[Congratulations to the host for successfully entering the NBA. Super Training Ground NBA Version 1.0 is now activating!]
[Based on your draft position, the system will automatically match your training multiplier.]
Luke had just returned to his hotel room when the system prompts flashed. He had to admit, the system was incredibly intuitive; it only signaled him when he was in a private space, ready to process the news.
[Super Training Ground NBA Version 1.0 Activated!]
Once the update was complete, Luke pulled up his status panel.
Name: Luke ThorneHeight: 2.03m (6'8")Wingspan: 2.18m (7'2")Weight: 96kgSystem Level: NBA Version 1.0 (0/500 Hours)Training Multiplier: 20xActual Training Time: 0Boosted Training Time: 0Skill Points: 10,000
Luke blinked at the 20x multiplier. It seemed the perks of being the 6th overall pick were quite substantial. To upgrade the system to Version 2.0—which would double the multiplier to 40x—he needed to accumulate 500 hours of training. At his current pace, that would take about 50 days of dedicated work.
Right now, only one thought occupied Luke's mind: I just want to train.
The system had also added a new feature: the Skill Recycling Bin. As the name suggested, he could sell back skills he no longer needed. A Grade B skill fetched 8,000 points, while a Grade A skill was worth 40,000.
After a full summer of grinding and purchasing his Grade C skill, Luke still had 10,000 points banked—enough for another Grade B skill. He currently had tools for three-pointers, defense, passing, and layups. He only lacked elite handles and a mid-range jumper to round out his arsenal. But to become a true NBA superstar, he needed to elevate everything to Grade A or S.
He did the math. A Grade A skill cost 50,000 points. If he sold a Grade B skill, he'd still need 32,000 points. With a 20x multiplier, he would need to train for 1,600 hours to bridge that gap. That was a daunting mountain to climb, but there was a shortcut: training with NBA superstars provided a massive hidden bonus.
Luke set a new goal for the off-season: find a "tool man"... no, a superstar, to train with.
Exiting the system, Luke checked his phone. It was flooded with congratulatory messages from his friends at Davidson, as well as Idan Ravin and Carmelo Anthony.
"Luke, keep grinding! When you make a name for yourself, don't forget to recommend your favorite trainer to your teammates!" Ravin wrote.
"Kid, I regret it! I shouldn't have made that bet with you," Melo's message read. "Old man George Karl found out about the video and won't stop nagging me. PS: Welcome to the league, rookie!"
Seeing Melo's message, Luke remembered that the relationship between Anthony and George Karl was nearing a breaking point. While they were harmonious early on, Karl's hatred for Melo's ISO-heavy style had created a deep rift. Karl wanted selflessness and defensive effort; Melo wanted to score.
Karl was the type of coach who demanded absolute control over the team's movements—if he said go East, you didn't dare go West. In contrast, coaches like Mike D'Antoni or Phil Jackson were "enablers"; if they told you to go East but you found a better path West, they would encourage your creativity. Karl was better suited for "underdog" squads, while the Zen Master and D'Antoni were built for superstar-led dynasties.
Luke realized that by changing history, Melo might never end up in New York. The NBA landscape was shifting away from his memories.
He scrolled down to an unsaved number. The message inside made him pause.
"Congratulations, Luke! It isn't easy for a Chinese player to make it into the NBA. Seize every opportunity. I hope you have a spectacular career. — Yao Ming."
Earlier that year, during the Western Conference Semifinals, Yao had suffered a stress fracture in his left ankle. Many believed that was the Rockets' best chance at a title; if they had gotten past the Lakers, the trophy was theirs. Instead, Yao was sidelined, the Rockets lost in seven, and he would eventually miss the entire next season. Luke knew the tragic truth: Yao would only play five more games in his career before retiring.
"Thank you, Big Yao. Please focus on your recovery. I wish you a speedy return," Luke replied.
Finally, he called home. It was morning in China, and his parents had likely just finished watching the draft broadcast.
"Son!" his mother, Chen Lei, chirped. "You've made me so proud! Every relative we have has been calling to ask about you!"
Luke smiled, imagining his mother's boastful tone. Then came his father, Lu Jianguo.
"You're the first Chinese perimeter player to be a lottery pick! Don't you dare embarrass me out there! I heard Yi Jianlian and Sun Yue haven't had it easy—learn from their experiences and stay focused!"
His father had clearly been cramming NBA knowledge; he even knew what the "Lottery" was now.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll work hard. By the way, I wanted to talk to you about my jersey number."
"Pick Number 9! I've already decided!" his father shouted.
"Oh? Why 9?"
"Because of the '9-5 Supreme' saying! 9 is the greatest of the single digits, and it's lucky. Besides, you were picked at number 6—if you flip a 6 over, it's a 9! Pick 9!"
Luke laughed. The logic was surprisingly sound. "Alright, Dad. Number 9 it is."