The Upside-Down Phenom

The arena felt cavernous. The stands were practically deserted, not even a quarter full. Yet, despite the sparse crowd, the roar from the fans was loud enough to make Link Lin nervously lick his lips.

"Link! Get your head in the game today!" A bald man in a sharp suit barked at him from the sidelines – the head coach. "Stay sharp on the bench. Be ready. I don't want a repeat of last time – you step on the court and immediately start coughing up turnovers!"

"Huh? Oh... yeah," Link mumbled, nodding mechanically. He blinked, taking in his surroundings: the unfamiliar jersey clinging to him, the hulking Black teammates towering nearby. He swallowed hard.

He was really here. On a professional basketball court. Okay, so it was just the NBA G League. But still... professional basketball.

Technically, it wasn't his first G League game. But it felt like the first. Because the body wearing jersey number... whatever... wasn't controlled by its original owner anymore. As the rest of the team huddled up, pounding chests and shouting encouragement, Link stood slightly apart, looking dazed. Lost in thought? Not exactly. His mind was racing, replaying the impossible events of the last few days.

Three Days Earlier...

Link's eyes fluttered open. Sterile white ceiling. The sharp tang of antiseptic hung in the air. Hospital. Definitely a hospital.

"How are you feeling?" A nurse, her smile warm as sunshine, appeared beside his bed during her rounds.

"I feel... okay, I..." His voice trailed off, choked mid-sentence. The words coming out weren't Chinese. The nurse wasn't Chinese either – she was blonde, blue-eyed. American.

What the hell?! Panic surged through him. He mentally scrambled, searching his own memories. Before the blackout, he was a nobody. A 2019 graduate from a third-rate Chinese university. No car, no house, no savings. His mom had split when he was little, remarried, vanished to another city. His dad? A deadbeat, barely involved, radio silence for years.

Last night, holed up in his crappy rented room, the die-hard basketball fan had been watching game footage on a beat-up secondhand laptop. A sudden thunderclap outside. The laptop died. He popped open the case to check the guts... and then... zap? Nothing. Just waking up here, in this impossible room.

"Sir? Are you alright?" The blonde nurse asked, concern etching her face. Still in English.

Link's college English was rusty as hell after four years of coasting. Yet, he understood every word she said perfectly.

"I... where am I? Can you speak Chinese? Why is there a foreign nurse?"

"Huh?" The nurse stared, bewildered.

"Uh... never mind... thank you. I'm tired. I need to rest," Link stammered, waving her off. The questions he wanted to ask? He suddenly had the answers. Another set of memories, alien yet vivid, flooded his mind.

The nurse gave him a wary look – the kind reserved for the unstable – and hurried out. Good. Now Link could finally piece together the bizarre reality of his new existence using this implanted life story.

The body belonged to someone else... also named Link Lin. Full name: Tom Lin. American-born Chinese. 'Tom' was too generic; 'Link' sounded close to his Chinese name and stuck. His parents, also ABCs, lived modestly: Dad a landscaper, Mom a homemaker. Comfortable childhood, but money was always tight. Definitely not the NBA lifestyle.

Link paused the memory stream. A crucial question: What year is it?

The answer surfaced: 2010. He'd traveled back nine years. And landed in America. As a seasoned consumer of web novels, the conclusion was obvious: He'd transmigrated.

He scrambled out of bed, stumbling into the tiny bathroom. Splashed cold water on his face. Everything felt... slightly undersized. The water didn't wake him from this dream. He was still here. Still in this borrowed skin.

He looked in the mirror. Black hair, sharp features. Not bad looking. But like his old self – broke. He gripped the sink, staring at the familiar-yet-strange reflection. The memories clarified: This Link had been knocked out during practice yesterday, smacking the back of his head defending a drive. He woke up... occupied.

"Wait... basketball court?!" The realization hit him like a brick. He looked down at his hands, his arms. That's why everything seemed small. He was big. Really big. This body was 6'8" (2.03m), a solid 207 pounds (94kg). And the owner? A professional basketball player.

"Hah!" A giddy laugh escaped him. Thank god for private US hospital rooms; otherwise, they'd ship him straight to psych. Back in his old life, as a hoops junkie, he'd fantasized endlessly about making the NBA, sharing the court with legends. Even a benchwarmer, pulling down a million-dollar minimum salary? That was generational wealth for his old self. And now... dream achieved?

Sure, he'd traveled back to 2010, but lottery numbers? Blank. Business acumen? Zero. He was a stranger in a strange land. Surviving would be hard. This second chance? He wasn't wasting it on poverty. His path was clear: Pro baller. Big contracts. Fast cars. Big house. Enjoy the company of beautiful women. Peak life...

He was practically drooling when a cold, hard truth slammed into him.

He was a pro player... just nowhere near the glitzy NBA stars.

College ball? Played for Fresno State... in the NCAA Division II. No March Madness. Average skills. NBA scouts never glanced his way. This past summer, his college buddy Paul George got drafted 10th overall. Link? He waited... and waited... until pick 60. Nothing. Zip. Undrafted.

He'd landed a spot with the Oklahoma City Blue... in the G League.

Worse? He was barely clinging to that roster spot. The G League was pro ball, lightyears beyond D-II. The coach had been openly critical lately. Getting cut felt imminent.

His parents had bled their savings dry for his college basketball dream. If he couldn't hack it in the G League? Dream over. Time to grab pruning shears and join his old man landscaping. His sociology degree? About as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

Link raked his fingers through his dark hair. Fresh start? More like fresh hell. A massive problem had just landed in his lap.