Zack had heard the hype about Duke’s home court for ages, but on December 5th, when he and his teammates stepped into Cameron Indoor Stadium, the scene hit him like a *kaminari*—a bolt of lightning.
Outside the arena, the lawn was a sea of tents, row after row.
"To snag a ticket, those Duke lunatics will camp out for days," Evans explained, noticing Zack’s curiosity about the tent city.
"Days... just for a ticket?" Zack asked, wide-eyed.
"Just for a ticket," Evans said, looking up at him.
After a beat, he added, "And since they’re playing *us* tonight, I bet those crazies are even more *kuruoshii*."
Before entering the arena, Zack got a glimpse of Evans’ so-called lunatics.
Compared to the rest of the U.S., North Carolina in December isn’t exactly freezing.
When Zack spotted Duke fans outside, shirtless and slathering blue paint on their chests, he couldn’t help but suck in a breath.
"The Blue Devils are their *shinkō*—their faith," Evans said, clapping Zack’s back.
The NCAA powerhouse with the most terrifying home court in America.
The ACC’s other flagship team, rivaled only by UNC.
Their fans? They’re known in the streets as:
*The Cameron Crazies*.
Inside the arena, Zack noticed his teammates’ faces shift to a grim seriousness he hadn’t even seen when they faced UNC.
Sure, this marquee matchup was being broadcast by multiple networks, but Zack knew that wasn’t why his *nakama* looked so intense.
It was crystal clear: the century-long *shukuteki* feud between Wake Forest and Duke had given this game a whole new layer of *imi*—meaning.
On the court, as Zack grabbed a ball to warm up, a tidal wave of boos and curses from every corner hit him like a *tsunami*, threatening to pierce his eardrums.
"Don’t sweat it. These crazies are just trying to rattle you their way," Evans said, glancing at him.
Zack grinned. "I’m not nervous, Ronnie. I’m just wondering how I’m gonna shut this wild crowd up later."
Evans frowned. "Zack, America’s got laws, so I gotta warn you—don’t do anything dumb. *Whatever* you do, don’t poke these lunatics."
At Cameron Indoor, warm-ups wrapped up.
Zack, starting for the Demon Deacons tonight, got another "warm" welcome from the crowd during the starting lineup intros.
If Wake Forest’s star, Chris Paul, was Duke fans’ Public Enemy No. 1, then Zack—the team’s undeniable second-in-command—got the next-worst treatment.
As the game tipped off, countless eyes in the stands locked onto the court.
At the center circle, ready to jump ball, Zack sized up his opponent, Shelden Williams. Behind him stood Chris Duhon and—oh man—JJ Redick, who Zack was *this close* to decking on sight. (Note ①)
"Gotta say, Zack, you’re a legit Demon Deacon now," Evans chuckled, catching Zack’s death glare at Redick.
"Hating every Duke player for no reason? That’s our proud tradition. But even if he wasn’t a Blue Devil, JJ’s the kind of jerk who *deserves* a punch.
Look at that smug face—like everyone owes him cash.
And that mouth of his? Always talking trash after games, acting like he’s the king.
You know what our senior Tyrese said about him?"
"What’d he say?" Zack asked.
"Tyrese called JJ a ’punk who hides behind his team’s clout.’"
Evans took a deep breath. "Tonight, leave him to me, Zack. You’ve got bigger fish to fry."
Zack gave a small smile and nodded, watching Evans psych himself up.
The whistle blew. Jump ball. Game on.
Amid a storm of boos, Paul dribbled across halfcourt for the Demon Deacons.
At the top, Zack stepped up to receive a pass.
Thinking Zack was setting up for a pick-and-roll with Paul, Shelden left a cushion, ready to hedge on Duhon’s man.
But in a flash, Zack did the *unthinkable*.
He took off down the right wing, pulling a crossover fake to throw Shelden off balance, then stepped back for a pull-up jumper.
That combo was like a *kung-fu* flurry, leaving Shelden defenseless.
The dude looked like Robert Colley in ’85, KO’d by Mike Tyson’s quick jabs—eyes full of confusion and shock.
