Chapter 42: My offenses do not warrant death!

"Hey, what's up, guys!"

"Grandma, how was Hawaii?"

"The chicks are fiery, haha!"

Larry Johnson stepped out of the vehicle, retrieved his suitcase from the trunk, and walked over while exchanging greetings.

Tang Bei glanced over. Larry Johnson was solidly built, with a robust frame of solid muscle, a head of short, curly hair, and a fierce expression that immediately signaled he was not someone to be trifled with.

Just as Larry Johnson's gaze happened to land on Tang Bei, he changed direction, walked right up to him, and began looking him up and down with a scrutinizing stare.

"Let me introduce you. Tang, this is Larry Johnson," Kendall Gill suddenly stepped forward to make the introduction.

Tang Bei extended his right hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Larry. I'm Tang Bei, you can just call me 'Tang'."

"Rookie, let's hope you're not a bust," Larry Johnson said, shaking his hand.

Tang Bei inwardly complained to himself, "What the heck? You're not even the alpha dog of the Hornets. Strutting around like some big shot—who do you think you're trying to impress?"

"Hey."

"Hey."

Kendall Gill and Larry Johnson merely nodded at each other without exchanging many words.

"A small temple breeds fierce winds, and the locker room chemistry is a bit complicated here!"

Noticing that Larry Johnson and Kendall Gill seemed somewhat at odds with each other, Tang Bei felt a sense of impatience; he didn't care for this kind of atmosphere.

According to Fleisher's introduction, the Hornets joined the NBA in '88, drafting Rex Chapman with the 8th pick in the first round that year, J.R. Reid with the 5th pick in '89, Kendall Gill with the 5th pick in '90, and securing the number one overall pick Larry Johnson in '91, leading up to himself this year. This was a truly young squad.

However, Chapman had suffered a severe injury last season and was subsequently traded, while forward Reid had also sustained a major injury last season, relegating him to the bench. Excluding himself, half of the previous four lottery picks had already fallen by the wayside.

Of the remaining two, number one pick Larry Johnson was undoubtedly the player the Hornets valued the most, as well as the team's interior cornerstone with a very high status within the organization.

Yet Kendall Gill was the team's leading scorer from last season, the perimeter centerpiece, and as the 5th overall pick in 1990, his draft position wasn't low either, commanding a very high standing in the team.

Meanwhile, Larry Johnson had just completed his rookie season and was only a sophomore; his seniority in the team actually lagged behind Kendall Gill's.

Therefore, up to this point, this young squad of the Hornets—a franchise that only entered the NBA league in 1988—had not yet managed to establish a definitive alpha dog and leader.

Both Larry Johnson and Kendall Gill harbored ambitions to seize that position and claim the right to speak for the team.

A team leader, whether on or off the court, reaped massive benefits, including financial ones; neither of them wanted to give that up easily.

No player didn't want to be a leader. A soldier who doesn't want to be a general is not a good soldier—this was just as much an absolute truth in the NBA.

Fortunately, the competition between the two hadn't erupted into open conflict, and their surface-level relationship was passable.

However, Kendall Gill held some resentment toward the management because the rookie contract offered to him was only 4 years for 7.32 million, falling far short of Larry Johnson's deal, amounting to just one-fifth of the latter's average annual salary.

Twenty minutes later, the luggage was stowed away, the players boarded the bus, and they prepared to set off.

Tang Bei walked straight to the front row. The front row had the most legroom, and with his massive frame, the seats further back were uncomfortable for him.

Normally, rookies were expected to sit in the back, but given his towering build, no one raised any objections, and his seat was tacitly accepted by everyone.

Arriving at the airport, it was his first time boarding a chartered private plane.

"I've finally made it onto a chartered plane. It feels amazing, this perk isn't bad at all," John Long chimed in excitedly.

An hour and a half later, the private plane touched down in Miami.

Tang Bei found himself in this city once more. His professional basketball journey had begun right here, and now his NBA professional career would also kick off from this place. In a way, he shared a certain destiny with this city.

The Hornets' first preseason opponent was the Magic. At forty minutes past six the next evening, Tang Bei emerged from the locker room, intending to take a stroll around the arena, only to bump into Shaquille O'Neal right at the corner of the player tunnel.

O'Neal was out to buy a hamburger; he had a habit of eating a large burger at halftime.

Enemies meeting face-to-face instantly brought out the intense rivalry.

"You dog, let's see where you can run this time?"

Seeing that the corridors ahead and behind were completely empty, Tang Bei was overjoyed. He suddenly surged forward with a burst of speed and slammed O'Neal back against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Panicked, O'Neal fought back, flailing both hands wildly at Tang Bei's face and nearly gouging his eyes.

