy. Only forty million was guaranteed; the remaining fifty-five million was all conditional. Each All-Star selection was worth two million, a starting role three million, a scoring title five million, an MVP eight million, and a championship as a team’s core ten million. These rewards had a cap: together, they couldn’t exceed fifty-five million.

Though Reebok offered the most, Mark didn’t think it was better than Nike’s deal. The conditions were simply too demanding. Making the All-Star team was feasible, especially with fans from China backing him; if He Xinghui stayed healthy and kept up a twenty-point average, four or five selections in seven years seemed possible.

But a scoring title, MVP, or championship? Those were another matter entirely—verging on fantasy. These were honors reserved for the league’s true elites. Even someone as great as Duncan had never won a scoring title. At that time, the scoring crown was monopolized by a handful of players; others had no chance. MVP was even harder—Kobe had been in the league a decade and only won one MVP his entire career. As for winning a championship, one could ask Barkley and Malone; they’d surely have much to say about that struggle.

In Mark’s view, Nike’s contract was the best. But ultimately, the choice was entirely He Xinghui’s to make. Mark dialed his number. The first call didn’t connect, so he tried again.

This time, the call went through, but he was startled by a series of flesh-and-bone collisions coming from the other end, nearly dropping his phone in fright. Disturbing the boss during such a moment could well be a capital offense.

Who could it be? Mark’s mind raced through all the men close to He Xinghui—friends, teammates, fans, even trainers he’d arranged. But as long as it wasn’t him, Mark was secretly relieved; his frequent business trips gave him a good excuse to avoid He Xinghui’s summons.

“Mark, what’s so urgent?” He Xinghui was in the middle of a workout with the beautiful Cindy; had the phone not rung twice in a row, he wouldn’t have answered.

“Boss, the three major companies have made their offers…” Mark reported on the negotiation progress.

“I suggest you go with Nike. You’ll get the most guaranteed money, Nike’s reputation is unmatched, and their marketing power is the strongest. It’s the ideal partnership—”

“No, I’m choosing Reebok.” He Xinghui cut him off.

Even Cindy paused, curious about his decision.

“Why? Reebok’s terms are too hard to meet,” Mark said.

Why? That was a long story. Coming from the future, He Xinghui knew Nike and Adidas’s positions on certain things, and harbored some prejudice against both. Not enough to make them enemies, but no reason to cooperate with them, either. Of course, that wasn’t something he could explain to Mark.

“Too hard? If I can’t win at least one scoring title in seven years, I’d be ashamed to keep playing in this league. As for MVPs and championships, those will be a breeze for me. Besides, what’s the point of succeeding with the strongest partner? Even if Nike remains number one, no one will credit me, since they’re already at the top.”

“I’d rather join forces with an underdog and topple the giants. That’s why I’m choosing Reebok.” He Xinghui offered a rather pretentious explanation.

Yet it wasn’t entirely empty boasting. The league had long told the story of how Nike and Jordan made each other great—how Nike, not yet a major player, went all in on Jordan and they both won big. Most agreed that Jordan contributed to Nike’s success. But nobody thought Nike’s rise had anything to do with LeBron. As Draymond Green put it, Nike was already on top before LeBron ever joined.

Signing with Nike now would be gilding the lily. Reebok, on the other hand, desperately needed the help. If, by chance, Reebok managed to overtake Nike and Adidas in the future, their partnership would become legendary in league history.

“You’re the boss; it’s your call.” Mark didn’t believe a word of He Xinghui’s reasoning. If “not winning a scoring title means you shouldn’t be in the league,” then the NBA might as well disband. Winning MVP “easily”? He was speechless. He’d never dare leak such comments to the press, or they’d tear He Xinghui apart for his arrogance.

As for taking down Nike? Mark was done even trying to respond to such madness.

After Mark hung up, Cindy finally spoke. “You really want to go up against Nike?”

“That’s right. Pretty cool, huh?” He Xinghui grinned.

“Of course—it’s awesome,” Cindy replied, her eyes sparkling. She saw a young man before her with grand ambitions, destined for greatness.

“There’s a TV show that invited me on to do a bit of publicity—can I spill the news?” Because of her romantic connection with He Xinghui courtside, Cindy had gained a bit of minor fame, and a lesser-known TV station wanted to ride the wave by inviting her.

“Go ahead. You can even brag about how long I lasted if you want,” He Xinghui said indifferently. Positive or negative, any news was good news—it meant attention. As for his image, well, a certain man mired in legal troubles in Eagle County still had sixty million fans. Another, mature and steady since eighteen, with a sterling reputation, still had plenty of haters.

In the NBA, strength was what truly mattered; image was nothing.

He patted the two basketballs on the bed, then put on his pants and headed to the gym to get his hands on the real thing.

He knew well—on this stage, only ability truly counted.