Speaking of handsome, Leo was still the standard—the man who unified global aesthetics.
But in terms of raw masculine energy, Yuuto had the edge.
Plus, at this point, Leo was probably already playing with water guns.
The second half resumed.
Only three minutes in, Steve noticed the game's rhythm had changed.
The whistles started coming thick and fast, especially against the Bruins on defense. The refs had become hypersensitive.
Defensive actions that had been allowed in the first half were now being called.
Even Yuuto—whose defense was impeccably clean—got whistled for a foul.
Steve had no choice but to signal from the sideline to slow things down.
Oregon noticed immediately and adjusted, using continuous drives to draw fouls and claw back via free throws.
Seeing this, Yuuto increased his own penetration.
A perfect fake. Singler thought he saw Yuuto's body heading right and shifted his weight accordingly.
The next instant, Yuuto seemed to vanish, reappearing on the left side.
Singler had been completely fooled.
Seeing Yuuto drive into the paint, Oregon's center jumped and crashed into him.
Using a foul to prevent the score.
WHAM.
Yuuto got knocked to the floor. He got up expecting to shoot free throws.
But no whistle.
Yuuto couldn't believe it. He spread his arms wide toward the ref with an imperial air.
Where's the call?
The entire arena understood his gesture and erupted in boos.
The gym filled with jeers.
Steve immediately exploded. "You son of a bitch! Are you blind?! He almost got knocked into the Pacific Ocean!"
The ref remained silent, signaling for him to calm down.
Then on the other end.
Reeves, seeing his team's star treated like that, retaliated with a revenge foul of his own.
When Singler drove into the paint, Reeves didn't hesitate to crash into him—with real force behind it.
This time, the whistle blew.
Fuck!
"Why don't you do everyone a favor and resign?! Stop refereeing college basketball!"
Steve was livid, chasing the head referee while cursing him out.
His assistants and players rushed over to restrain him.
No referee could tolerate such insults. The ref immediately hit Steve with a technical foul.
Oregon got two technical free throws. Singler stepped up and sank both.
Plus, by rule, Oregon retained possession.
The Bruins were furious—lungs ready to explode.
Though they still led, the atmosphere had completely shifted.
Singler, silent all first half, finally spoke up.
"Asian—you're never winning the Pac-12 championship."
He saw an opportunity.
If he could provoke Yuuto into making mistakes, the Ducks would have a chance.
"Of course not—because after this year, I'm going to the league to make millions."
"But you?"
"Damn, I've memorized ESPN's mock draft. I guarantee your name isn't on it. In the future, even the CBA won't want a dumbass like you."
Yuuto was obviously angry, but if Singler thought this would rattle him, he was dead wrong.
He was the one who was furious now—completely losing his cool.
Singler felt deeply insulted. This bastard had the nerve to say even the CBA wouldn't want him.
For a basketball player, there was no worse insult.
In a rage, Singler called for a screen, drove to the free-throw line, and kicked it out to a teammate beyond the arc.
The shot went in. Just like that, Oregon had cut the lead by 5.
"Calm down, you pieces of shit!"
Steve was back to roaring from the sideline, telling his players to stay composed.
As if he wasn't the one who'd just earned a technical foul.
But the Bruins really did need to settle down.
...
Yuuto brought the ball across halfcourt and demanded it, forcing himself to regain composure.
The league manipulating games for ratings was nothing new.
They didn't care about outcomes—only viewership, because that's how they made their money.
It was disgusting, especially for the team in the lead.
But Yuuto had chosen this profession, so he had to be mentally prepared.
Most teams that got run down didn't lose heart at the moment of the comeback—they'd already started crumbling before that.
Like now. The refs' unfairness had demoralized the Bruins.
This was when they needed Yuuto most.
He didn't disappoint.
"Yu with the ball!"
"He drives—lightning quick!"
"Singler's on him—Yu's jersey is getting stretched!"
The commentator was being diplomatic—stopping just short of screaming that Singler was grabbing his jersey.
Singler would rather foul than let Yuuto score.
The ref had the whistle in his mouth. If he didn't blow this one, it would be blatant rigging.
Besides, even if Oregon got a foul, the Bruins weren't in the bonus yet.
So he took a breath and blew.
But what the ref didn't know was that Yuuto had been waiting for exactly this moment.
His Demon Eyes had been watching this ref. The instant the whistle touched lips, Yuuto rose simultaneously, contorting his body to release the ball.
Why contorted?
Because his jersey was being pulled the entire time. He couldn't get proper lift—like a gopher trying to escape a hole while someone kept hammering him back down.
The ball bounced off the backboard and dropped through.
"AND ONE!!!"
The commentator screamed into the microphone.
"This is Yu!"
"California's Mr. Clutch! One of the most coveted talents in the entire NCAA!"
"The whole arena is cheering for him!"
The ref stood there dumbfounded, expression awkward.
He wanted to wave off the basket, but Singler's grab had been too obvious.
In the NBA and NCAA alike, the more crucial the game, the more experienced the assigned referees.
Because these refs knew how to be proper dogs.
Like right now—not giving this and-one would be too blatant.
"Nice work! You're the most handsome man on the planet today!"
"Keep playing like this—crush those Oregon bastards!"
Steve pumped his fist on the sideline, ecstatic.
Mosely and the others were ignited by this play too, rushing over to chest-bump Yuuto in celebration.
Oregon's coach shook his head again, rubbing his bald scalp.
Pure individual brilliance!
Nobody could be blamed for that!
The refs were already on their side—practically wearing Oregon jerseys out there.
When you're outmatched, you're outmatched.
Yuuto sank the free throw.
On the defensive end, the fired-up Bruins played even harder.
Singler forced up a three that clanged out. In the chaos, Norman grabbed the rebound.
Before anyone could react, Yuuto had already turned and sprinted.
Norman instinctively threw the outlet pass. By the time the ball was in the air, Yuuto had already crossed halfcourt.
Two steps.
Pull up.
Gather.
Rise.
A bomb from near half-court—a high, fast, beautiful arc—swish through the net.
"Fuck yeah! Nice shot!"
Steve completely lost it, ripping off his tie and screaming. It was the first time he'd ever praised one of Yuuto's ridiculous three-pointers.
...
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