Death Wrap.

In 2009, the Chinese men's basketball team lost to Iran in the Asia Championship final, marking their first defeat in the tournament since 1975. But now? They didn't just lose a game—they were knocked out in the quarterfinals, failing even to reach the top four.

This wasn't just an embarrassing defeat; it carried devastating consequences, as the team lost its qualification for the 2014 FIBA Basketball World Cup.

Previously, the loss to Iran was shocking; now, this was a full-blown earthquake. Heads were bound to roll, and the blame game began.

The first target? Head coach Giannis Ioannidis.

Criticism poured in: "Doesn't understand local players," "Strategies don't fit the team," "Overhyped reputation."

The man who had once led Greece to the semifinals of the 1998 World Championship and famously stopped Team USA's 'Dream Seven' from reaching the finals in 2006 now found himself buried under accusations.

But this disaster was too monumental for one foreign coach to shoulder alone.

The players? They'd still be relied upon for future international competitions, so they were spared most of the criticism.

Naturally, that left Han Sen as the perfect scapegoat.

Some domestic media began accusing Han, claiming he'd never played a single game for the national team but rode the support of Chinese fans to become an NBA All-Star and achieve his current success.

"If Han Sen had played for the national team these past few years, even if they didn't achieve much, the team wouldn't have fallen this far. Especially this year—if Han had played, there's no way they'd have lost their World Cup spot."

Comparisons with Yao Ming surfaced in these reports. "Yao risked his career-ending injuries to represent China, but Han refuses to play even when he's perfectly healthy?"

Some even dredged up Han's infamous trash talk against Draymond Green during the playoffs last season:

"You should start learning Chinese because you're about to play in the Chinese Basketball Association."

It was one thing for others to look down on the CBA, but for Han—a Chinese player—to mock his own country's league? That was unacceptable.

Previously, Han had led the Memphis Grizzlies to a stunning Finals victory over the Miami Heat, defending their championship in the process. Chinese fans celebrated wildly.

An NBA champion, and a repeat one at that—something they'd never even dared to dream about—had become a reality through Han. He was a basketball god in their eyes.

But now, these articles sparked a rift among fans.

Some argued Han had initially wanted to represent the national team but had been driven away by mismanagement. They believed the basketball association and critics had consistently used Han as a scapegoat for the team's failures, making it understandable why he'd refuse to play.

Others felt that no matter what happened, playing for the national team was Han's duty as a Chinese citizen. To them, Han was selfish and cared only about his own career, undeserving of their admiration and instead warranting their disdain.

The controversy caused Han's hater points to skyrocket.

Amid the uproar, Yao Ming visited Han in Memphis.

Han treated him to a meal at his privately-owned Chinese restaurant, part of his business ventures in Memphis, akin to Yao's in Houston. However, given Memphis's smaller Chinese community and the restaurant's un-Americanized flavors, it was more like a private kitchen than a commercial enterprise.

Yao's visit had a clear purpose.

"Honestly, I thought we might lose to Iran again this year," Yao said as they sat down, "but I didn't expect us to miss the World Cup entirely."

The World Cup qualification rules at the time were different from what Han remembered before his time travel.

With only 24 spots available, Asia had three, excluding the host nation and Olympic champion. Theoretically, China only needed to beat teams other than Iran to secure a spot. Even losing to Iran in the semifinals, they could still qualify by winning the third-place game.

But China's team managed to disappoint everyone.

"I'm not that surprised," Han said, recalling the infamous 'Manila Disaster' from his previous life.

Last-minute coaching changes had left Ioannidis with less than three months to prepare. Expecting results under such conditions was unrealistic—basketball wasn't a video game.

Moreover, even before Ioannidis started, the basketball association had made things difficult for him by interfering with player selection.

As a coach, he couldn't even pick his own roster. His demanding training methods led to complaints from players, creating a rift between coach and team before the tournament even began.

Under these circumstances, failure was inevitable, conspiracy theories or not.

"What's worse is that they're dragging you into this mess," Yao said, voicing his frustration.

Then he offered a suggestion: "If possible, I think you should play in the 2015 Asia Championship. Winning it would be easy for you, and it would silence all the criticism."

Yao didn't need to spell it out: winning the tournament would not only end the doubt surrounding Han but make him a national hero.

"Yao," Han said, addressing him more casually, "that might help me, but it wouldn't help the national team."

Yao was puzzled by Han's response.

"I could play in the Asia Championship or the Olympics, no problem. But that wouldn't change the reality of the national team's decline."

Han was blunt because he respected Yao and because the national team situation had reached a breaking point.

Yao's retirement had left a void, but hope briefly surged during the 2015 Asia Championship in Changsha.

That year, a young Chinese team led by players like Guo Ailun, Zhou Qi, and Ding Yanyuhang made an inspiring comeback to reclaim the title. The team's rebuilding and resurgence had been driven by the disastrous 2013 loss.

Gong Luming, a relatively obscure coach, had taken over, overhauled the roster, and reintroduced intense 'three-diligences and one-great' training.

Without that rock-bottom moment, the 2015 triumph wouldn't have happened.

"If I play in 2015, Gong Luming's reforms won't even get a chance," Han explained. "And if I'm there to cover for everyone, just like you used to, the CBA players won't feel any pressure to improve."

"Take Zhu Fangyu, for example. He had the potential to make it to the NBA, but did he push himself? No.

Why bother when following you meant they couldn't lose in Asia and couldn't win on the international stage anyway? Life was easier staying in China—good money, less stress, more freedom."

"One person can't save the national team. The players come from the CBA. If the CBA doesn't improve, the national team won't either."

