Chapter 80: The Press Conference

At the press conference, the defeated Lakers were the first to face the media.

Kobe was clearly in a foul mood, but he still showed up.

“Kobe, do you feel regret over losing this crucial game?” a reporter asked.

“I regret every single game I lose. Besides, this wasn’t some crucial battle—it was just a regular season game,” Kobe replied, his face expressionless.

It was a deft answer, but the reporters weren’t about to let him off so easily. What they really wanted was to provoke Kobe into showing his true, possibly furious, self.

“Kobe, this wasn’t just an ordinary game. This was a duel between you and your ‘Big Cousin.’ How does it feel to lose to him?” Lucy asked bluntly, not bothering to consider whether she might offend Kobe; she was already determined to align herself with Hoshin.

Even with all his experience with the press, Kobe’s composure slipped when he heard this question. “I scored 64 points today, OK?”

“I know, but you still lost,” said Lucy.

“I’ll win next time.” The result was already set in stone—Kobe could only look to the future.

Lucy wanted to ask another question, but the press officer quickly handed the floor to another reporter, lest the press conference dissolve into a shouting match between Kobe and Lucy.

Another reporter asked, “Kobe, after this game, how would you evaluate your Big Cousin? Do you see him as the next King of Los Angeles?”

This was exactly the sort of infuriating question that made losing stars hate post-game interviews.

Of course, Kobe wanted to show some disdain for Hoshin, but having just lost, anything he said would lack conviction.

“He’s a very talented player,” Kobe said helplessly, resorting to the blandest official response.

It truly was an empty statement—anyone with eyes could see that someone who had scored 65 points was, indeed, an exceptional player.

“In the game, Hoshin kissed Charlize in front of everyone. Wasn’t that romantic? Are you jealous?” asked another reporter.

What kind of idiotic questions were these?

Kobe was seething inside. He was a married man—how could he possibly say he was jealous? But if he said he wasn’t, they’d call him a liar the next day.

“I just focus on the game,” Kobe replied.

...

In the home team’s locker room, Hoshin, fresh from his shower, began reviewing his performance in tonight’s game.

He had shot 23-of-40 from the field, including 14-of-25 from beyond the arc, and made 5-of-6 free throws, finishing with 65 points. He had just broken all his previous records for attempts, makes, missed shots, three-pointers, free throws, and total points.

As expected, the secret to breaking records was simple: just take more shots. He had mastered the art.

Among his stats, the number of three-pointers made set a new league record; his 65 points ranked seventh all-time in a single game. The names above him were old legends—Wilt Chamberlain, Elgin Baylor, Michael Jordan—all retired. That meant Hoshin now held the highest single-game scoring record among active players, surpassing the likes of McGrady, Iverson, Kobe, LeBron, and Shaq.

To outsiders, this seemed unbelievable, but to Hoshin, it felt only natural.

To achieve these numbers, he’d burned through a whopping 1,500 Rage Points—almost enough to upgrade one of his abilities to an A rating. He’d used Klay Thompson’s God Mode Card for 1,000 points, the “Sundering Dunk” for 100 points, a stamina potion for 200, and finally the “100% Buzzer-Beater Card” for another 200.

He hadn’t just bent the rules—he’d broken them four times in one game. And even so, he’d only beaten Kobe by a single point. If Kobe knew, he’d probably die of fury right in the bathroom.

It had been a heavy expenditure, but the rewards were significant.

Kobe alone had provided him with 996 Rage Points—fitting for someone who worked as hard as Kobe. Odom, Parker, and the rest contributed between 20 and 100 each, totaling nearly 500.

In other words, Hoshin had almost broken even.

But what he’d gained in honor was immeasurable.

This game had cemented his place in the league. No one would ever look down on him as a rookie again. The match itself had become an instant classic, a memory to be treasured.

All in all, Hoshin felt it was worth every bit of effort.

“Hoshin, it’s our turn,” Coach Dunleavy came into the locker room, grinning as he patted Hoshin on the shoulder, signaling him to head to the press conference.

Hoshin’s dazzling performance had put the coach in excellent spirits too. At the very least, it would earn him a reputation as someone with an eye for talent and a knack for developing rookies.

Victory brings glory, defeat brings shame—this rule holds true everywhere.

At the press conference, there were no more questions about Hoshin’s attitude, no more mockery about him just seeking attention, no more doubts about his ability. Only praise remained.

“Hoshin, congratulations on winning such a pivotal game,” a reporter said.

“No, it was just an ordinary regular-season match,” Hoshin replied, echoing Kobe’s earlier words, but with a completely different effect.

When Kobe called it just a regular game, it sounded like an excuse. When Hoshin said it, it carried the air of a master.

“Hoshin, how do you feel after winning tonight?” another reporter asked.

“I feel a little tired,” Hoshin answered honestly.

The reporters were at a loss—Hoshin didn’t play by the usual script.

“After tonight, do you think you’re better than Kobe?” someone pressed, hoping to stir the pot.

It was a tough question. To say yes would be arrogant, but to say no would seem self-effacing.

“I don’t know if I’m better, but I can say for sure—I’m better looking,” Hoshin quipped, deftly changing the subject.

“Hoshin, can you tell us why you fell for Charlize?” another reporter asked, hoping for some tabloid scoop.

“Of course—because she’s beautiful,” Hoshin replied.

“So you’re saying you’re attracted to her looks?” the reporter joked.

“Isn’t that obvious? If not for her looks, would I be forming a sworn sibling bond with her? Why would I even bother chasing her?” Hoshin retorted, openly questioning the reporter’s intelligence.

The room broke into laughter.

There was nothing wrong with his answer, but people usually preferred to dress such feelings up as ‘love.’ To admit it so boldly was certainly unconventional.

After that, the reporters moved on to more routine questions—how did it feel to score 65 points, what was it like to become the top active scorer, who did he most want to thank for his achievement...

Though Hoshin typically favored honesty, at this moment he found himself giving standard, official responses. After all, he couldn’t very well thank the system or some mysterious power in front of the world.