Startled, Tang Bei grabbed O'Neal's left arm, twisted his body, and executed an over-the-shoulder back suplex.

"Thud!"

Amidst the swirling dust and a topsy-turvy world, O'Neal was slammed so hard his eyes rolled back, his mind went completely blank, and his breathing temporarily stopped.

Tang Bei grabbed O'Neal by the neck with his left hand and demanded sharply, "Tell me, asshole, do you know what that word means?"

Feeling as though he might die right here today, O'Neal whimpered and offered a pleading excuse:

"Tang, don't kill me! I really didn't mean it, I didn't know what it meant, I truly didn't! You can't kill me, please, don't kill me! My offense doesn't warrant death, it doesn't warrant death!"

Seeing O'Neal acting like such a coward, Tang Bei felt a strong urge to laugh. Suppressing it, he said coldly, "You didn't know? Surely you know what 'Negro' means?"

"Asshole, you're humiliating me! Is this racial discrimination?" O'Neal protested angrily.

"Oh, so you're only allowed to racially discriminate against me?" Tang Bei retorted, furious to the point of laughter.

O'Neal hurriedly denied it, saying, "No, I genuinely didn't know the meaning of that word."

Ceasing his questioning, Tang Bei tightened his grip, his five fingers slowly closing in.

Cutting off his air supply, this panicked O'Neal, who hastily sputtered, "I already apologized, didn't I? I really didn't know, I didn't know."

Struggling and shouting all the while, he stubbornly refused to admit to it, knowing that if he confessed, there was a real possibility he'd be beaten to death right here today.

"Apologize. Louder," Tang Bei continued to tighten his grip.

"I already apologized, wuwu..."

O'Neal intended to hold out a little longer, but as Tang Bei applied further pressure, he immediately found himself unable to breathe. His face flushed crimson, his heart rate spiked, and he lost the ability to speak. Gripped by terror, he frantically slapped Tang Bei's left hand to signal him to let go.

"Apologize, or I'll beat you to death."

Tang Bei eased his grip slightly with his left hand while issuing the threat.

After taking several deep breaths, O'Neal hurriedly apologized: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I said the wrong thing, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that, I honestly didn't know how serious it was, I'm sorry..."

"Say it again and I'll finish you off."

Since so much time had already passed, Tang Bei decided to let it go after venting his anger; making a massive deal out of it wouldn't be beneficial to him either.

"Bam!"

Before leaving, he delivered a punch straight to O'Neal's obnoxious mouth, drawing a sharp cry of pain from O'Neal.

"Asshole!"

Not until Tang Bei was completely out of sight did O'Neal finally exhale a breath of relief.

He could feel that the inside of his mouth had been split open, several teeth felt loose, and his mouth tasted entirely of salt. He spat out a mouthful of saliva, which was completely red with blood.

He felt so aggrieved he wanted to cry. Wasn't it just uttering that word? Everyone else said it, so why couldn't he? Why resort to violence?

Having been beaten half to death, he no longer had any desire to play in this preseason game. Just like at the rookie camp last time, he snatched up the hamburger from the floor, fled the arena in a panic, and headed off to find a dentist first.

Preseason games were meant for finding team chemistry, polishing tactics, observing rookies, and evaluating free agents—the ones who played with the most effort were those free agents.

The starters didn't log heavy minutes and weren't required to go all out, avoiding unnecessary injuries right before the regular season was about to tip off.

Across a total of five preseason games, Tang Bei averaged 25 minutes, shooting 3.6 out of 6.2 for a 58.1% field goal percentage, and 2.6 out of 5 from the free-throw line for a 52% clip, putting up 9.6 points, 4.6 rebounds, 0.8 assists, 0.6 steals, 2 blocks, 2 turnovers, and 1.4 fouls.

Unlike in the CBA where he constantly spearheaded attacks directly at the rim, in these preseason games he increased his close-range scoring repertoire, incorporating hook shots, floaters, and jumpers, which ultimately brought down his scoring efficiency.

Yet he felt somewhat irritated because his shot attempts during these games weren't high enough, ranking only fourth on the team, which wasn't nearly as satisfying as playing in the CBA.

Those two jerks Kendall Gill and Larry Johnson hogged the lion's share of the shot attempts, while Dell Curry's shot volume ranked third on the team.

Instead, he had been reduced to a laborer doing the dirty work, with shot numbers comparable to Muggsy Bogues and John Newman—which hardly matched his status as the number two overall draft pick.