Chapter 18: Asking for a Beating

Once the two entered and the elevator doors closed, the middle-aged man carrying the luggage pressed the button for the ninth floor.

Christian Laettner, a repeat offender for bullying teammates in the locker room and a known racist, glared at Tang Bei. With no regard for decorum, he said coldly, "Chinaman, I heard you think your talent is better than mine?"

"John, what did he say?"

Tang Bei sensed intense malice. Although he couldn't understand the words, he knew they were far from pleasant. John Liu hesitated for a moment, but under the heavy, imposing gaze of Tang Bei, he translated the remark and warned: "Tang Bei, the term 'Chinaman' is a racial slur. Please don't get angry; that's just how it is in the United States."

Tang Bei’s expression turned icy. His left hand moved in a blur, and he suddenly delivered a swift slap.

*Smack!*

With the resounding crack of the slap, saliva flew from Christian Laettner’s mouth. His head snapped to the side, and he slammed into the elevator wall before collapsing to the floor, falling directly into a semi-conscious state.

Aside from Tang Bei and the crumpled Laettner, the other three were stunned into silence.

Once the shock wore off, Eric Fleisher couldn't help but offer a wry smile. Why did idiots who provoked Tang Bei seem to be everywhere? John Liu, on the other hand, was startled at first, followed by a surge of satisfaction. Being half-Chinese himself, he was no stranger to the sting of racism. He had warned Tang Bei earlier to see how he would handle such prejudice, but he hadn't expected such an aggressive response.

Christian Laettner’s agent was terrified. Regaining his senses, he knelt down and shouted, "Christian, are you okay?"

The right side of Laettner’s face was swelling and turning red at a visible rate; he groaned, still drifting in and out of consciousness.

"My God, what have you done?" the agent asked, turning his fury toward Tang Bei.

Tang Bei ignored him completely and said to Fleisher, "Don't worry, I didn't use my full force. It’s just facial pain; his brain is fine."

John Liu didn't quite grasp what "didn't use full force" meant, so he only translated the second half of the sentence. Only then did Eric Fleisher breathe a sigh of relief.

*Ding!*

The elevator reached the eighth floor and the doors opened.

Eric Fleisher signaled for Tang Bei to step out first, then said to the agent: "Sir, the NBA has zero tolerance for racism. Your player used a racial slur against mine, and I reserve the right to pursue this matter further. Furthermore, you had better keep this guy’s foul mouth shut; if this gets out, it will certainly impact his draft stock."

The agent could only offer a bitter smile, forced to accept the misfortune.

As they arrived outside his room, Tang Bei was about to open the door when the adjacent room opened, and a very tall, strong Black man stepped out. The giant wore headphones, bobbing his head and singing to himself. Upon seeing Tang Bei, a flamboyant and exaggerated expression appeared on his face.

He pulled off his headphones, shaking his head and shouting, "Oh, look who it is! Fear—the 'Severe Fear' from the CBA. Oh, haha! What a ridiculous nickname, ha..."

"Tang, that’s Shaquille O'Neal, the top prospect for the number one pick," John Liu whispered from behind.

Having just dealt with Laettner’s racism, Tang Bei had no interest in greeting the performative O'Neal. However, O'Neal addressed him directly: "Hey, kid, I know you. Reporters have mentioned you to me. They say your talent is great—even better than mine."

As he said this, O'Neal’s eyes flashed with defiance and disdain. He added seriously, "So, kid, tell me, do you really think so?"

John Liu translated quickly, finishing just as O'Neal stopped speaking. Sensing the undisguised contempt in the giant's eyes, Tang Bei replied with a look of "sincerity": "That reporter was right. You should believe him."

John Liu was stunned, translating the words only after he processed them. Upon hearing the translation, the corners of O'Neal’s eyes twitched. He cursed inwardly, thinking, *You arrogant bastard, I’ll have to teach you a lesson in the rookie camp and show you what you're really up against.*

Just then, the elevator doors opened again, and two more men stepped out.

"Alonzo Mourning," John Liu noted immediately.

Tang Bei turned to look. Mourning was shorter than both him and O'Neal, with a smaller frame and less bulk. In comparison, he looked a size smaller. A larger frame allowed for more muscle mass, which translated to greater strength and defensive capability. In that sense, he and O'Neal could maintain a higher tonnage to handle physical play, whereas the relatively smaller-framed Mourning could not.

"David, long time no see."

Eric Fleisher stepped forward and extended his hand to Mourning’s agent.

"Eric, you’re quite lucky," David Falk said while shaking his hand and scrutinizing Tang Bei.

Eric Fleisher had no intention of introducing Tang Bei to David Falk; he didn't want the boy snatched away by this man.

"So this is the guy who says his talent is better than mine?" Alonzo Mourning eyed Tang Bei with a hint of hostility. He, too, had heard of Tang Bei through reporters but hadn't given it much thought. He was extremely confident in his own ability; apart from the high-profile Christian Laettner and Shaquille O'Neal, no other rookie center in this draft possessed talent that surpassed his.

*Just a loudmouth,* he labeled him.

Of course, he envied Tang Bei’s height. If he had that kind of stature, he believed even Shaquille O'Neal wouldn't be able to suppress him.

As it happened, Mourning was rooming with Tang Bei. The two shook hands briefly without a word, an unspoken acknowledgement.

Back in his room, Tang Bei lay on the bed, idle, and opened his interface to check his stats. After a month of training, his physical fitness had risen from level 90 to 91, and his other fundamental skills and advanced techniques had also improved.

[Center Fundamentals: Shooting 50, Dribbling 59, Hook Shot 37, Floater 35, Layup 76, Dunk 91, Physical Contact 95, Footwork 92]

[Center Advanced Skills: Post-Up 91, Low Post Back-to-Basket 66, Low Post Face-up 60, Man-to-Man Defense 90, Help Defense 80, Blocks 90, Steals 66, Rebounding 88, Screen Setting 70, Playmaking 20, Tactical IQ 60]

Under the guidance of his trainer, his fundamental shooting had increased by 8 levels, his specifically trained dribbling by 10 levels, layups by 5, and footwork by 1.

As for advanced skills, his post-up game had improved by 1 level, low-post back-to-basket and face-up each by 5, man-to-man defense by 2, help defense by 4, rebounding by 3, screen setting by 2, and tactical IQ by 5.

These were the rewards of grueling practice. Having just been exposed to professional training, his rate of improvement was exceptionally fast.