150: Chapter 150 Provocation

Chen Fan had come over from the paint to help on defense before anyone realized it. He launched himself into the air like a cannonball, his arm raised high, palm spread wide in the air, blocking the path between the ball and the rim like a wall.

Number 23 turned his head in mid-air, his pupils shrinking instantly—

That palm was rising higher and higher, blocking out the lights above, blocking the view of the rim, and blocking all his hopes.

"Snap."

A crisp, loud sound rang out.

Chen Fan's palm slapped solidly against the ball, sending it flying straight toward the sideline.

The whole arena fell silent for a moment.

Then, an even louder cheer erupted. This time, even the players on the School of Management bench jumped up; some were waving towels, others were shouting, and the scene was as lively as the Lunar New Year.

After landing, Number 23 stumbled a step, steadied himself, and a flash of anger crossed his eyes.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, took a deep breath, and finally suppressed his emotions. Expressionless, he walked to the sideline, picked up the ball, and headed to the inbound spot.

The number 8 center walked over, patted him on the shoulder, said nothing, and turned back to the paint.

The School of Finance inbounded the ball again. Number 23 passed to a teammate on the wing, ran off-ball, navigated around two screens, and caught the ball outside the three-point line.

This time, he didn't drive into the paint again—Chen Fan's massive block had already instilled in him an instinctive fear of the restricted area.

He caught and shot.

The three-pointer was released, the ball tracing a high arc before swishing through the net.

The School of Finance bench finally stirred; some stood up to applaud, and someone shouted, "Nice shot!"

Number 23 turned back to defend, expressionless, but he quietly squeezed his right fist as if to pump himself up; this basket had finally helped him regain a bit of face.

Over the next few possessions, the School of Finance regained their rhythm.

Number 23 drove and kicked, assisting a teammate in the corner for a three-pointer. For the School of Management, Chen Fan was focusing primarily on defense, not taking many shots on offense.

The opposing number 8 was held scoreless by Chen Fan—zero points for the entire first half. If you had mentioned this stat before the game, no one would have believed it.

As for Chen Fan, he had taken three shots and made all of them.

The problem lay elsewhere.

His teammates had missed several shots; Li Haoran had missed two open three-pointers from the wing, and Zhou Yifei's layup attempt had rimmed out after contact. The ball bounced on the rim twice before finally rolling out.

Meanwhile, the School of Finance had clearly realized the deterrent power Chen Fan held in the paint.

They stopped trying to force their way into the basket and decisively opted for outside shots instead.

The opponents had a player who was extremely accurate from three—number 14. He wasn't very tall, around 1.78 meters, and didn't look particularly sturdy, but he ran like an agile rabbit.

His release was lightning fast; he caught and shot, and it went in every time. The entire motion was as fluid as flowing water, as if he had practiced it ten thousand times.

The School of Management's perimeter defense couldn't close out in time; every time they reached out, the ball was already gone.

The point gap widened step by step.

The halftime whistle blew, and the score was locked at 28 to 38.

The School of Finance led by ten points.

Chen Fan walked off the court and picked up his water bottle from the floor, preparing to unscrew the cap.

Suddenly, a bottle of sports drink was held out in front of him.

He looked up and saw it was Tang Tian.

She was holding the drink, her head tilted, a smile on her face, and her eyes bright.

"Drink this, it'll replenish your energy."

Chen Fan glanced at her and took the drink: "Thanks."

"Good luck in the second half, I believe you can definitely win." As she said this, she earnestly made a fist-pumping gesture; it was a small motion, but very cute.

Chen Fan unscrewed the cap, took a sip, thought for a moment, and asked: "Aren't you from the School of Finance? Why are you here cheering for me?"

Tang Tian blinked and said righteously: "We're friends. And even though I'm from the School of Finance, I don't know anyone in the Economics class, so of course I'm here to cheer for you."

Hearing Tang Tian's words, Chen Fan was taken aback for a moment.

She said it so naturally, so matter-of-factly, as if the question didn't require any thought at all.

The word "friend" coming from her mouth carried a warmth that was impossible to refuse.

"Thanks."

Tang Tian tilted her head to look at him, her lips curving: "Look at you, saying 'thanks' again."

Just then, the opposing Number 23 walked over toward Chen Fan's side.

"Didn't you say you were going to crush us and make us cry? How come you're still trailing by ten points?" His lips were curled, and his face wore a look of contemptuous mockery.

When his gaze swept over Chen Fan, it suddenly stopped—he saw Tang Tian standing next to Chen Fan.

His eyes lit up, and that mocking smile on his lips instantly changed, becoming fawning and greasy.

The change was faster and smoother than the face-changing he had seen on TV in Sichuan opera.

He took half a step forward, completely ignoring Chen Fan, his eyes glued to Tang Tian's face, his voice rising a few notches with a deliberate gentleness: "Hey beautiful, my name is Zhang Yang. Can we get to know each other?"

Tang Tian frowned, leaned closer to Chen Fan, and tightened her grip on the water bottle.

She didn't speak, but her face was written with "I don't want to talk to you"; her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, and she didn't even glance at Zhang Yang.

Chen Fan looked at Zhang Yang, then at Tang Tian, took half a step forward, and quietly blocked her from view.

"Don't worry, there's still the second half, no rush. If I said I'd crush you, I'll definitely crush you."

The smile on Zhang Yang's face stiffened; his gaze swept back and forth between Chen Fan and Tang Tian twice, then he twitched his mouth and squeezed out a sentence: "Fine, see you on the court in a bit."

After saying that, he turned and walked away, but after two steps, he looked back at Tang Tian before continuing forward.

Tang Tian stood behind Chen Fan, and only after Zhang Yang had walked far away did she whisper: "That guy is so annoying."

"It's because you're too charming," Chen Fan said.

Tang Tian tilted her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling and her lips curving, as if pleased by this comment: "Really? Do you think I'm pretty too?"

Chen Fan felt a bit uncomfortable being stared at by her; he unscrewed the cap, took a sip of the drink, and let his gaze drift toward the court.

"Yeah, quite pretty."

Tang Tian didn't speak, but the smile on her face became even brighter.

"I have to get on the court, thanks for the water."

"Yeah, good luck, crush that annoying guy from earlier."

Chen Fan looked at her, nodded, and then walked toward the court.

The second half began.

The School of Management subbed in Zhang Yuhang for Zhou Yifei.

As for the effect, one could only say it was negative.

After all, Zhang Yuhang had neither the physique nor the skills.

His impact was far worse than Zhou Yifei's.

However, whether Zhou Yifei was there or not made no difference to Chen Fan.

He was going to win the game on his own.