Tyler Zeller worked the low post.
According to history, he'd be a first-round pick at 17, then traded to the Cleveland Cavaliers.
He'd make the All-Rookie Second Team, though his ceiling was limited. After bouncing around multiple teams, his career-best season would be 10.2 points and 5.7 rebounds per game.
But even so—that was the NBA. This was the NCAA.
Reeves Nelson matched up against him and got overwhelmed in every aspect. Tyler backed him down, spun, and hit the hook shot.
"How long do I have to worry about your goddamn defense?!"
Steve's roar carried from the sideline.
His temper had been awful lately—opponents kept coming, and the pressure was wearing him down. He worried about losing his job at any moment.
"Don't sweat it. He's a projected first-rounder. Getting your ass kicked by him is normal." Yuuto consoled his teammate.
Reeves sighed. "You're really great at comforting people, Yu. Now I feel even worse."
"Just be patient. I'll get you the ball when there's an opportunity. Beat him, and maybe you'll pass him on draft boards."
This was effective motivation.
After all, Reeves was entering the draft too—this was his junior year. If he waited longer, teams would think he lacked potential.
Defeating Tyler Zeller was the perfect chance to boost his stock.
Back on offense—
Yuuto crossed halfcourt and immediately felt the attention focused on him.
Williams never went into battle unprepared. His perimeter players all had solid athleticism, and before the game, he'd implemented detailed defensive schemes against Yuuto.
He wasn't stupid enough to let his players guard this monster one-on-one.
The moment Yuuto caught the ball outside, Marshall would immediately come over to trap.
If Yuuto called for a screen, they'd switch decisively.
The trapping defender would use his wingspan to ensure Yuuto couldn't make a simple pass to an open teammate.
The goal: minimize opportunities for Yuuto to create easy shots for teammates through his penetration.
This was the style college coaches loved—what the NBA would call "over-coaching."
Players on the court were chess pieces; most situations remained under the coach's control.
This was Yuuto's first time experiencing a defensive coverage scheme in the NCAA.
But UCLA had prepared for this.
Since acquiring Yuuto, the Bruins had played very "NBA-style"—relying heavily on individual talent to win games.
On defense, they committed to collapsing into a 3-2 zone, using schemes to compensate for talent gaps.
On the perimeter?
Yuuto handled that. Marshall was a lottery pick, but his calling card in college was leading the team in assists.
He was UNC's brain but lacked scoring ability—nothing like Lillard, who could launch shots from anywhere.
Meanwhile, North Carolina's focal point was clearly the Black Falcon—Barnes.
He was an early prototype 3-and-D player: reliable shooter, solid defender, excellent physical tools to guard multiple positions.
Media described Barnes as a smart player who found his spots within the team structure.
In plain English: a system player.
Put him in the right role and he'd flourish. A control-heavy coach like Williams could maximize his strengths.
But tonight, this Black Falcon had met his match.
For the first ten minutes, Williams's presence loomed large.
Any breakdown on any possession, and Williams would immediately bark corrections at his players.
Steve was barking too, but compared to Williams, he looked outclassed.
People only saw him throwing up a defensive wall, then handing the ball to Yuuto on offense.
That was it.
UNC fans mocked the Bruins' coach as a scrub. Little did they know—this was exactly how Yuuto liked it.
Back at Seihō, this was how they'd played. Teammates defended; he attacked. The perfect rhythm.
Yuuto faced Barnes. The Black Falcon's defense was rock-solid—physical, aware, and committed. But after making adjustments, Yuuto always found openings.
Consecutive crossovers with embedded fakes gave Barnes the illusion that this Asian kid might explode either direction.
He got beat—but Marshall rotated immediately.
Yuuto's eyes flashed. His wrist flicked, and the ball rocketed away.
Mosely caught it cutting to the basket and prepared to attack—only to see John Henson already in position.
No wonder that Nash guy got run off. Even with No-Motion Passes, these guys can still react.
This North Carolina team was absurdly talented.
UCLA's possession stalled. Mosely forced a shot that missed.
North Carolina stayed patient. Marshall controlled the ball, waiting for his teammates to set up.
He called for a pick. Tyler Zeller's frame sealed Mosely completely. Marshall drove into the paint, drew the defense, and kicked it to John Henson—who threw down a two-handed slam.
12-15. North Carolina led.
Steve started yelling from the sideline again.
He called timeout. First thing he said to his players:
"Mosely, how many times do I have to tell you not to guard that deep? You're there to protect the rim, not get posterized."
"Remember what I told you?"
"Yeah—if you can't solve the problem, give the ball to someone who can."
"Who can solve problems?"
"YU!"
"Exactly! Your IQ must be over 200—so why the fuck didn't you pass? Why'd you force a shot over a seven-footer?!"
Mosely had nothing to say.
"And you, Yu—what did you do?"
"I dunked on someone. It was spectacular."
"Right, and you also bricked two shots. Don't use getting doubled as an excuse. Listen up—we're putting the ball in your hands. You need to put it in the basket. Figure it out."
"Got it."
Yuuto nodded.
Play resumed.
UCLA showed everyone their adjustment.
Yeah—give Yuuto the ball even more.
Mosely brought it up and ran some small actions with teammates.
But close observation revealed the Bruins' intent: pull North Carolina's defenders away from Yuuto.
When the moment was right—
Smack~
The distance was enough.
Yuuto caught the pass. Only Barnes stood before him, with Marshall not too far away, lurking in the gap.
Yuuto exploded off the dribble, his entire body feinting, giving Barnes the sensation his vision had blurred—the Asian kid seemed to leave afterimages.
By the time he recovered, Yuuto was already behind him. Before Marshall could close out, Yuuto pulled up on the spot.
"Beautiful!"
"That's how you fucking play!"
Steve pumped his fist. I don't care if my schemes are simple—just tell me if they work!
...
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