Chapter Thirty-One: The Devil

On Monday, after finishing their daytime classes, the students of the Waterclock team headed to the YMCA gymnasium for their usual training.

Coach Bellman, who was always there waiting for them, was nowhere to be seen.

Gan Guohui frowned and muttered, "You don't think Mr. Bellman actually quit, do you?"

At that moment, Bellman appeared suddenly. Having overheard Gan Guohui, he said, "Fatty, that’s slander against your coach. Twenty wind sprints."

"Huh? I was just joking!"

"Thirty."

Gan Guohui dared not say another word and turned to start his sprints.

While the others snickered, they soon noticed that Bellman had brought along a stranger—a Black teenager. He was tall, sporting an afro, and wearing a brown t-shirt with holes in it. His dark face was held high, filled with wariness and hostility.

"Let me introduce our team's newest member, Bickel Franklin. He’s 6'4" and will be playing small forward."

"Hey, I haven’t agreed to join the team yet! I’m just here for a tryout."

"Right, a tryout... go change your clothes; we'll start with a physical assessment shortly."

Bellman handed Franklin a new uniform. After changing in the locker room and returning, Franklin looked even more like a basketball player.

During the physical assessment, he displayed excellent athleticism; dunking seemed as easy for him as eating or drinking. In the fundamental drills, his dribbling was solid, and though his shooting form was a bit awkward, his accuracy was decent. What impressed everyone most was his explosive power—his first step and jump were incredibly fast, like a spring, leaving the other Waterclock players in awe.

By the time he finished, Gan Guohui had completed his wind sprints, panting heavily but still standing.

Bellman was very satisfied with Franklin’s performance. He thought to himself that with Franklin’s physical gifts and skills, he had a chance to play in the NCAA Division I. However, he had too many "street-style" habits—the aftereffects of playing on the blacktop—that would require formal correction.

"Alright, let's begin training."

"Bobby, I said I’m just trying out. Let that guy 'A-Gan' come out. You said he’s better than me and that I can only be the second option?"

Bellman laughed, "You want to play A-Gan one-on-one?"

"That's right."

"That’s street stuff. One-on-one is only a small part of basketball. The best one-on-one player isn't necessarily the core of a team. Look at Wes Unseld and Elvin Hayes, or Earl Monroe and Willis Reed. We have exactly ten players today; let’s play a 5v5 after training. You two can prove who the real core is, how about that?"

Franklin hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Ever since convincing Franklin to come for a tryout yesterday, Bellman had been slowly leading him into a trap. By the time he’d worn the jersey, accepted the money, registered for classes, settled things with his family, and put in the training, there was no way this kid could refuse. Bellman had a knack for dealing with troubled youths like him—a mix of coaxing, trickery, and provocation to lead them by the nose.

*He’s much easier to handle than Gan,* Bellman thought. Gan Guoyang was someone he couldn't grasp at all; he could never read the boy's mind.

Meanwhile, Gan Guoyang remained silent, participating in the team practice as usual. During the session, Franklin kept observing Gan and even threw out a few provocations, but Gan ignored him completely, silently completing every drill.

Bellman’s training intensity was high. While Franklin was distracted at first, he soon had to focus entirely on the drills. When training concluded, Bellman organized a scrimmage and told Franklin, "I'm putting all the starters on your team, and the substitutes with A-Gan."

Franklin didn't care: "I’ll win regardless of who I'm with, as long as the ball is in my hands!"

Just as the game was about to start, Gan Guoyang suddenly leaned in and said to Franklin, "I know you. I’ve seen you before."

"What are you talking about?"

"I’ve seen you. It was near the Church of the Assumption. You were playing on the court. The ball slipped out and flew toward me. I wanted to pick it up and give it back to you, but you yelled at me."

"What are you talking about? I don't remember... I have played near the Church of the Assumption, but when was that?"

"A car swerved and almost hit me. I nearly died."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Gan Guoyang said nothing more and just gave him a faint, cold look as the scrimmage began.

Franklin’s mind became chaotic. He desperately tried to recall playing at the court near the Church of the Assumption. But he played too many places too often; since being expelled, he had survived by playing street ball for money. Compared to the restrictions of school and team life, he preferred the freedom of the streets—or at least, that was how he justified it to himself. He thought he was great, the best dunker in San Francisco, only a step below the monsters on the streets of Oakland. *What could these yellow-skinned, black-haired guys do besides study?*

Franklin tried to steady his nerves, thinking he would dunk on that "A-Gan" later. But would he run me over? Franklin couldn't help but worry about what those words actually meant.

***

Thirty minutes later, the whistle blew, and the scrimmage ended.

There was no scoreboard on the sideline and no one keeping stats, but everyone knew who had won and who had lost. Beads of sweat rolled down Franklin’s forehead; his jersey was soaked through, and his injured left leg was throbbing. Over an hour of practice, plus twenty minutes of non-stop scrimmage, had drained his prized physique.

Bellman walked over and handed him a fresh jersey. "Here’s a change of clothes. Remember to wash the one you’re wearing when you get home. If that’s a hassle, leave it in the locker room, and the school’s laundry staff will take care of it."

Franklin gasped for air, looking up at Bellman and then at Gan Guoyang, who was already on the sideline doing extra drills—even Xu Xun was too exhausted to continue.

"How many points did I score?"

"I didn't keep count, but I can tell you, your team lost."

"The practice was too long; I ran out of gas."

"Everyone trained, and we do this every day."

"..."

Seeing Franklin silent, Bellman urged, "Basketball is a team sport. Only within a team can an individual show their true value. We’re heading to Oakland the week after next to face Fremont High. That game will decide our fate, and we need a great forward like you. Don't you want to dunk in the Fremont Tigers' gym?"

"People from the streets of San Francisco hate Oakland."

"Exactly. That’s why this is your chance—in Oakland. Besides, that guy will be your teammate, protecting you in the paint."

Both men looked at Gan Guoyang. He seemed tireless, shooting basket after basket, his tall silhouette appearing formidable.

"He makes me feel scared. Before the tip-off, he said he knew me. Honestly, I’m a bit freaked out. I’m not someone who gets scared easily."

Facing the friendly Bellman, Franklin opened up.

"That's normal. That guy is a demon. But he’s actually a decent person—just make sure you’re never his opponent."

And so, Franklin took the clean jersey from Bellman’s hand, officially becoming a member of the North Overseas Waterclock team.