Han pointed to examples like Team USA, powered by the NBA, and Spain, which rose alongside its domestic league. Even Germany, which had been China's equal in 2008, became world champions thanks to the growth of their domestic league.

"It's not something that changes overnight," Yao acknowledged, knowing firsthand the challenges of reforming the CBA.

"It's not just hard—it's impossible," Han replied, his knowledge of history making him certain.

"To fix the CBA, you'd have to follow Spain's lead, gradually opening up until there's no cap on foreign players. What we need are 12 guys who can compete internationally, not a bunch of players coasting through their careers."

Han Sen's words were brutally blunt—so blunt that Yao Ming was left momentarily speechless. The proposal seemed outright impossible.

It wasn't just about stepping on a lot of toes; it would disrupt the established order and bring immense challenges.

"Of course, I know it's unlikely," Han Sen continued, "which is why I have an alternative plan."

He then outlined his vision: the Foundation Project.

Simply put, the plan involved identifying talented young players domestically and abroad—specifically high school and NCAA prospects in the U.S.—to help them develop under higher levels of basketball competition.

The ultimate goal? To cultivate players outside the CBA system who could represent the national team on the global stage.

"A wolf remains a wolf only when it runs with other wolves. Stay too long among dogs, even the alpha wolf becomes no different from them."

Currently, some Chinese youth players were already playing in the U.S., but not because they were exceptionally gifted. It was because their families had the financial means to send them there.

This is where the Foundation Project came in: giving opportunities to those with talent but without resources.

Ironically, those players were often more likely to succeed—they understood the value of every rare opportunity.

As for funding, Han Sen planned to have Under Armour (UA) cover part of it. In return, UA would gain access to the CBA market. The remaining funds would come from the basketball association.

Of course, there were many intricate details to address:

- Player Ownership: If a player trained abroad and later failed to find a spot in the NBA, their rights would revert to their CBA parent team. This way, the CBA clubs would have an incentive to support the initiative.

- Annual Camps: Han Sen planned to host yearly training camps. Domestic talents with the skills but not the finances to train in the U.S. could join. UA would provide NBA-level trainers for these camps.

- Import Policy Adjustments: The CBA's restrictions on foreign players would need gradual loosening, and determining the extent of this would fall on Yao Ming.

As for why the basketball association would cooperate with such a plan?

Because Han Sen made it a condition for representing the national team.

"I'm not going to be a one-man army, running the offense and defense while babysitting," Han remarked dryly.

"That's no different than hosting a World Cup just to get humiliated at home."

What he wanted was a team—a squad of teammates who could fight alongside him.

After hearing the plan, even Yao Ming, who had seen and thought through a lot in his career, was stunned.

On one hand, he was impressed by how feasible the plan sounded.

On the other, he was amazed by how much thought Han Sen had put into it.

Yao had assumed Han's repeated refusals to join the national team meant he didn't care much about Chinese basketball.

But based on this plan, no one cared more than Han Sen.

"I'll do everything I can to push this forward," Yao promised Han earnestly.

After Yao left, Han Sen opened up his Hater System.

Whether Yao could truly implement the plan or not was still uncertain. What Han knew for sure was that his hater points had surged to 1.3 million.

China's basketball fans were legion, especially with Han Sen's immense NBA success over the past two years. His fanbase had even surpassed Yao Ming's at his peak.

At times like these, even a fraction of the criticism for the national team's failures could fuel his system with plenty of hater points.

He still needed more time to accumulate enough for the next defensive talent upgrade he had his eye on, but he wasn't in a rush.

...

In early August, Han kicked off another season of his summer training camp.

Familiar faces like Steph Curry, James Harden, Russell Westbrook, Kyrie Irving, and Dante Cunningham were all in attendance. Westbrook even brought along Carmelo Anthony this time.

"I'm signing with UA," Curry dropped the bombshell before the camp officially began.

Nike had offered him a lowball contract and refused to budge, so Curry chose to walk away and join UA.

Han Sen had always been aware of Curry's connection to UA. What he wasn't sure of was whether Curry would have still joined UA after Han signed with them, especially since, in 'history,' Curry's decision was largely influenced by the opportunity for a signature shoe from a smaller brand.

But clearly, today's UA was a different beast from the UA of the past.

Back-to-back championships led by Han Sen had catapulted UA's brand influence.

With the massive Chinese market as its foundation, UA's global basketball shoe sales now ranked second only to Nike—surpassing both Air Jordan and Adidas.

The energy at this year's camp was electric. Curry, Harden, and Westbrook were all fired up, ready to prove themselves in the upcoming season.

Among them, however, Kyrie Irving seemed unusually melancholic.

It wasn't hard to understand why. Despite entering the league two years later than most of his peers, Kyrie had been stuck leading a Cavaliers squad perpetually at the bottom of the standings. The media had even nicknamed them 'lottery regulars,' thanks to the league's draft lottery compensations.

Kyrie's skills were undeniable—his passing and overall game had improved since his rookie season. But his physical attributes and playstyle pegged him as a second-option type of player. Leading a team single-handedly to success was a monumental challenge.

A similar case could be made for Devin Booker, often hailed as the next great American shooting guard after Kobe Bryant. Yet, when leading a team solo, Booker's struggles were even more glaring, often anchoring squads destined for last or second-last in the league.

"Keep working on yourself. One day, things might change," Han Sen offered some words of encouragement to Kyrie.

At this point in time, superteam culture hadn't yet caught on. With the Heat's Big Three failing to secure dominance, the idea of stars banding together wasn't yet mainstream.

After a week of training, Han finally hit his goal: 1.7 million hater points.

He promptly exchanged them for a tier-one defensive talent.

[Death Wrap]: Substantially increases foot speed, reaction time, defensive awareness, and upper-body strength.

-End of Chapter-