Chapter 88: What Can You Do to Me?

The data harvest was quite impressive, but the gains in rage points were rather mediocre, totaling only 388. This was unavoidable—players from the Supersonics were too lackluster. Aside from the initial anger sparked by their mockery of He Xinghui, these guys somehow managed to become immune to his trash talk. Perhaps, deep down, they had already accepted themselves as mediocre, so when others called them trash, they remained unmoved.

He Xinghui knew that such results were the norm. The kind of windfall he had during the Lakers game was something rare and fleeting.

He Xinghui: Height 1.97 meters, wingspan 2.10 meters, weight 86 kilograms.

Talents: Strength B, Speed C, Jump C.

Shooting: Three-point A, Mid-range A, Attacking the rim C.

Skills: Ball control C, Passing C, Stealing C.

Defense: Man-to-man B, Help defense C.

Remaining rage points: 457.

Overall evaluation: A super sub in the NBA, strong offense but weak defense, with considerable tactical value.

Friendly reminder: Strengths and weaknesses are apparent. Please improve your shortcomings as soon as possible.

“Only 457 points. If I want another B, I’ll have to wait for the next game.”

He Xinghui muttered, then stood up to attend the post-game press conference.

Meanwhile, TNT was still broadcasting. This was a last-minute decision. He Xinghui often delivered memorable soundbites during interviews, and fans loved watching him say outrageous things. So, TNT adapted, extended the broadcast time, hoping to win the audience's favor and increase their engagement.

“Charles, do you think He will come up with something brilliant today?” Smith asked.

“I don’t think so. No one has that much inspiration. I’d bet his classic quotes from before were crafted in advance, not improvised. As his press conference appearances increase, the clever lines he can use will become fewer and fewer.” Barkley analyzed.

His words sounded reasonable at first.

No sooner had Barkley finished speaking than He Xinghui and Dunleavy appeared on screen. After a flurry of camera flashes, the reporters began their questions for He Xinghui. As usual, Dunleavy was ignored.

“He, congratulations on becoming the youngest player to achieve a triple-double. What are your thoughts on receiving this honor?” The first question was the perennial inquiry about feelings. In fact, such questions were quite foolish. A player’s true thoughts are rarely suitable for public discourse, so answers are usually formulaic and official: I’m very happy, thank my parents, thank my coach.

Whenever He Xinghui watched James being interviewed, he could guess what James would say before he even opened his mouth.

He Xinghui didn’t want to become as dull as James, so he replied, “Nothing special, really. I’m already used to it. I hope you’ll get used to it soon, too, and stop making such a fuss—because this is going to happen often in the future.”

It sounded arrogant, but it was truly what He Xinghui felt. He was young, a key focus for his team, a core allowed to play as he pleased—his greatest advantage. With the system’s help, no matter what strange stats he put up, it was no surprise.

“Holy shit, that’s so brazen. I want to scoff at him even through the screen,” Barkley fumed, once again outdone by He Xinghui.

And his prediction failed yet again.

“Haha, Charles, just accept it. He’s got endless clever lines up his sleeve,” Smith laughed.

“I don’t buy it. It’s not logical; no one can be that witty,” Barkley refused to concede.

At the scene, the reporters were also stunned by He Xinghui’s words.

“He, no offense, but I think what you said is too arrogant,” a reporter remarked.

“Arrogant? Maybe you’ve never heard truly arrogant words,” He Xinghui smiled. He wasn’t yet invincible, so he couldn’t be utterly reckless. When that day came, these foolish humans would finally understand what arrogance meant.

“I’d love to hear some,” the reporter said.

“Well, to be honest, my real thought is: The league might as well change all the records to my name in advance. After all, it’s only a matter of time,” He Xinghui offered a relatively modest remark, saving even more outrageous ones for later.

But even this “modest” statement shocked the reporters and audience alike.

“Damn, God, please strike him with lightning—I can’t take it anymore,”

Barkley suddenly felt that being called “Big Mouth” was an injustice. Compared to He Xinghui, his own mouth was a mere cherry.

Barkley, relying on his good relationship with He Xinghui, could curse aloud, while the reporters only did so in their hearts.

Changing all the records to his name in advance— even Jordan wouldn’t dare say that.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but I think you’re just a clown seeking attention. And this triple-double of yours was stat-padding. Do you dare deny it?” He Xinghui’s old acquaintance, Johnson, who wanted to bet with him, suddenly turned hostile, taking the “Barbossa route”—trying to attract attention by breaking the norm.

Unfortunately, He Xinghui was no stranger to breaking the norm. He knew Johnson wanted him to deny it, so he could cut a video clip mocking him for stat-padding.

So, He Xinghui admitted openly, “Why should I deny it? I did pad my stats. So what? Did we lose?”

“But your stat-padding will surely hurt the team...”

“Enough. Wait until I actually hurt the team, wait until we lose, then criticize me. For now, keep your displeasure to yourself,” He Xinghui cut him off.

“But He, every time you lose, you skip the press conference. How are we supposed to criticize you then?” another reporter reminded him.

“Exactly. Pretty clever, right?” He Xinghui’s words once again stunned everyone. They wanted to protest—this wasn’t clever, it was shameless.

Reporters unwilling to offend He Xinghui could swallow their words, but Johnson, having established himself as a He-hater, had no such scruples.

“To be blunt, you’re just shameless,” Johnson said.

“Haha, is today the first time you’ve met me? Ask those around you—who doesn’t know I’m shameless? Shameless, and what can you do about it?” He Xinghui laughed heartily.

“That’s all for today…” The Clippers’ press officer quickly ended the conference, his practiced intervention almost heartbreaking.

After all, this wasn’t his first time. Whenever He Xinghui was interviewed, he had to be prepared, because nine times out of ten, He Xinghui would end up arguing with the reporters.

What baffled him most was that, though such things should severely damage one’s image, in He Xinghui’s case, they seemed to have no effect. He still had plenty of devoted fans—a truly mystifying phenomenon.