"Please store your common sense here.
This story runs on hype."😂
2012 · Age 17
The meeting room was quiet.
So quiet that the faint hum of the air conditioner became the only sound, like a background track prepared in advance, waiting for the verdict to be delivered.
Gu Kai sat on one side of the long table, his hands resting on his knees, back straight.
At 198 centimeters, the chair beneath him looked almost cramped. His knees were nearly pressed against the edge of the table.
Three people sat across from him.
A youth academy director.
A technical coach.
And a third man Gu Kai didn't recognize—well-dressed, documents neatly stacked, the kind of person who existed solely to pronounce outcomes.
"Gu Kai,"
the director said as he opened a file, his tone flat.
"We've completed a comprehensive evaluation of your performance over the last three training cycles."
Gu Kai nodded without speaking.
He knew the process well.
Physical tests. Game footage. Data analysis. Coach feedback. Development projections.
He had gone through every step—and fought hard in all of them.
"From a physical standpoint," the technical coach said after a brief pause, as if stating a merit that no longer mattered,
"you're among the very best in your age group. Explosiveness, speed, strength, even lateral movement—you're well above average."
Gu Kai's fingers tightened slightly.
"But the problem isn't your body."
The man in the suit finally looked up. His gaze was calm, professional.
"The problem is your development direction."
The moment those words landed, Gu Kai already sensed what was coming.
"You rely too heavily on downhill drives."
"You hold the ball for too long."
"Your understanding of tempo is still at a youth level."
One sentence after another—
like conclusions written long before this meeting ever began.
"To put it simply,"
the academy director said as he closed the file, his tone turning blunt,
"your style doesn't align with our current guard development system."
The air seemed to freeze for a second.
"You don't play like a point guard."
The words weren't loud, but they were precise.
Gu Kai raised his head and looked straight at the speaker.
"Then what do I play like?"
he asked, his voice steady.
No one answered right away.
The technical coach looked away.
The man in the suit lowered his head to organize his papers.
Only the director let out a quiet sigh.
"Like someone who can still win at the youth level," he said,
"but would be quickly targeted once he reaches the professional stage."
There was no room left to negotiate.
The conclusion was clear.
Not a position change.
Not further observation.
Release.
When Gu Kai walked out of the meeting room, the training hall nearby was in the middle of a scrimmage.
The sound of the ball hitting the floor was crisp.
Shoes squeaked in steady rhythm against the court—
a rhythm irritatingly familiar.
He stood by the door and watched for a moment.
That court used to be where he belonged.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was his father.
Gu Kai answered without greeting.
"So," his father said on the other end, calm as if he had already expected it,
"the result is out?"
"Yeah."
There was a brief silence.
"I've already started preparing the visa," his father said.
"There are some training resources in the U.S. You can go take a look."
"I'm not arranging a team for you," he added.
"Just a place where you can keep playing."
Gu Kai leaned against the hallway wall and looked up at the ceiling.
"And if it doesn't work out?" he asked.
There was another pause.
"Then you come back," his father replied.
"But at least you'll know you went as far as you could."
After the call ended, Gu Kai didn't leave right away.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands.
Large palms. Thick knuckles.
Calluses layered over years of training.
These hands had just been declared unfit for professional basketball.
As he turned to leave, a faint, sharp sensation flickered deep inside his mind—
like something dormant being brushed awake.
> [Abnormal physical potential detected.]
> [Compatibility confirmed.]
The text vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Gu Kai stopped.
He glanced back at the training hall behind him.
No one noticed him.
But he smiled.
If this road refused to accept him,
then he would take another one.
If the rules didn't want him,
then he would walk far enough to force the rules to change.
At that moment, Gu Kai understood one thing clearly—
He wasn't eliminated.
He had simply entered through the wrong door.
And the court that truly belonged to him
was only just beginning to reveal itself.