Chapter Five: The Bulls' Iron Triangle!

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“Jack Harry’s mood fluctuates, losing 5 experience points!”
“Jason Kaffy’s mood fluctuates, losing 5 experience points!”

At the same moment, a furious roar came from behind Lin Tian!

“Motherfucker!”

Lin Tian clenched his fists. He knew many eyes were already turning toward him, so he deliberately exposed a weakness at the back of his head to the three guys behind him, waiting for them to make the first move.

If you start the fight, and I kill you, you can’t blame me, right?

Lin Tian was well aware that the training camp had many who were eyeing him, ready to bully him. Those waiting for him to carry their bags and buy hamburgers were far more than just these three.

But on the very first day of training camp, he intended to make everyone understand:

I, Lord Lin, am not to be trifled with!

Mayweather’s fighting skills were already coiled and ready to strike!

Just as Lin Tian clenched his fists, calculated the moment to turn around and the angle to strike, and even planned how to elegantly KO all three within five seconds, a raspy, half-hearted voice that brooked no argument came first.

“You three, looking to die?”

A figure with hair dyed in red, green, and purple, face pierced with nose rings, lip rings, and earrings, swaggered over from behind Brown and the other two. The moment he appeared, Brown and his group immediately lost their nerve, frozen and silent.

Lin Tian recognized him instantly.

In this league, only one person dressed like that—Dennis “Flower Tiger” Rodman!

“I’m telling you, three against one and sneaking up behind someone? Don’t you have any shame? If you wanted to fight face to face, I wouldn’t even bother, but sneak attacks? That’s downright disgraceful! Listen well—on my turf, on my team, fighting is fine, even three against one is fine.”

“You could even pull out weapons and go at him; I wouldn’t care. But sneaking behind his back? Hmph. Next time I catch you, you’re out of this team! No place here for cowards and sneak dogs!”

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“What do you mean your team, Rodman? Your turf? When was this place ever yours? How come I never heard about that?” As Rodman finished speaking, Scottie Pippen, another giant of the Bulls with deadpan eyes and a long, sharp face, arrived at the scene.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your turf—at least in the year before last and the first half of last year, right? Before Michael left, and before Michael came back, it was all yours. But when Michael was here, you never dared to make a sound,” Rodman rolled his eyes, clearly trying to provoke anger.

Perhaps Pippen was already used to Rodman’s way of speaking—knowing this guy’s mouth always invited a punch—he merely shrugged and said nothing.

“What’s going on here? Discussing how much you’ll lose to me tonight?”

Then, the ‘God’ of Chicago and undisputed king of the league, the legendary Michael Jordan, appeared.

Jordan was drenched in sweat, obviously having trained hard for some time. This obsession and relentless work ethic were key reasons he dominated the league and earned the title of its undisputed number one.

“These three trash want to sneak up on that Asian kid,” Rodman said with a slick, annoying tone.

Brown and the others visibly trembled under Jordan’s piercing gaze—the death stare of a king is not something easily handled!

“Mi... Michael, it was that kid who talked back to us, so we wanted to teach him a lesson,” Brown swallowed nervously, trying to explain to Jordan.

“First, my name is not Mi-Mi-Michael. Second, trash like you don’t deserve to call me Michael. Third, I have no interest in your petty disputes, so no need to explain. But you three sneaking up behind someone? Starting tomorrow, come to training an hour early and train extra with me!”

“But only with me, that’s it. During training, I don’t want to see you, hear you, or know what you’re practicing. Got it, trash?”

“Y-Yes, understood,” Brown swallowed hard, too afraid to say another word.

“I think that idiot fat guy Klaus really needs to raise the bar for recruiting. Why would he bring stutterers into our team? Is that supposed to make him look less stupid?”

Jordan shrugged and then fell silent, turning to leave.

His path took him directly toward where Lin Tian stood.

Though Lin Tian had heard countless legends about Jordan and even met him at media day yesterday, this was the first time he was this close to the basketball god.

Lin Tian’s first impression of Michael Jordan was already crystal clear.

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A bastard! A complete and utter bastard!

His personality was truly terrible—no wonder he had almost no friends in the league and everyone hated him.

But it was precisely this universal hatred, combined with the fact that no one could bring him down, that made Jordan the legend he was!

A true god of basketball.

“Hey, rookie, you’re in the way. Or what, you got something to say?” Jordan looked at Lin Tian with disdain, clearly not intending to remember or ask his name.

“First, I’m not ‘hey.’ My name is Lin Tian. You can call me Lin or LT—my friends do. Second, I have nothing to say, and it’s not me blocking the way; you insisted on coming toward me.” Lin Tian showed no hint of fear toward Jordan’s aura.

Fight? Lin Tian was confident he could take on three at once. Pressure the team to trade him? Fine, get traded. If that didn’t work, go home and inherit the family fortune!

I, Lord Lin, have no reason to fear you, Jordan!

Jordan glared fiercely at Lin Tian, chewing gum relentlessly.

At this moment, even Rodman and Pippen dared not speak.

There were those who had talked back to Jordan before—but every last one of them had met a miserable end!

Even a rogue like Rodman knew better than to anger Jordan.

He might be wild, but he wasn’t stupid!

What Rodman was curious about now was whether this rookie was just reckless, stupid, or if he truly had some backing.

Sharing Rodman’s curiosity and equally intrigued by Lin Tian was another person not far from the scene.