152: Chapter 152 Complete Abuse

Number Eight gritted his teeth and turned for a hook shot. Just as the ball left his fingertips, Chen Fan leaped up, his fingers lightly tipping the ball in the air and altering its trajectory. The ball hit the front of the rim and bounced away.

After landing, Chen Fan barely paused before jumping again, steadily snatching the rebound in mid-air.

The moment he landed, he had already begun dribbling the ball toward the opposite basket.

A three-on-two fast break. Chen Fan didn't pass, accelerating directly like a bolt of white lightning as he sliced through the two defenders.

Number Twenty-Three chased from the side and reached out to pull him—his fingers caught a corner of Chen Fan's jersey, but Chen Fan was too fast. The jersey slipped through his fingers, and he didn't even get the chance to foul.

Chen Fan took flight. Holding the ball in one hand, he pulled his arm back like a bow drawn to its limit.

Every eye in the arena was fixed on him. The School of Management's bench stood up in unison, the School of Finance's bench stood up as well, and everyone watching from the sidelines rose to their feet. Even those who had been looking down at their phones looked up.

Chen Fan's body fully extended in the air. Using his core strength, he slammed his arm forward—

"Bang!"

The ball was slammed violently into the hoop. The rim vibrated violently, letting out a dull, thunderous roar. The entire basketball stanchion shook as if it had been hit by a truck.

Chen Fan hung from the rim with one hand, swayed once, then let go and landed steadily on the ground.

The entire arena went silent for half a second.

Then it exploded.

Screams, applause, and whistles blended together like a pot of boiling water. The entire court seemed to have been set ablaze.

Some shouted "Badass!" at the top of their lungs, while others slapped their thighs and yelled "Holy shit!"

Tang Tian stood on the steps, nearly dropping the phone she was using to record the video.

Her eyes were as bright as if they were filled with stars, and her mouth hung open for a long time. Only one thought remained in her mind—how could he be so handsome?

After landing, Chen Fan turned and ran back with an expressionless face.

As he passed Number Twenty-Three, the other player stood rooted to the spot with his head down. His jersey was soaked with sweat and clung to his body, his chest heaving violently.

He never imagined that Chen Fan, who seemed only good at defense in the first half, would be so fierce in the second.

The level he displayed didn't look like a college student at all; he was more like a professional player.

Especially that final tomahawk dunk—forget college students, even CUBA or even CBA players might not be able to pull it off.

That jump height, mid-air posture, and dunking power—there simply wasn't such explosive physical talent domestically.

He knew they had lost this game.

It wasn't a matter of the score; it was a matter of momentum. From the moment Chen Fan landed that dunk, the momentum on the court had completely shifted toward the School of Management.

The spectators were chanting Chen Fan's name, the School of Management's bench was jumping for joy, and even the girls from the School of Finance's own camp were staring at Chen Fan.

The remaining time became a one-man show for Chen Fan.

With various three-pointers, fast breaks, and driving layups, he tore the School of Finance's defense to shreds.

No one on the opposing side could contain Chen Fan—whether it was strength, speed, or vertical leap, the current Chen Fan far surpassed them.

The numbers on the scoreboard flipped continuously, as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button.

Just like that, the score had gone from 28 to 38 in the first half to 86 to 49. The School of Management led by a full thirty-seven points.

And Chen Fan's personal score had already reached forty-eight points.

Only two points away from fifty.

The School of Finance side had almost completely given up. The five players on the court had visibly slowed down. Some walked back on defense, and on offense, they stood outside the three-point line without much movement.

No one went for rebounds, no one fought for loose balls; they were just waiting for the final whistle, as if waiting for an ordeal to end.

In truth, Chen Fan could have been substituted long ago because halfway through the second half, the game's outcome was no longer in doubt.

But Chen Fan had said he would crush them, so he had to crush them.

With twenty seconds left in the game, it was the School of Finance's possession.

Number Twenty-Three dribbled across half-court slowly, as if he were taking a stroll.

He just watched the countdown slowly turn into single digits, his eyes hollow. He probably just wanted this game to end quickly.

Just then, Zhang Yuhang suddenly burst out from the wing.

He reached out and poked the ball away—Number Twenty-Three didn't even try to protect it. The ball was poked loose and rolled toward Chen Fan.

Chen Fan stood near the center circle, caught the ball, and glanced at the hoop. No one came up to defend. Number Twenty-Three stayed where he was, with no intention of chasing, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

Chen Fan raised his hand and released a long-range three-pointer.

The ball traced a high arc in the air. Everyone's eyes followed it as it crossed half-court, passed the three-point line, and plummeted toward the basket—

"Swish."

It went straight through the net.

The whistle blew, and the countdown hit zero.

The game was over.

Eighty-nine to forty-nine. The School of Management won by forty points. Chen Fan's personal score was fifty-one points.

The School of Management side erupted in cheers. Players rushed onto the court, high-fiving and hugging each other, while someone threw a towel into the air. Meanwhile, the School of Finance side walked off the court dejectedly. No one spoke, and no one looked up, like a group of defeated soldiers.

Zhao Zitong ran up to Chen Fan and handed him a bottle of water, still shouting excitedly, "We won! We won! Chen Fan, you're too fierce! Fifty-one points, man!"

Chen Fan took the water, unscrewed the cap, and took a large gulp. The water poured down his throat, its coolness dispersing the heat radiating from his body.

After going all out in the second half, his jersey was soaked through, clinging to him and outlining his firm muscle lines.

The stray hairs on his forehead were wet with sweat and stuck to his skin. A few drops of water trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto his jersey, creating small dark patches.

His chest was still rising and falling slightly. Although his breathing had leveled out quite a bit, the heat in his body hadn't fully dissipated.

He desperately wanted to take a shower.

"Next week we're up against the School of Mechanical Engineering," Zhao Zitong said.

"I won't be able to play in the upcoming games," Chen Fan said, picking up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

Zhao Zitong was stunned for a moment. "Huh? Why?"

"I have things to do."

Zhao Zitong glanced at him and didn't press further. She knew Chen Fan; if he said he had things to do, he had things to do, and asking more wouldn't make him say anything else.

"Alright then. Anyway, our results have already exceeded expectations. I originally thought winning one game would be good enough, but now that we've made it this far, there's no shame in losing."

"I'm leaving first." Chen Fan placed the water bottle on a chair, picked up his jacket, and turned to walk toward the sidelines.