No Chance of Winning

There was none of the shouting one might have imagined, but a spark of mounting excitement was clearly visible across the players' faces. Russell Westbrook lightly drummed his fingers against the armrest of his bench, and gradually the others joined in, until a rhythmic, drumbeat cadence echoed through the locker room. Seeing that the moment had arrived, Vincent held out his hand to gather the players together, and they shouted the team slogan in unison. When it was all over, Yang Shuai walked out of the locker room with Vincent. "You're really cut out to be a coach," Vincent couldn't help remarking the moment they stepped outside. "If it weren't for Skip, I'd want you as my top assistant." While NAA teams didn't carry as many assistant coaches as NBA franchises—typically five at most—assistants were certainly not all created equal. Ordinary assistants only needed one specialized skill, but a lead assistant was essentially a head coach in waiting. "Thanks for the compliment, but don't ask me to do something like that again." Even if Yang Shuai did become a coach, he wouldn't want to work with Vincent; the man was far too fond of putting people on the spot. "There won't be a next time," Vincent smiled. Regardless of what Yang Shuai chose, the two of them wouldn't be on the same team next season. On the evening of the final, the St. Pete Times Forum, with its capacity of over seventeen thousand, was packed to the brim. Unlike the earlier rounds, however, the crowd was not dominated by supporters of a single program. Both fan bases were out in force, seated on opposite sides of the arena. With flags bearing team logos waving in the stands, it felt remarkably like two opposing armies arrayed for battle. This was particularly true on the North Carolina side, where fans uniformly wore Carolina blue shirts, creating what looked like an imposing blue sea with an overwhelming sense of pressure. Yang Shuai was somewhat dazed as he walked out of the tunnel. This was his first time experiencing an NBA-caliber arena in person, and the sheer awe was far more intense than anything seen on television. "If this were the NAA championship game, we'd be looking at a seventy-thousand-seat dome," Davis Jones remarked from behind him. "Have we ever made the NAA finals?" Yang Shuai had never paid much attention to school history. "No, our best result was the Final Four, but that was back in 1962." That took Yang Shuai by surprise. "Duncan never made the Final Four?" "Duncan made the Elite Eight, and CP3 made the Sweet Sixteen. That's March Madness for you," Jones sighed wistfully. Teams led by Duncan and Paul had both conquered the A League; not only were the stars transcendent, but their supporting casts were formidable too. Yet neither had managed to go any further. March Madness—Yang Shuai was intimately familiar with the term even before his transmigration. The NAA Tournament earned that moniker precisely because of its single-elimination format, where game-day execution carried enormous weight and upsets occurred constantly. Then again, the A League Tournament was also single elimination, so how different was it really from March Madness? Stepping onto the court, Yang Shuai scanned the stands several times but saw no sign of Dell Curry. "Your dad didn't come?" Yang Shuai asked Stephen Curry, who was stretching along the sideline. Curry finished stretching his leg, stood up, and nodded. "He said he was afraid he'd crack under the pressure." Yang Shuai took a second to process that Curry meant Dell Curry was afraid of cracking under his own anxiety. For a man who had played more than a decade in the NBA to admit that showed that no matter who you were or what you'd achieved, everyone was equally a rookie when it came to being a father. "So do you feel any pressure?" Yang Shuai asked. Curry smiled and shook his head, holding a basketball as he sat down beside Yang Shuai. "A little at first. But after what you said in the locker room yesterday, I've got this strange feeling." "A strange feeling?" Yang Shuai was surprised by the choice of words. Curry nodded. "Honestly, I never imagined we'd beat Virginia Tech and Duke in our very first season. Especially Duke—that's the Blue Devils. But we pulled it off. Now UNC is the only one left, and this is our last chance to play them this year. I truly believe this game was arranged by destiny." There was a gleam in Curry's eyes as he spoke; he genuinely meant every word. Yang Shuai hadn't expected Tyronn Lue's famous quote to resonate so deeply with Curry. After all, when he talked about "beating every team that looked down on you," it had mostly been intended to rally Curry's spirits. Still, considering Curry had attended Christian schools before college, such faith was hardly surprising. As if to prove his point, Curry spun the ball in his hands twice, rose to his feet, and launched a shot. *Swish!