The tactical board in the training gym was erased and rewritten repeatedly. Lin Mo hovered his finger over the words "Timberwolves" when the system's light screen suddenly popped up with data: [Detected core movement characteristic of target team: Before Edwards' breakthrough drive, the pressure value of his left heel grinding the floor is 27% higher than his right.]
His phone vibrated in his pocket—it was a short video from the boy. In the frame, he was standing while gripping a rehabilitation frame, knuckles white from the strain; the细碎 "sh沙沙" sound of his prosthetic scraping the floor cut through the silence, like sandpaper on wood. The caption read: "Look, it's exactly like Edwards' footage—we're both wrestling with the ground."
Lin Mo's thumb hovered over the screen, pausing on the way the boy's jaw tightened when he shifted weight. He must've been standing longer than he should. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and replied while panning the camera to the tactical board: "The system says he changes direction every three grinds. What about you? Don't overdo it."
"Just tried—scrape five times and I can jump half a meter forward." The boy replied instantly, as if anticipating the scold, attaching a screenshot of Towns shooting, with a red circle around his dribbling hand: "When he dribbles seven times, his wrist shakes for 0.5 seconds—like how I slip on the seventh turn when oiling my prosthetic. See? I'm taking breaks."
A voice from behind—Booker's: "Studying the new prey?" He leaned over to look at the screen, then suddenly pointed at the Timberwolves' bench in the footage: "That guy's sock color is off."
Lin Mo looked up. The system had already marked: [Backup guard Miller, after playing more than 20 minutes, has an 89% probability of his right sock slipping down.] "Not the color," he said, glancing back at the boy's video still open on his phone, "It's that when he's nervous, his sock slides down. Kinda like… when you're pushing too hard, your prosthetic lock clicks louder."
The training gym lights fell on the tactical board, making the words "Timberwolves" glow. Lin Mo thought of the fresh scratches on the boy's prosthetic, brighter than the old ones—proof he'd been practicing longer than he admitted. Growth, he realized, wasn't just about strength. It was about hiding the hurt in the details.