Kevin Ding invited Snoopy out to a Michelin three-star restaurant for an authentic French dinner.
But in the end, it was Snoopy who insisted on paying the bill.
After spending so much time with his senior, he had figured it out, Kevin's pockets weren't exactly overflowing. Even his suit jacket's inner lining was polished thin with wear. Snoopy didn't want his friend to feel awkward.
"Next time it's your treat. Next time, okay?" he said, patting Kevin on the shoulder with a warm smile.
Snoopy wasn't the type to let friends lose face.
Kevin understood immediately. The more he interacted with Snoopy, the more he liked him. The kid had that rare quality of seeing through things yet never exposing them, always leaving people with dignity.
"He's going to be the next Jordan," Kevin whispered under his breath as Snoopy left. His fists clenched with excitement. He was already preparing a feature piece for the Saturday Special Edition that would paint Snoopy in even brighter colors.
…
Within the UCLA Bruins, it was no secret now, Snoopy had become Coach Ben Howland's favorite. The head coach, who had always been strict and untouchable, now lowered himself to personally rebound for Snoopy at the free-throw line, correcting his form and encouraging him. That kind of treatment had never been afforded even to Darren Collison or Jordan Farmar before him.
During scrimmages, Snoopy now donned the white jersey that marked the starters. On defense, he was already being treated as the team's core presence in the paint.
More surprisingly, Howland granted him unusual freedom: whenever Snoopy secured an offensive rebound, he was allowed to decide how to use the ball himself.
In UCLA's rigid, system-heavy offense, freedom was rare. Even Kevin Love had to play almost entirely within the structure. Only Russell Westbrook was beginning to test the limits, increasingly leaning toward "talent basketball" that broke free of set plays.
For that, Coach Howland scolded him often in practice. But when the real games came, the coach always turned a blind eye.
In Wednesday's regular season finale against Arizona State, Snoopy logged 19 minutes on the floor, his career high. He even scored his first official points, calmly knocking down his first and second free throws.
His stat line: 2 points, 4 rebounds, 2 blocks, and 3 assists.
Balanced, steady, and unselfish.
UCLA went on to win 79–68, closing their season strong before the national tournament.
But not everyone was happy.
Luc Richard Mbah a Moute, Snoopy's direct competition, wasn't pleased at all. Despite finishing with 13 points and 6 rebounds, he couldn't stomach the fact that Snoopy had played 19 minutes while he only got 15.
In the locker room, he confronted Coach Howland openly.
"I think we're heading in the wrong direction," he declared. "If I started, we would've won even more easily. Snoopy should come off the bench. He's not ready to be a starter."
Assistant Coach Kerry Keating immediately backed him up, and two more assistants chimed in as well. It was a mutiny in all but name, a rebellion that had clearly been brewing for some time.
Snoopy himself had never cared about starting. His goals were modest, he just wanted to get his coordination right, to grow into his body. He wasn't chasing NBA scouts or draft dreams, not yet.
But that didn't mean he was willing to let Luc trample over him.
When the room grew tense, and Coach Howland's face turned grim, Snoopy stood up. He walked calmly to Luc's side and looked him in the eye.
"Maybe I haven't been playing basketball long," Snoopy said evenly, "but I can tell you this: today, you didn't play better than me. Even if your box score looks bigger."
"When I was on the court, Arizona State's forwards stayed away from the paint. When you were out there, your matchup scored 19 points. That's simple math, it means your net impact was negative."
"And more importantly," Snoopy added, his tone steady, "I make Russell more efficient. You only know how to share Kevin Love's points and Westbrook's drives. I make them better."
Luc scoffed. "What do you know? You've only been playing basketball for days."
"It's not about who's been playing longer," Snoopy replied. His eyes didn't waver. "It's about understanding the game. My IQ is 149. I'm the third student in decades at Anderson to win both a full scholarship and the president's special award. The last two are now CEOs on Wall Street."
He let that hang in the air. "So yes, I know how to analyze efficiency. And I don't need years of basketball to recognize when I've outperformed you."
Luc sneered. "IQ doesn't matter here. On the court, strength does, and I can handle three of you at once."
But Snoopy didn't rise to the bait. Even when angry, he never lost his composure. He only laid out his reasoning, point by point, until Luc had no words left.
The room went silent.
Finally, Coach Howland spoke. His voice was cold and decisive.
"I know why you're standing up like this, Luc. And I know the reasons behind it. But let me remind you, this is still my team. Until I'm gone, I decide who plays, when, and how much."
He leaned forward, his eyes sharp.
"If I wanted, I could put you on the inactive list permanently, and nobody could save you."
Luc froze, the color draining from his face. He knew Howland wasn't bluffing. A permanent DNP would destroy his career.
But the coach paused, then continued:
"I won't do that. In fact, I'll let you start next game."
Luc blinked, confused.
Howland straightened his shoulders, his voice booming with conviction.
"Because I want to prove it. You are wrong."
He turned toward the whole team, eyes blazing.
"And me… and Snoopy… we are right."
With that, Coach Howland strode out of the locker room, his tall frame casting a long shadow. In the glow of his confidence, the assistant coaches who had sided against him suddenly looked like nothing more than petty clowns, scurrying in the dark.