NBA: Northeast China's spectacular dunks sweep the entire league.

That matter is now closed. Dampier, that big tree, may still have branches and leaves, but Lin Hao has loosened its roots. That "one-sided massacre" in the training gym that day, while seemingly just playing basketball, was actually setting rules for the whole team. With the rules established, morale was united. All that's left is to give this big, timid guy a way out, and incidentally, to fully implement that "pragmatic Northeastern approach."

The lingering smell of sweat in the training hall hadn't completely dissipated when Dampier stood there in front of Lin Hao, like a schoolboy being punished by his teacher for doing something wrong. The two-meter-tall man, with his neck hunched, looked like an inflated balloon, ready to burst at any moment, his dark, gleaming muscles trembling. He struggled to utter a coherent sentence.

Lin Hao had just changed his clothes and was drying his hair with a white towel, water droplets running down his angular face. He wasn't looking at Dampier, but staring out the window at the media van that had just driven away, his eyes expressionless, as if he were looking at a roadside trash can.

"Lin..." Dampier managed to squeeze out a syllable, his throat dry as sandpaper scraping against a table.

Lin Hao then turned around, draped the towel around his neck, and asked in a calm tone that sent shivers down one's spine, "What's wrong? Haven't you done fifty round trips yet? Want me to go with you on ten more round trips?"

"No, no, no..." Dampier shook his head violently, the movements so exaggerated one worried his neck might break. "Lin, before... before I was wrong." He lowered his head, not daring to look Lin Hao in the eye. That All-Star arrogance had shattered beyond repair. "I shouldn't have complained, shouldn't have talked nonsense to the media. I... I was out of my mind."

Lin Hao didn't say a word, just stared at him quietly. This silence was more unbearable than being cursed at; Dampier felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end.

"From now on, you decide how we play." Dampier gritted his teeth, made up his mind, and said definitively, "I'll definitely cooperate. Screen, box out, retrieve the ball, I'll do whatever you tell me to do. As long as we win, I'm willing to be a role player."

As soon as he said this, Payton, who had been listening intently, burst out laughing. The old man, a toothpick dangling from his lips, sauntered over, his cunning eyes sweeping over Dampier before he reached out his large, bark-like hand and slapped Dampier heavily on the shoulder.

"Snapped!"

The slap made Dampier stumble.

"Kid," Payton's voice was hoarse, tinged with a mocking tone of someone with experience, "Discretion is the better part of valor. Why didn't you just be honest from the start? Did you have to get your face slapped before you knew the pain?" He leaned closer, lowering his voice, his tone carrying a blatant threat, "Lin Hao is the boss. Even I, an old scoundrel like Gary Payton, respect him, and you'll have to too. Stop with the nonsense, just play basketball, and you'll get what you deserve."

Dampier felt a sharp pain from the slap, but a sense of relief washed over him. It was a signal, a signal of acceptance. Although this acceptance was tinged with humiliation, it was still better than being isolated.

Seeing this, Lin Hao's pent-up frustration completely dissipated. He walked up to Dampier, took something out of the cabinet next to him, and threw it at him.

"Catch it."

Dampier hurriedly caught it, then looked down and saw it was another can of yellow peaches. The glass jar was cool against his feverish palm.

"Alright, stop looking so glum like you're going to a funeral." Lin Hao's tone softened a bit, but his straightforward Northeastern spirit remained. "Train hard. When we win the championship, I'll treat you to a big meal, as much as you want. It'll be much better than this canned food."

This was Lin Hao's logic: simple, direct, yet imbued with an irresistible sincerity. He wasn't giving alms; he was investing. He used a can of peaches costing a few dollars to buy out Dampier's last shred of stubbornness. A worthwhile deal.

[Ding! [Changing room cleaning] task completed.]

[Rewards being distributed: +5 random attribute points (allocated to [Mental Resilience]).]

[Congratulations, host, you have obtained the title: [Changing Room Master] (Effect: Greatly increases the loyalty of the entire team, and reduces the chance of rebellious behavior to 1%).]

Team cohesion is recovering... Current value: 100%.

The system's notification sounds in his mind were like perfect background music. Lin Hao could feel the oppressive feeling that had been hanging over him disappear. In its place was a real sense of control. Now, the way his teammates looked at him was no longer simply admiration or fear, but a mixture of awe and obedience. This was right; this was what leading troops into battle should be like.

The atmosphere at the team meeting in the afternoon was so tense it felt like a military court.

Coach Musselman had intended to host, but Lin Hao glared at him and stopped him. Lin Hao stood on the stage without a script, simply looking at the faces of the people sitting below.

