Head Coach Gallagher narrowed his eyes at Yang Yan, arms crossed, mouth curved in a sharp, disbelieving smirk.
"Hmph. Now he's in a rush," Gallagher muttered internally.
He remembered all too well the stubborn arrogance Yang Yan had shown when he first joined the team. The endless justifications, the skipped practices, the blatant disregard for discipline—Yang Yan had practically made a game out of avoiding effort. And now this?
Gallagher was seconds away from shutting Yang Yan down again when—
"Coach!" Yang Yan interrupted, eyes blazing, voice bold. "Sometimes the prejudice in someone's heart becomes a mountain too heavy to move. I think you've got that mountain lodged inside you."
Gallagher burst into sardonic laughter.
Was this kid for real? Challenging him in front of the team?
Standing nearby, Yang Yan's friend Johnny turned pale. He tugged anxiously on Yang Yan's arm, trying to pull him back from the precipice. Everyone knew how things worked in NCAA basketball: a coach wasn't just a coach—he was judge, jury, and executioner. And Gallagher? He was known for being iron-fisted.
Johnny whispered through clenched teeth, "Are you trying to get kicked out for good?!"
But Yang Yan had made up his mind. He gently shrugged Johnny off and turned to Gallagher again with steely resolve.
"I was invited to this university by the president himself," Yang Yan declared. "And he didn't say I was coming to wave pom-poms. He said I was here to play basketball."
Gallagher's smirk disappeared in an instant.
That part, unfortunately, was true.
Months ago, the university president had brought Yang Yan on board with special recommendations—rumors had circulated that Yang Yan was some kind of basketball prodigy from overseas. And because of that status, Gallagher had been forced to tolerate his presence on the team, despite the glaring lack of discipline and results.
Still... maybe this was the moment Gallagher had been waiting for.
A sly grin crept back across his lips. He narrowed his gaze on Yang Yan.
"Alright," he said calmly, "you want a shot? You'll get your chance. You're in."
Yang Yan didn't hesitate. He threw off his warm-up hoodie to reveal his jersey underneath, already prepared like it was fate. He stretched lightly on the sidelines, warming up his joints, a fire lighting behind his eyes.
Gallagher watched with amusement. So this is the 'genius' they hyped up, he thought bitterly. Even someone with a beer belly could school this kid.
What he didn't know was that Yang Yan had been under a punishing system—literally—a bizarre cosmic program that had drained his stamina for months. His drop in performance wasn't laziness. It was an unavoidable cost for unlocking something greater.
And now? That system was fully loaded.
Gallagher plotted quietly. Let him play. Let the higher-ups see what I see. After this embarrassment, they'll finally let me cut him loose. A regular season game is meaningless. But to Gallagher, this was a power move—an example.
Yang Yan was a fraud, and today the world would see it.
As Yang Yan stepped onto the court, something ignited inside him.
His blood simmered. His feet touched the hardwood like it was sacred ground.
Late to the game? Sure. But every step forward is part of the journey.
Just then, the system interface hovered in his mind like a hologram:
[Host detected in NCAA competition]
[As a 34-year-old uncle in the league, Lao Deng is a basketball anomaly]
[Appearing at this age is wild—even if it's just bullying kids]
[Still, it's a pathway to the NBA]
[Secondary League Gift Pack Unlocked]
Yang Yan groaned. "I'm not 34, dammit—I'm eighteen!"
But sarcasm aside, he didn't hesitate to claim the reward. A soft chime rang in his head.
[Congratulations, host. Skill Unlocked: NCAA-level 'No Deceleration' move by NBA legend Derrick Rose.]
Wait. Derrick Rose?
For a split second, Yang Yan frowned.
Hadn't he read about a promising high school kid named Derek Ross recently?
Then it clicked.
The system timeline was based on the future. Rose hadn't become a legend yet in 2006—but he would. What Yang Yan just received was a peek into potential greatness before the world even knew about it.
This system might be ridiculous, Yang Yan thought. But it's also extraordinary.
He scanned the stats briefly. Even though the skill pack only provided Rose's NCAA-level abilities, it was still potent. Speed, agility, footwork—the kind that left defenders clutching air.
Back across the ocean, a flood of reactions lit up the live stream chat:
"Wait a second… did I hallucinate or is Yang Yan actually on the court!?"
"That backup forward injury was real, huh? Now we've got trouble."
"Oden's championship run is cursed, I swear!"
"Yang Yan vs. Durant? He's toast."
"Future NBA champ Durant won't even break a sweat."
"Shameful that our boy from Dragon Country got thrown in like this."
"Hey! Don't bash him just yet. He's still one of us!"
"One of us? Please. He's a walking embarrassment."
"Didn't the coach publicly call him lazy last month?"
The debate got heated. Some defended Yang Yan. Others shredded him mercilessly.
The anchor, Xiao Liang, noticed the escalating chaos and spoke up:
"Alright folks, let's cool it. It's not about worshiping the West or betraying the East. We're just disappointed he hasn't lived up to expectations. But hey—people change."
"Here's the deal: If Yang Yan scores on Durant in this game, I'll drop 1,000 yuan in lucky bags for each point he makes."
The crowd was stunned into silence.
Then the chat exploded:
"A THOUSAND per point?! Madness!"
"Anchor's got guts!"
"I doubt we'll see a single lucky bag..."
"Score on Durant? That's fantasy fiction."
Back on the court, Yang Yan crouched low in defensive stance, his eyes locked onto Durant. The crowd hummed with tension. Gallagher stood on the sidelines, arms folded, waiting for the humiliation to unfold.
But Yang Yan didn't waver.
Within him, a storm brewed—an untapped reservoir of energy and determination. He hadn't sacrificed sleep, pride, and a centimeter of dignity for nothing. This moment was everything.
Yang Yan took a breath.
And the game... was on.