A few minutes later.
The final buzzer sounded.
Colorado couldn't manufacture a miracle. UCLA claimed their 13th straight win.
The NCAA's all-time winning streak record was 60 games, set from 1955 to 1957—spanning two full seasons.
Beyond that, Texas had won 44 consecutive games from 1915 to 1917.
Both historic streaks shared one thing in common: they took two seasons to build.
After all, the NCAA schedule wasn't particularly dense—only two games per week, occasionally three.
The season ran from late November to early March.
In the Pac-12, teams played home-and-away against each conference opponent, with occasional non-conference games mixed in.
To break the winning streak record, Yuuto would need at least two or even three years.
But would he stay at UCLA that long?
Of course not. He planned to enter the draft after this season.
If everything went according to plan, UCLA would make the tournament this year. As long as their run wasn't spectacularly disappointing—say, getting bounced in the Round of 32—
He would absolutely declare for the draft.
"Good morning, students. Remember, if you want to become a superstar like Yu, get moving—stay patient and work hard..."
UCLA's morning campus broadcast echoed across the grounds, inspiring students on their way to class.
The Bruins' 13-game winning streak had captured the entire school's attention.
Yuuto was now a basketball star not just at UCLA, but across all of Los Angeles.
In truth.
Several California NBA teams had already taken notice.
The revenue Yao Ming had generated for the Rockets was public knowledge—reflected in the team's market value. Right now, Yuuto was an incredibly hot commodity.
Of course.
Acquiring a Chinese player was simple—just a contract, a few hundred thousand dollars a year.
But Chinese fans weren't fools. They loved homegrown players, but if one of their own lacked ability, they'd rather he come home than go overseas and embarrass himself.
Yuuto, though.
He looked capable of replicating another miracle—not there just to pad a roster.
Plus, he was a guard. That was fresh and exciting.
As Yuuto walked across campus, a blonde beauty approached him, handing over a gift box.
Then she made a phone gesture by her ear. "Call me!"
"Wow, another campus queen. Seriously, I'm jealous, Yu."
Mosely had become one of Yuuto's good friends.
At least, that's how he saw it.
In Yuuto's mind, the guy was just one of his lackeys.
"Since December, that's the eleventh beautiful girl who's asked you out. When are you finally going to break the ice, Yu?"
Norman promptly snatched the gift box, since Yuuto never bothered opening them.
Inside was a Playboy magazine. The cover model wore sexy lingerie, and a phone number was scrawled across it.
Now that was provocative.
"Holy shit—is she saying she'll dress like this for your date?"
Norman got excited instantly.
An invitation like this was hard for most guys to refuse.
Yuuto was the exception. His aesthetic sensibilities were very Eastern.
As the saying went: Only fierce dragons cross the river, and only bold pigs wear makeup.
These Western girls caked on foundation an inch thick. They did nothing for him.
"She's all yours, Norman."
"Oh, you're brutal. Honestly, if I didn't know that two different girls call you every single day, I'd seriously question your orientation."
"Quit running your mouth. Don't be late for practice."
Yuuto parted ways with his teammates and headed to class.
He knew exactly why he was so popular—he was destined for the league and would soon be a millionaire. Anyone who landed in his bed could secure a cushy life forever.
Yuuto wasn't about to give these little gold-diggers a chance to poke holes in his plans.
In the classroom, plenty of students were discussing last night's game.
When Yuuto walked in, they immediately crowded around him, buzzing about the NBA draft projections.
They talked about his draft stock like it was their own, beaming with pride.
"ESPN updated their mock draft today. Yu, do you know where they have you?"
"Where?"
"Fourth. And because of that, ESPN is getting destroyed online—including by me. I spent an hour dragging them on social media."
"It's just a projection, not the actual draft order."
"But you shouldn't be ranked fourth! Your performances have been better than AD's. Comparing Damian Lillard to you is an insult!"
The students were furious. They believed Yuuto deserved to be the top pick, or at worst second or third.
Fourth?
Who did ESPN think they were disrespecting?
"Their reasoning is ridiculous. Just because Asian guards have never succeeded, just because Yi Jianlian was a bust, they question your future? That's not fair."
"They might be right. I haven't been tested in March Madness yet."
Yuuto remained surprisingly composed about it.
The most intense stretch of the NCAA tournament hadn't arrived.
Even though the Pac-12 was one of the top conferences, failing to prove yourself in March Madness meant insufficient credibility.
The effect of defeating star players on the big stage was undeniable.
Yuuto remembered clearly: Rui Hachimura had once surged into the top three of mock drafts after leading his team to upset Zion Williamson's Duke.
But the NBA was professional. They evaluated players through different lenses.
So Zion still went first overall—only to repeat the mistakes of predecessors, blowing his money on partying once the checks started rolling in. All those analysts who'd compared his ceiling to LeBron's got their faces slapped repeatedly.
Not that media getting their faces slapped was anything new. They'd do anything for clicks and views. They were used to it.
"By the way, Yu—are you declaring for the draft after freshman year?"
"If my draft stock doesn't change after March, there's no reason for me to stay at UCLA."
"Yeah, if it were me, I'd go pro and become a millionaire too."
Soon.
Training time arrived.
Coach Steve's roars echoed throughout the gym.
Most NCAA coaches were like this. Zen masters who napped on the bench were rare.
Pop, Pat Riley, Larry Brown—many championship coaches were legendary screamers.
"Reeves, you're the worst defender I've ever seen—the absolute worst!"
"Yu, stop shooting those damn super-deep threes! They don't give you four points! Stop it—I've told you a million times, you bastard!"
"Norman, your shooting stinks so bad I can smell it from three miles away! Just do what Yu says—put the ball in the basket! Is that so hard?"
"John..."
Steve yelled for a solid two hours.
The Bruins' record this year was excellent—their winning percentage sat second in the Pac-12.
Barring surprises, they'd enter March Madness as Pac-12 champions.
And that's when UCLA's real test would begin.
Sixty-eight teams participated in the tournament each year. Every conference champion earned an automatic bid.
The remaining spots were selected from the strongest teams across all conferences.
Though the Pac-12 was one of the Power Five, the Big 12 and SEC were arguably stronger.
Last year, those two conferences each sent eight teams to the tournament—accounting for 24% of the field.
The Pac-12? Only four.
So even winning the Pac-12 title didn't prove much.
North Carolina, Kentucky, Duke—they were all waiting ahead.
...
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