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

The air in the Warriors' training facility still carried the lingering warmth of Blake Stephenson's five consecutive three-pointers.

But this warm feeling was quickly suppressed by an even more terrifying aura.

Dell Curry took off his suit jacket and tossed it casually onto the stands. Underneath, he wore a simple Warriors warm-up jersey, looking like any middle-aged man who had come to the court for a workout. But the way he stood beyond the three-point line instantly silenced the players who had been laughing and joking on the sidelines.

Lin Hao leaned against the basketball hoop with his arms crossed, a smile playing on his lips. He knew the real show was about to begin.

"Look closely, everyone!" Lin Hao shouted at the top of his lungs, his thick Northeastern accent instantly drowning out the music in the arena. "This is our new shooting coach, Dell Curry! From now on, anyone with the wrong shooting form will be punished by running laps! You all better keep your eyes peeled and learn from him! If you don't listen, you son of a bitch will run yourself to death."

The team members chuckled, but their eyes held a hint of resentment. After all, the name Dell Curry was completely unfamiliar to them. What right did a recently retired role player who had never even made an All-Star team have to be an NBA team's shooting coach?

Richardson, holding the ball and chewing gum, glanced sideways at Dell: "Coach, I heard you've been pretty accurate from three-point range throughout your career? How about we have a match?"

Dell Curry didn't say anything, but just smiled slightly and extended his hand to Lin Hao.

Lin Hao understood immediately and casually tossed a basketball over.

Dale caught the ball with one hand and weighed it in his hand. He didn't rush to shoot, but first bent his knees, raised the ball, and adjusted his breathing. The whole movement was smooth and fluid, without a single unnecessary sway.

"Whoosh—"

The first ball went in cleanly.

The sound was as crisp as a whistle.

Then, the second ball.

Dell didn't even adjust his footwork; he caught the ball and shot.

"Whoosh—"

It's still hollow.

The laughter from the sidelines disappeared.

Richardson stopped chewing his gum and frowned.

The third goal, the fourth goal, the fifth goal...

Dell Curry is like a precision shooting machine, moving around the three-point line. Left corner, top of the arc, right 45-degree angle, right corner. He catches the ball and shoots every time he changes position.

The ball, never missed.

10 goals scored.

"My goodness..." Zhao Dabao had somehow slipped in and was squatting on the sidelines watching the commotion. His eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. "That accuracy is like the firecrackers back home! It hits exactly where you point it!"

Lin Hao's worries completely dissipated. He knew Dale was accurate, but he didn't expect him to be this ridiculously accurate. It wasn't just a matter of good touch; it was muscle memory etched into his bones over decades.

The 11th goal.

Dell Curry is starting to increase the difficulty.