SWNOVELXO Chapter 36: Mismatched Matchup
Booker's purple-and-gold jersey rippled as he cut through the lane, his sneakers squeaking a sharp counterpoint to the crowd's roar. Lin Mo's knees burned from the first minute of defense—Booker's crossover wasn't just quick; it was deliberate, each step a taunt, like he was tracing the "benchwarmer" label Lin Mo still felt stuck to his back. When the ball left Booker's fingertips, spinning toward the top corner, Lin Mo's breath caught. It kissed the backboard, then dropped through, and the arena erupted—flashbulbs popping like firecrackers, fans screaming so loud the rafters seemed to shake.
He wiped sweat off his brow, palm grazing the wristband where the kid's handwriting peeked through: Lefty can thread the needle. A memory flickered: the teenager's video, prosthetic clanging against the backboard as he practiced left-handed layups, voice cracking with laughter when he said, "Seventeen's just a number." Lin Mo squared his shoulders. Next possession, he let Booker's first crossover bait him, then planted his left foot, shifting weight like he'd practiced a hundred times that week—mimicking the way the kid adjusted his prosthetic for balance. When Booker tried to drive, Lin Mo's left hand shot out, not to steal, but to redirect, flicking the ball toward LeBron. The dunk shook the rim, and when Lin Mo glanced up, Booker was staring, his jaw tight. Not anger—surprise.
In the huddle, Coach's marker squeaked over the playbook. Lin Mo's red-ink note—Mismatches aren't walls, just doors—was smudged with sweat, but still legible. His phone vibrated: the kid had sent a photo of his prosthetic, wrapped in new tape. Told you lefty's stronger. Lin Mo smiled, flexing his left hand. The calluses stung, but it felt good—like proof he was finally seeing the court, not just playing on it.