After the timeout, the effect wasn't immediate—but there was definitely an impact.
The Bruins and Spartans were actually quite similar: both teams had their talent concentrated in one player.
Both programs had storied histories, and even without top-ten national recruits, they still rostered plenty of four-star prospects.
The difference was that among their freshmen, Yuuto was significantly better than Gary Harris.
UCLA's offense continued to rely on Yuuto's individual ability.
But against double teams, even Yuuto's shooting percentage inevitably dropped.
Steve didn't seem bothered by this.
This wasn't the NBA—it was the NCAA—but if you have a player who can solve problems, why not use him?
Roy Williams looked down on him. Little did Williams know that Steve looked down on Williams too.
If you could recruit elite talent and roll out a roster overflowing with athleticism, sure, you could experiment with any system you wanted.
All that talk about this system and that philosophy, letting players express themselves freely?
Nonsense.
Right now, the Bruins' path to victory was Yuuto carrying them forward.
So Steve never cared about the media or fans questioning whether Yu was "elevating Steve beyond his level." That criticism was just noise.
He was playing the hand he'd been dealt. You won't let me use my best card? Might as well just hand you the championship trophy.
And Yuuto?
He never disappointed Steve.
After adjusting to the Spartans' double teams for a few possessions, he rattled off three consecutive fadeaway jumpers.
From the Pac-12 to March Madness, Yuuto had never stopped improving.
Without exaggeration, his comfort level against double teams was now like using a key to unlock his own front door.
Michigan State called another timeout.
"I think that guy is unguardable at the college level, but we have to contain him somehow. We can't keep letting him go off like this."
"Don't let him get to the rim. Don't give him open threes. And definitely don't let him get his turnaround fadeaway."
In other words.
Don't give Yuuto any scoring opportunities whatsoever.
Green heard this and thought: Easy for you to say—how exactly are we supposed to do that?
They were already double-teaming the guy, and he was camping on the weak side ready to jump passing lanes.
All told, they'd committed three defenders to Yuuto. Were they really supposed to throw the entire team at one player?
Might as well forfeit.
But the mentally tough Spartans didn't back down—they accepted the challenge.
After the timeout.
Yuuto could visibly see the intensity ratchet up.
The Spartans' defense on him was savage and physical.
The referees allowed this level of contact.
In response, Yuuto had to raise his own physicality and adapt to the increased intensity.
Game intensity often had a direct relationship with the officials.
Some refs had strong stomachs—they loved this kind of warfare and ignored overly aggressive plays.
Others had delicate sensibilities—they couldn't stand any violence, whistling for even minor contact.
Tonight's crew was clearly the former.
Yuuto drove into the paint, feeling Appling's fingers dig into his waist.
This move—one women were quite familiar with—made him wince, but he had to adapt. He responded by firing a sharp elbow backward.
Appling nearly screamed but clamped his lips shut, refusing to make a sound.
Gary Harris saw his teammate beaten and immediately collapsed on Yuuto. Seeing him, Yuuto spun with all his weight and slammed into the freshman.
Harris was knocked back a full step, but Yuuto didn't stop—he accelerated and crashed into him again.
This was basketball's most unreasonable style of offense.
If you're stronger than your opponent, you can overpower anyone in the post.
Watching his young teammate get bullied and pushed backward, Appling charged back in.
At this point, Yuuto could either pass or take it himself.
He chose to take it himself.
His signature turnaround fadeaway!
Yuuto leaned back dramatically while keeping both defenders in his field of vision as he released the shot.
It was an image the Spartans' and Bruins' fans would never forget.
Appling and Harris jumped together, arms fully extended—but they grabbed nothing. They could only watch helplessly as Yuuto flicked his wrist and launched the ball.
Swish!
"He made it! The incredible Yu!"
"Against the Spartans' double team, he knocks down his signature fadeaway!"
"Why wouldn't you want him? This guard from across the Pacific is conquering the NCAA!"
"Either embrace his brilliance or change the channel to football. That's the Yu rule!"
Steve had long grown accustomed to Yuuto's unreasonable brilliance.
Fans had jokingly called Yuuto "the college Kobe" or "the college Jordan."
None of that mattered, because they all shared one thing in common.
One infuriating thing in common.
Give them the ball, and they solve problems.
But Steve still threw some cold water on Yuuto in that moment.
"You lightning-struck rookie! You should've passed that ball. The defender on Reeves and Norman was in the Pacific Ocean—they were wide open!"
Yuuto was used to Steve's method of keeping him grounded.
"I made it. And I always make it. That's all that matters, coach."
"Then you'd better always make it, you bastard!"
The Bruins' players admired Yuuto.
Not many college players had the guts to talk to their head coach like that.
On the other end.
The Bruins also cranked up the intensity. Freshman Harris clearly couldn't handle this level of physicality—most of his shots came under duress.
He couldn't maintain his optimal shooting rhythm. His three-pointer clanked off the rim.
Norman Powell secured the rebound, and the Bruins pushed in transition.
After several possessions like this, the Spartans could only rely on Green's gritty play to get to the free-throw line.
In this type of game, Yuuto's importance was proven yet again.
Both teams struggled to adapt to the heightened intensity, and shooting percentages plummeted.
But Yuuto, maintaining over 50% shooting, was the firefly in the darkness.
Honestly.
Jerry West was really craving Yuuto right now.
If possible, he wouldn't mind clearing out the Warriors' roster in exchange for the top pick.
Just like when he'd drafted Kobe, Yuuto was exactly the kind of player the Warriors needed.
But the team's current core pieces—Monta Ellis and David Lee—weren't quality trade assets. Both were making over $10 million annually, with raises coming next year.
Next season, those two contracts alone would approach $30 million—half the team's cap.
In other words, if the Warriors wanted Yuuto, they'd have to ship out their two best current players while taking back salary-matching contracts—likely bad ones.
If those bad contracts expired in a year or two, that would be manageable. But if they were those long, expensive albatross deals, it could cripple the franchise.
Of course, none of that was really the issue.
For Jerry West, the real question was:
Was Yuuto actually worth betting everything on?
...
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