Big men going face-up and attacking off the dribble? Not exactly rare in hoops.
Heck, it’s a signature move for plenty of gritty power forwards.
But that move? Zack played it like a *gādo*.
Sure, his handles weren’t buttery smooth yet, but they were enough to blow minds in this era.
The ball kissed the net, and the Cameron Crazies answered with a deafening roar of boos.
But Zack? Unfazed. He smirked, raised his left hand wide open, and cupped it to his ear.
The gesture screamed *one* thing:
*This is America’s top devil’s den? That’s all the noise you got?*
To Duke fans, this was provocation on a level they’d *never* seen.
Fuming, the entire arena erupted, every fan racing to hurl insults at Zack.
On the Demon Deacons’ bench, assistant coach Victor looked worried. "Skip, is this really okay?"
Prosser turned to him, dead serious. "What’s wrong with it?"
As a seasoned coach, Prosser believed if a young player didn’t have some *kigurai*—some fire—then what kind of youth was that?
The Duke fans had been roasting Zack since warm-ups. Why shouldn’t he clap back after a clutch shot?
Now, Blue Devils’ ball.
Zack’s "listen up" taunt didn’t just rile the fans—it lit a fire under the players.
In the left low post, Shelden signaled for the ball, dead-set on teaching this cocky kid a lesson for the Blue Devils’ faithful.
But Zack’s defensive *kōdo*—toughness—was way beyond Shelden’s expectations.
By December, Zack had dropped to 129.5 kilos.
Slimmer frame, lighter weight, but after swapping fat for lean muscle, his strength and physicality were *stronger* than ever.
In the future, Shelden’s low-post game never took off in the NBA. Why? As the competition got tougher, his skills and talent just couldn’t keep up.
Basketball’s never been a sport where hard work alone gets you to the *yamano chōjō*—the mountain’s peak.
The higher the stage, the more your raw talent matters.
Even skills you can hone through grinding show talent gaps as the game’s level rises.
Simple example: if anyone could train to shoot like Steph Curry, why’s there only *one* Curry in the NBA?
"Looks like the ’Landlord’ is about to pay *Zack* rent tonight," Prosser quipped from the sideline, watching Shelden fail to budge Zack.
Compared to future NBA bruisers, Shelden had another flaw: his moves were too predictable. His attack was like a three-axe chop—either he crushed you, or he crashed and burned. For more chapters visıt N0veI.Fiɾe.net
In college, with a 224 cm wingspan and bully-ball strength, Shelden’s style worked like a charm.
But tonight, against Zack—taller, longer, and playing with *zunō*—Shelden’s axes hit a steel wall.
In the paint, Zack baited Shelden into spinning to his right, then *BAM*—nailed his layup attempt to the backboard with a monster block.
Nearby, Evans grabbed the loose ball and fired it to Paul.
Zack, hitting the floor, sprang up and charged downcourt, joining Paul and Monk for a 3-on-1 fastbreak.
In that moment, Duke’s fastest defender, Redick, was in pure *zetsubō*—despair.
Trying to poke the ball from Paul? No dice.
As Paul lobbed the ball skyward, Redick turned toward his basket and saw a sight that shook him to his core:
Under the rim, Zack, locked onto Paul’s "ground control" pass, soared like a *taka*, unfurled his body, and transformed into a massive *battle-axe*, delivering a heart-stopping *CRUSH* to Duke’s hoop!
*Like a great roc soaring with the wind, rising 90,000 miles!*
The Cameron Crazies fell silent, stunned by Zack’s tomahawk alley-oop.
"How do we describe this moment to kids years from now?" Prosser asked, fist clenched, turning to Victor with a grin.
Victor shook his head, at a loss.
"Your senior Zack—his *densetsu* starts right here," Prosser said, barely containing his excitement as he watched the kid he’d mentored soar.
**Note ①:** Why does Zack want to sock Redick? As an NBA player who got a full four-year college education and never publicly showed he was an idiot, Redick used a deeply racist term in an NBA New Year greeting video. He claimed it was a "tongue slip," but for a guy smart enough to become the Lakers’ head coach, that excuse doesn’t hold water.