* The ball traced a soaring arc through the air and snapped cleanly through the net. The shot was taken from near the logo, and an ultra-deep pull-up from the sideline was far tougher than one from straight on. After draining it, Curry looked back at Yang Shuai, throwing both hands up in undisguised excitement, as though the shot had conclusively validated everything he'd just said. Yang Shuai nodded with a smile—not because he believed in destiny, but because he could see Curry's shooting touch was dialed in tonight. With warmups concluded, the pregame introductions got underway. Each time a player was announced, one side of the arena erupted in deafening cheers, resembling the battle cries of opposing armies before a clash. Standing in the middle of it, Yang Shuai felt his blood surge. He finally understood why March Madness drew higher ratings than the NBA Finals: it wasn't just the win-or-go-home format, but the unmatched passion and investment of the fans. Following the opening ceremony, the starting lineups were announced. Wake Forest Demon Deacons: Russell Westbrook, Stephen Curry, Michael Drum, Ibaka, Kyle Visser. North Carolina Tar Heels: Ty Lawson, Wayne Ellington, Danny Green, Brandan Wright, Tyler Hansbrough. Prosser had inserted Ibaka into the starting five, making the only real adjustment available to him. Yet looking across the floor, the Tar Heels featured five five-star recruits who all possessed NBA caliber. From Yang Shuai's perspective, the future achievements of the Demon Deacons' core trio would far outshine anyone on the opposing roster. Right now, however, they were the ones being thoroughly overwhelmed by the Tar Heels' sheer talent. The Tar Heels won the opening tip and immediately ran their offense around a Hansbrough post-up. Hansbrough executed a polished spin into contact and finished smoothly off the glass. This season, Hansbrough had averaged 18.4 points, 7.9 rebounds, and 1.2 assists on 57% shooting. The future UNC all-time great stood only 2.06 meters tall, but he packed 113 kilograms of muscle and, above all, played with overwhelming strength and ferocious physicality. In the NBA, limited height and raw athleticism would relegate him to a role-player enforcer, but at the NAA level, he was a dominant juggernaut on the interior. On the change of possession, the Tar Heels put their elite defense on display. Lawson and Ellington applied aggressive perimeter ball pressure, while Hansbrough, Wright, and Green formed a suffocating web spanning from the paint to the free-throw line. Westbrook used a screen from Visser to shed Ellington's pressure, but UNC's defensive scheme was deliberate: Hansbrough dropped back, daring Westbrook to take the midrange jumper. Westbrook elected to drive hard to the rim instead. But after absorbing contact from Hansbrough, his shot was badly altered, and the ball failed to even touch the rim. In that instant, the adage that it was easier to shake a mountain than to shake Hansbrough was vividly brought to life. Hansbrough secured the defensive rebound, and once the ball reached Lawson's hands, UNC pushed the pace on transition offense, with Ellington converting an easy trailing layup. In the half court, Westbrook called for another screen, this time running a pick-and-roll with Ibaka, but UNC switched instantly. Facing Wright, Westbrook chose to attack the basket once more, but his contested shot was swatted straight out of bounds by Wright's extended arm. Wright possessed a slender build and wasn't overly physical, but as the third-ranked recruit in the nation for the class of 2006, his raw physical profile was off the charts: standing 2.06 meters tall, he boasted a terrifying 2.23-meter wingspan. Even when Westbrook managed to bump him off his spot, he couldn't escape Wright's massive reach. The Tar Heel fans erupted in thunderous roars, while the Wake Forest contingent grew uneasy. Even knowing a talent gap existed, none had expected the gulf to be this vast. It was unfolding precisely as Yang Shuai had observed during his film study: North Carolina was simply an upgraded version of Wake Forest. Everything Wake Forest could do, UNC could do too; what Wake Forest couldn't do, UNC also had in its arsenal—and on top of that, they crushed them in raw athleticism. Under such conditions, the Demon Deacons had virtually no chance of winning. "For the Demon Deacons, their run this season has already been a delightful surprise, and their prospects in the NAA Tournament are genuinely exciting," Ian Eagle was already remarking from the broadcast booth, turning his gaze toward Wake Forest's future. As a team that had hovered inside the AP top two all year and entered as heavy favorites for the national title, a North Carolina victory was completely expected. An upset by Wake Forest would have been the true shock.