Nearly a month had passed since Ohio State's stunning victory over Georgetown, and February 2007 had arrived with the winter chill still lingering over campus. With the NCAA regular season nearing its close, the Buckeyes had entered a dominant rhythm, winning every game they played after that crucial Georgetown match. It seemed as though the team had finally awakened from a slumber, pushing forward with momentum and purpose.
At the heart of this turnaround was none other than Yang Yan. Since that victory, he had become a regular presence in the rotation, appearing in every game and receiving consistent minutes on the court. While he technically remained a substitute, his playing time and influence on the game were anything but secondary. Officially, Johnny still held the title of starting small forward, but in reality, Yang Yan was the one leading the charge from that position. Each time he stepped onto the court, it was clear he was shouldering the team's expectations.
Curiously, Coach Gallagher hadn't moved to change Yang Yan's status officially. The dynamic between coach and player had evolved—tension had eased, but ambiguity remained. Gallagher had grown to accept Yang Yan's unconventional training habits, and in return, Yang Yan had ceased challenging his place in the hierarchy. The rest of the team seemed unbothered, likely because Yang Yan's performance spoke for itself. He had earned their respect without needing to claim a title.
Inside the university's practice facility, the court buzzed with energy as players sprinted through drills and executed set plays. Yang Yan, however, was resting on the bench, lost in thought as he observed the scene. It had become normal to see him like this, detached yet undeniably aware.
Suddenly, a flicker of digital light caught his eye. A system notification appeared before him:
[One year older, one year stronger. At 35, you've secured a stable role as a rotation player in the NCAA. You've scored in double figures in three games. Not bad for someone your age.]
[Substitute role, starter minutes. A sign of trust from the coaching staff.]
[Congratulations on completing your objective. The reward has been delivered. Secondary League Gift Pack issued. Please check and accept.]
A long breath escaped Yang Yan's lips. Finally, the mission was complete. Over a month of effort, of grit and quiet determination, had culminated in this moment. Yet, instead of immediately checking the reward, he remained still, eyes fixed on the system interface that floated before him.
[You've become a reliable NCAA rotation player. It wasn't easy, but you made it. This brings you close to what you once achieved in your youth. And this time, you didn't waver.]
[Next mission: Become a starting player for any Secondary League team and complete at least one game. Completion will unlock a new random gift pack.]
Yang Yan nodded slightly. The path ahead was clear. What had started as an uphill battle to earn a roster spot had now become a quest to lead.
He finally opened the reward from his previous mission:
[Congratulations. You have acquired NBA star Kyle Korver's NCAA-level Spot-Up Three-Point Shooting ability.]
Yang Yan raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I guess you can't hit the jackpot every time," he muttered.
The last time he'd received a reward, it had been the legendary Derrick Rose's non-slowdown directional change. That was a monumental gift—almost unfair in its effectiveness. This time, there was no mention of "legend," no dramatic flair.
Still, Yang Yan felt a spark of recognition. Kyle Korver… the name rang a bell. He pulled out his phone, did a quick search, and confirmed his hunch. Korver was not only active in the NBA, but a key rotation player for the Philadelphia 76ers. His role? A specialist three-point shooter, a deadly weapon from the perimeter. The kind of player who didn't need to dribble or create plays—he just had to be in the right spot and the ball would fly.
Though Korver's NBA role was considered modest, his college career had been electric. And his three-point shooting? Elite. That was the asset Yang Yan had just received. A smile crept across his face. Maybe it wasn't flashy, but it was exactly what he needed.
Until now, Yang Yan's scoring arsenal consisted mostly of explosive drives and reliable mid-range jumpers. Even without Rose's skill boost, his ability to cut through defenders was top-tier in the NCAA. With Rose's direction change? He was nearly unstoppable. But the three-point shot had always been a weak point. In the past month, he hadn't even attempted more than three shots from beyond the arc.
Now, that weakness was no longer a gap—it was an opportunity.
Next on the agenda: earn a starting role.
Yang Yan's eyes drifted toward Coach Gallagher. Enough waiting.
He stood up, dusted off his shorts, and marched straight over to Gallagher with no hesitation.
"Coach, when are you going to put me in the starting lineup?" Yang Yan asked bluntly.
Gallagher glanced back at him, expression unreadable. "You're doing fine coming off the bench. Why change what's working?"
Yang Yan raised an eyebrow. "Fine? You're running your starter for five minutes and then letting me play the rest. Who uses a sub like that?"
Gallagher's ears turned slightly red. He didn't reply immediately.
Yang Yan leaned in slightly. "Coach, you're treating me like an old donkey—you use me, but don't promote me."
That line made Gallagher twitch. The words stung with accuracy. He wanted to retort, but deep down, he knew Yang Yan was right. No team in their right mind leaned so heavily on a substitute without acknowledging it.
Still, Gallagher composed himself. "Alright, alright. Don't complain to me. Things will change soon. You won't have to carry the load as a substitute much longer."
Yang Yan frowned, puzzled. What did that mean?
Before he could ask again, Gallagher waved him away, clearly done with the conversation. Yang Yan walked back to the bench with a growing sense of unease.
He didn't have to wait long for clarity.
After practice, Johnny swaggered over, a grin plastered across his face. "Hey man, you heard the news? Oakley's coming back."
Yang Yan blinked. "Who?"
"Oakley. The team's original starting small forward. He's been out for a while, but he's healthy now. You're gonna have some real competition for that starting spot."
Johnny's smirk widened.
Yang Yan's face darkened.
So that was it. The mysterious comment from Gallagher made sense now. Oakley's return would shake things up. Yang Yan, who had clawed his way to relevance, now faced the possibility of being pushed aside again.
"Lao Bichi," Yang Yan muttered under his breath. "Use me and dump me, huh? Not this time."
A fire lit in his eyes. He wasn't just here to play—he was here to win. And no returning veteran was going to stop him.