3:30 PM Pacific Time, and the game officially began.
USC's basketball arena was packed with roughly three thousand spectators.
When they saw the tiny Snoop standing in front of the enormous Lenny Kuhn, the crowd erupted in Edward-style laughter—or rather, Edward-style mockery.
They assumed this Asian kid was there to play the clown.
"The USC students really aren't cultured," Doug muttered to Kuhn over the piercing jeers.
Kuhn wasn't friendly as expected. He glared at Doug. "Little toothpick, manners don't mean a thing on the court. Everything's about strength! Strength!!"
He flexed his muscles. "You're about to feel the full force of Lenny Kuhn. I'll tear your life and soul apart."
Doug nodded, understanding.
Beep!
The referee blew the whistle.
Kevin Love and Taj Gibson completed the jump ball.
Slap!
No surprise—Gibson gave the tip to O.J. Mayo.
Though Mayo played shooting guard, he controlled most of the ball.
He slowly brought the ball upcourt. NCAA possession lasts 35 seconds, giving the kids enough time to execute the coach's strategy and improve court awareness. In high school, the coach's main job is to nurture the players' innate talent.
Mayo reached the three-point line and began to maneuver.
Kuhn immediately positioned himself behind Doug, reaching out for the ball, trying to bully the little guy.
Doug didn't exert full force—he merely supported, letting Kuhn feel some psychological advantage without fully conceding space.
Mayo hesitated near the three-point line for nearly five seconds, then passed into the paint.
As Kuhn caught the ball, the arena erupted: "Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!"
Everyone cheered, assuming the giant would easily crush the small kid behind him.
"UCLA's a joke."
"Ben Holland is tarnishing John Wooden's legacy."
The scouts laughed derisively.
In their view, UCLA had made a fatal, common-sense mistake.
Yet Edward felt a pang of discomfort. Having chatted with this kid pregame, he hoped for some kindness in return. Doug hadn't done anything wrong, any blame should fall on those who put him in this position.
Then—
A roar erupted in the arena!
"Oh!! What happened???"
Kuhn's bulky body lay sprawled in the paint, and Doug stood beside him. The face that had been hidden behind Kuhn's mass was finally visible.
"So handsome… didn't expect him to have such sharp features."
Edward heard a girl in the back gasp in admiration—immediately scolded by stern USC boys to "correct this flawed thinking!"
Boom!
Westbrook stormed the paint like lightning and slammed the ball into the hoop with violent precision, looking like a descending hawk—fierce and deadly.
Scouts quickly scribbled notes: speed, jumping ability, extreme explosiveness…
Doug, however, who had flipped Kuhn with one hand, went ignored.
But Ben Holland on the sidelines shouted: "Snoop, outstanding!!"
He'd seen it all—Kuhn had tried to spin and dunk textbook-style, but Doug was immovable, a wall behind him. Three brute-force attempts failed.
Kuhn considered passing, but the home crowd's cheers were deafening. He couldn't let them down.
He tried a jump shot.
And in that instant, the tiny Asian kid shot up, a black shadow descending—and before Kuhn could react… slap!
His right hand struck the ball mid-air.
The force felt prehistoric.
The ball flew away, and Kuhn tumbled backward—thud!
Flailing, he lay sprawled, dizzy.
The infuriating kid bent down and said, "You're right, strength rules the court. But sorry—my strength is stronger than yours!"
Kuhn fumed, thinking Doug was intentionally humiliating him.
Yet Doug extended a hand.
Reluctantly, Kuhn reached out. He hated lying on the floor—it felt like a cold hospital bed.
But Doug didn't help him up; instead, he gave a fist bump.
"Keep going!"
Doug's gesture radiated benevolence, almost sacred.
"Ridiculous!!"
Edward, watching nearby, caught it all.
He decided to write a new name in his scouting report: Doug