NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 18: Chapter 18: Advice? Tell That Dude to Hit the NBA Already!

With the sharp blare of the electronic buzzer, the game officially came to an end.

Final Score: Texas Longhorns 91, Kansas Jayhawks 62.

A 29-point blowout—nobody saw that coming.

Heading into this Sweet 16 matchup, most analysts believed Kansas had the edge. They were the more complete team, at least on paper. But reality? Reality just got flipped upside down.

Now, fans and experts alike were calling on the NCAA Tournament Committee to re-evaluate Texas and give them the damn respect they deserved.

Down on the court, the Texas Longhorns were losing their minds, dancing and screaming around one guy—Chen Yan.

They weren’t just celebrating a revenge win over Kansas. They were heading to the Elite Eight.

March Madness. The realest dance in college basketball. And tonight? The Longhorns owned the floor.

In the crowd, the Texas faithful were on their feet, deafening the Toyota Center with wild cheers.

”OOOOHHHHH!!! OUR LONGHORNS ARE UNSTOPPABLE!!!”

”WE JUST STEPPED OVER KANSAS TO GET TO THE ELITE EIGHT!”

Then the jumbotron flashed one more time—”Chen Yan breaks NCAA Tournament single-game scoring record!”

The stadium exploded.

Chen raised his arms to the sky, pumping them like a warrior soaking in the roar of his people.

”MVP! MVP! MVP!”

The chant hit like a tidal wave. Loud. Relentless. Unified.

On the other side? Kansas wasn’t sticking around to hear it.

The players made a quick exit—humiliated, broken, silenced.

Brandon Rush was almost in the tunnel when a reporter caught him.

”Brandon! Just 30 seconds, two quick questions.”

He paused, sighed. The last thing he wanted right now was an interview. But future NBA stars needed media reps, and he knew that. So, he forced himself to turn around.

”Fine. Go ahead.”

”First—tough loss tonight. Any thoughts on getting knocked out in the Sweet 16?”

Rush gave the textbook answer.

”Definitely not part of the plan. But we’ll regroup, work harder, and be back stronger next year.”

Then came the dagger.

”Chen dropped 62 points tonight. As the main defender, what was it like facing him?”

Rush clenched his jaw. That question stung more than the loss.

”It felt... helpless,” he said, voice low. ”You give it everything you’ve got... but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps scoring.”

He turned to leave, but the reporter wasn’t done.

”Brandon, your eyes look red. You okay?”

”Got sand in my eyes.”

”But... it’s an indoor arena?”

Rush stopped. His eyes narrowed. Was this guy serious? Did he want him to admit he got played so bad he cried?

He walked off, fuming silently.

Nearby, even the Kansas cheerleaders were wiping tears. Their makeup was a mess, running down their cheeks like war paint after a lost battle. In the stands, fans wearing blue and crimson bowed their heads, some openly crying.

Chen Yan didn’t just crush Kansas. He made their whole damn fanbase cry.

Ruthless.

It got so bad, Texas fans started comforting Kansas fans around them. It wasn’t even trash talk anymore—it was sympathy.

In the VIP rows, NBA scouts were already on their phones, calling up GMs.

These weren’t rookie agents. These were seasoned pros, guys who’d scouted All-Stars, MVPs, legends.

But tonight? They were blown away.

”Special.”

”Once in a decade.”

”This kid’s different.”

Those were the words bouncing around scout-to-GM calls like wildfire.

Except for one guy—the Dallas Mavericks’ scout. He skipped the general manager completely and dialed straight to Mark Cuban.

”Boss, Sweet 16’s over. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Cuban leaned forward in his seat, already buzzing.

”Hit me.”

”Good news: Chen Yan went nuclear. 62 points, NCAA record. You were right. He’s the real deal.”

Cuban grinned like a proud father.

”And the bad news?”

”We’ve only got a second-round pick this year. Unless a miracle happens, we’re out of the running.”

Mark Cuban went silent.

”...”

Meanwhile, at the post-game press conference, Coach Rick Barnes of Texas couldn’t avoid the spotlight. Every question was about Chen Yan.

”Coach, can you break down Chen’s performance tonight?”

Barnes laughed and shrugged.

”What’s there to break down? He won us the game. And broke a record that stood for years. He’s the hero of March Madness right now.”

”But Coach, he dominated the ball. Doesn’t that hurt your offensive flow?”

Barnes scoffed.

”All systems are built to win. We won. So... what system are you trying to fix?”

Reporters traded glances. He had a point.

Across the hall, Kansas head coach Bill Self faced the same questions.

”Coach Self, thoughts on Chen?”

He let out a long breath.

”Unreal. There’s nobody like him in the NCAA. Fans love his stats, but playing against him? That’s when you see the truth. He’s that good.”

”We saw you clapping after the game. Was it for your players or the opponent?”

Self nodded thoughtfully.

”Both. Our guys gave it everything. They deserved respect. But when you see a performance like that? You clap. That’s not just basketball. That’s admiration.”

Then came the final question.

”Coach, any advice for Chen?”

Self smiled, shaking his head.

”Advice? Yeah—get to the NBA as fast as possible. Because there’s nothing left to prove here.”