Basketballs echoed through the Davidson College gym. Players were hustling, dripping sweat, chasing dreams under the squeak of sneakers and shouting of coaches.
"Yo, Dell! What brings you here today?" Coach McKillop looked surprised when he spotted Dell Curry leaning by the doorway of the training hall.
Dell gave him a mysterious grin. "Brought you a little something special."
"Oh yeah," McKillop raised an eyebrow. "What kinda 'special' are we talkin' here,?"
A few minutes later, a towering figure walked in behind Dell—easily seven feet tall.
McKillop's jaw dropped. "Wait… what?! Who is this guy?!"
He couldn't believe his eyes. Getting a player that size to Davidson? That wasn't something you saw every day.
McKillop called a halt to practice. "Lin! Get over here for a sec!"
Lin Yi jogged over, sweat glistening, his eyes curious. He'd already noticed the tall man next to Dell—someone with a serious presence.
"Damn… this guy's as tall as me. Maybe even taller," Lin thought, glancing up at the man. "But he looks... older. Like, way older. Gotta be in his fifties?"
He had no clue who the guy was.
"Lin," McKillop said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "you better thank Uncle Dell here. He brought someone in just for you. Not many people could've pulled this off." Googlᴇ search novel★fire.net
Lin shook hands with the big man, who had a calm but powerful presence.
"Let me introduce you," Dell said. "Terry Rollins. An old friend of mine."
Wayne Monte Rollins known as the Tree. Shot-blocking beast from the '82–'83 NBA season. All-Defensive Second Team, then First Team the year after. Atlanta Hawks legend. Four career triple-block games. A dude who made his name with athleticism and timing.
"I've watched some of your games," Terry said, his voice deep and steady. "Kid, you're legit. Way more athletic than we were back in the day."
He was impressed—but also noticed something was missing.
"You've got the tools—quick feet, crazy wingspan. But when it comes to shot-blocking? You're not fully there yet. That's where I come in."
Lin nodded, still kinda starstruck. "Wait, he's here for me?"
He couldn't thank Dell enough. This wasn't just helpful—this was elite training.
The truth was, Dell had his reasons.
Over Christmas dinner, Steph had confessed something to his dad. He wasn't expecting much from the season. He just wanted to finish strong, develop his game, and get to the NBA. The team wasn't looking great this year.
But then Lin Yi happened.
He came outta nowhere. Talent, drive, that spark. It lit something in Steph again.
'Cause yeah, every college player says they're chasing the dream. But few really believe they can touch it.
To chase March Madness's glory, they needed a miracle. And Dell knew Steph's game was already near its ceiling—he couldn't coach much more into his son.
But Lin Yi? Lin had room to grow. Especially on defense.
There weren't many true seven-footers in the NCAA. Guys like Thabeet made a living just by being tall.
Lin was more than just tall.
He was quick laterally. Nimble. Long as hell. Not super strong yet, but explosive. His bounce wasn't high, but it was fast. His wingspan made up for everything. In terms of raw physical profile? He could block shots above where Blake Griffin could reach.
That's why Dell called in a favor.
Terry Rollins hadn't been doing much lately. When Dell first told him about Lin, he was skeptical. A seven-footer who moved like a guard?
Then he saw the tape.
Suddenly, the old fire sparked again.
Coaching a potential block machine? Hell yeah. Let's see what this kid's made of.
So while the rest of the Wildcats went through regular drills, Lin was off in his world—grinding through one-on-one sessions with a former NBA Defensive Team star.
And he was loving it.
"You don't block shots by reacting," Terry told him during one session. "You block 'em by predicting. Know what your guy's about to do before he does it."
"If a guy drives left, and you're blocking with your left, you'll get there quicker. You've got the size—now use it smart."
"And hey—expand your range. NCAA doesn't have that three-second rule, so if you're anchoring the paint? You can cover everybody's mistakes. Be the safety net."
Lin was soaking it up like a sponge.
"Don't worry about strength. You don't need to overpower guys. Just use what you've got. Height, wingspan, speed, timing. Sometimes it's about baiting them—make 'em think they've got the lane, and then BAM, meet 'em at the rim."
That week of training changed Lin Yi.
He starting to see the game differently now.
Terry was blown away by how fast the kid picked it up.
Before he left, he shook his head and told McKillop, "Man, I think you guys are wasting a generational big. If he put on a little more muscle? He could dominate the paint like Olajuwon."
McKillop just laughed. "Maybe. But the game's changing. Who says a center has to play like a center anymore?"
The old-school centers? Injured all the time. Constant contact. That's why guys like Nowitzki lasted longer—they took less punishment.
Basketball now? It's faster and more versatile. Lin could play inside. He just didn't have to always.
McKillop always kept an eye on the long game. He even started limiting Steph and Lin's drives in meaningless games—no need to risk injuries in blowouts.
"Modern basketball ain't got one rulebook," he told his assistant once. "You adapt—or get left behind."
And right now? Lin Yi was adapting fast.