"What are you all looking at?" Lin Hao spoke, his voice not loud, but the entire room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. "I know what you're all thinking. You think I, Lin Hao, am arrogant, you think I'm domineering, you think I've made a terrible mess of things for Da Shu."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone, including Musselman, who sat in the corner, too afraid to look up.

"But let me tell you," Lin Hao pointed to his temple, "you need to be clear-headed here. What is the NBA? It's a gladiatorial arena where they eat you alive. If you want to be sheep, no one's stopping you, but don't expect me to lead you to victory."

Lin Hao walked to the whiteboard, picked up a pen, and drew a big circle on it.

"From today onwards, the Warriors will have only one voice." He wrote forcefully, the pen scribbling sharply across the whiteboard. "Offense, listen to me; defense, listen to Payton; shooting, listen to Davis. Anyone who tries to get special treatment, thinks they're the boss, thinks they have the seniority, don't blame me for being ruthless!"

He whirled around, glaring at Dampier: "Big Tree, you listen too. From now on, keep your mouth shut in front of the media. If you dare utter another word, I'll fire you myself without the general manager lifting a finger. Got it?"

"I understand!" Dampier jumped up and shouted louder than anyone else.

"Sit down!" Lin Hao cursed. "What are you yelling about? Save your energy for running on the field."

The meeting ended, and everyone dispersed. As Lin Hao was packing his things, his phone vibrated; it was a video sent by Guo Ailun. He opened it and saw the kid sweating profusely in the training hall, the background being the Liaoning basketball team's training hall.

"Brother Hao! I saw the news!" Guo Ailun shouted on the other end of the line, "You're amazing! You made that Dampier completely submit! We Northeasterners are tough!"

Lin Hao looked at the energetic face on the screen and a smile appeared on his lips. He leaned against the cabinet and typed a reply: "Nephew, see? In the NBA, you either adapt or you get out. Don't be like that guy, he won't bow his head until he's been slapped in the face. Train hard, don't embarrass Northeast China."

After sending the message, Lin Hao closed the cabinet door and walked out of the training hall.

The sunlight outside was a bit dazzling. He squinted, looking at the outline of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. This chapter was considered over, but he knew this was just the beginning. The locker room issues were resolved, but the coaching problems remained. Musselman, that easygoing guy, simply couldn't manage the current Warriors, much less Lin Hao.

It's like trying to put the engine of a Ferrari on the chassis of a tractor; the chassis will eventually fall apart as it runs.

Sure enough, two days later, General Manager Mu Lin came to visit.

In the office, Mulin brewed a pot of fine tea, but the delicate fragrance of the tea couldn't mask the sinister atmosphere in the room.

"Lin," Mulin rubbed his hands together, looking at Lin Hao with a mixture of probing and anticipation in his eyes, "I see you have a lot of ideas about the current tactical system. That old man Musselman... how should I put it, he's a bit out of touch."

Lin Hao picked up his teacup, blew away the foam, and remained silent. He had expected this.

"We're in contact with some new coaching candidates," Mullin said, observing Lin Hao's expression. "I'd like to hear your opinion. After all, you're the commander on the field."

Lin Hao put down his teacup, the bottom of the glass clinking against the table with a crisp "thud".

"Coach," Lin Hao looked at Mullin and spoke frankly, "Musselman is a good guy, but his 'defense wins championships' theory is incompatible with our current group. He can't control me, he can't manage Payton, let alone that big guy who just gave in."

Mullin was taken aback by the blunt analogy, then laughed: "Haha, you're right. So, we found you a madman who can pull off your tactics."

"A madman?" Lin Hao raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Mullin's eyes gleamed. "A madman who can shoot a basketball hoop way out of bounds. Ready for the storm, Lin?"

Lin Hao smiled, a smile of finding a kindred spirit. He liked madmen, because only madmen dared to play the most extreme form of basketball in this conservative league.

"As long as he's not afraid of death," Lin Hao stood up, straightened his collar, "I'm willing to play along with him to the very end."

Stepping out of his office, Lin Hao looked at the blue sky outside the window. He knew an even bigger storm was brewing. But this was good; too much peace and quiet was boring. Like that can of peaches, you get tired of it after a while. It needed something more exciting, like braised goose in an iron pot (getting a bit too much, time for something new).

That's the allure of competitive sports—it's a constant cycle of overthrowing the old and building the new. Nothing lasts forever; if you don't adapt, you'll be left behind.

Dampier bowed his head, but the Warriors still had to hold their heads high and charge forward.

Who will be the next to fall?

Who knows? Anyway, Lin Hao is already prepared.