Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 409: Triggering Tatum.

Han Sen hadn't been paying much attention to Jayson Tatum. That was Lue's job, after all.

But after watching him play against the Bucks, Han had to admit—this was getting ridiculous.

Milwaukee's biggest change this season was at head coach. Mike Budenholzer had replaced Jason Kidd, and the difference was immediate.

Under Budenholzer, the Bucks had started the season with four straight wins, sitting atop the Eastern Conference ahead of teams like the Celtics, Sixers, and Cavaliers.

His in-game adjustments weren't elite, but when it came to maximizing Giannis Antetokounmpo's potential? He was damn good at it.

And somehow, Giannis had even developed a reliable jump shot.

That alone made him nearly impossible to guard.

Playing on the road, the Kings struggled early.

Han's improved wingspan helped him match up against wings, but even with that, Giannis was a different beast.

Sacramento's two bigs had no answer for him—Sabonis couldn't keep up with his speed, and Cauley-Stein got physically overwhelmed.

By the second half, Lue had no choice but to go small.

Han and Mitchell took over on offense, and the Kings finally started clawing back.

But Budenholzer wasn't like Malone.

He didn't get baited into playing small-ball.

Instead, he stuck to his advantage inside, keeping the game tight.

And this was where the problem with Tatum became impossible to ignore.

Defensively, he was fine—active, disciplined, willing to do the dirty work.

But on offense?

His confidence was nonexistent.

Time and time again, he passed up open shots. Even when he had a clean look, he hesitated. And in situations where he should've shot without a second thought, he deferred, forcing the ball to a teammate instead.

Han couldn't tell if it was a lack of confidence or some misguided attempt to look more unselfish.

Either way, it was hurting the team.

Han dropped 20 in the fourth, but the Kings were fighting uphill the entire way. Their struggles in the paint, plus the hole they dug early, proved too much to overcome.

Sacramento took the loss.

Final record after four games?

2-2.

It was early in the season. A .500 record shouldn't have been a big deal.

But this was Han Sen.

This was the Kings, the team he had chosen.

The backlash was instant.

"The Kings are never going to be relevant, not even if God himself played for them!"

"Han made the worst decision of his career. He should've just retired like Michael and come back later."

"Han is ruining Tatum and Mitchell. Young players need touches to develop, but Han is stealing all their opportunities."

The hate came in waves.

And Han?

He let it roll in.

Because hate fueled the system.

With all the backlash piling up, he reopened the system menu and went straight to the attribute store.

If the team was struggling, there was only one thing he could do—get better.

And with him playing more at small forward, there was an obvious choice.

Height.

Unlike wingspan, increasing height required significantly more hater points. And it wasn't as simple as "taller is always better."

A taller frame meant a higher dribble point. It affected mobility, balance, and every shooting motion he had perfected over years.

So Han made a calculated decision—he raised his barefoot height from 6'6" (198 cm) to 6'7.25" (201 cm).

It cost him 30 million hater points.

But in today's NBA?

That was the perfect height for a small forward.

And the best part?

NBA height listings were a mess.

Some players were measured barefoot, others in shoes. That's why LeBron had somehow "grown" from 6'8" (203 cm) to 6'9" (206 cm) over the years.

Han's change wouldn't raise any red flags.

Nobody was about to drag him into a lab for genetic testing.

Just like before, after activating the upgrade, he passed out.

And when he woke up?

His entire body ached.

It felt like he had run a marathon the night before.

But unlike when he increased his wingspan, this change wasn't as noticeable in daily life.

An extra inch or so didn't feel dramatic.

Still, when he measured himself?

The numbers didn't lie.

And on the court, everyone was about to notice the difference.

---

Back in Sacramento, the Kings prepared for their next home game.

And this one?

It wasn't just any game.

It was against the Warriors.

Divac had said it before—Sacramento and San Francisco weren't technically the same city, but they might as well be.

This was a rivalry.

And Golden State?

They were rolling.

The Warriors had the best record in the West, sitting above the Pelicans and Rockets.

Paul George had proven to be the perfect fit, seamlessly integrating into their system. In fact, he was making a case that he was the second-best small forward for their scheme—only behind Durant.

And then there was Kevon Looney.

Originally, Looney had been billed as a Durant-type player—a skilled wing with shot-creating ability.

But this was reality.

There was only one Kevin Durant.

And after undergoing knee surgery early in his career, Looney's mobility had taken a hit.

Eventually, he reinvented himself.

He bulked up. Shifted into a full-time big.

Now?

He was thriving as a mobile rim protector. At 6'9" (206 cm) with a 7'4" (224 cm) wingspan, he provided exactly what the Warriors needed.

This game wasn't just another test.

If Sacramento lost, they'd drop below .500.

And worse?

Kings fans might start looking toward Oakland instead.

But if they won?

They'd flip the narrative.

The energy inside Golden 1 Center was electric.

The crowd wasn't just at full capacity—they were on fire.

And as soon as the game tipped off?

Han made his presence felt.

Three extra centimeters didn't seem like much in front of a mirror.

But in a game?

It made all the difference.

George noticed it immediately.

Before, he had a slight size advantage against Han. Now? That was gone.

He used to be able to focus purely on Han's movements, anticipating his attacks.

But now?

Han was simply overpowering him.

After getting called for a foul, George finally spoke up.

"Did you grow?"

Han grinned.

"You tell me."

George shook his head, muttering under his breath.

Whatever it was, Han felt stronger, faster, harder to guard.

And he showed it.

By the end of the first quarter, Han had 22 points.

The Kings?

They put up 38, leading the Warriors by double digits.

Heading into the second quarter, Golden State adjusted.

Kerr stopped leaving George on an island.

Now, they were sending double teams.

George and Draymond Green, trapping Han aggressively.

And just like against Milwaukee, a familiar issue arose.

Tatum hesitated.

With two defenders on Han, open looks were everywhere.

But Tatum wasn't taking them.

Instead of punishing the defense, he played passively.

And that?

Allowed the Warriors to claw back.

By halftime, the game was tied—62-62.

Everything would come down to the second half.

---

Before heading back to the locker room, Han Sen gave a quick on-court interview.

But the moment he stepped inside?

His eyes locked onto Jayson Tatum, who was casually chatting and laughing with Buddy Hield like nothing had happened.

Without hesitation, Han yanked off his jersey and tossed it right in front of Tatum.

"If I had known you were too damn scared to even take a shot, I would've told them to send your ass to Cleveland."

The locker room fell into complete silence.

Tatum gripped the bench beneath him, his fingers tightening. His face was flushed—angry, embarrassed—but he didn't dare talk back. Not to Han.

Han didn't bother looking at him again. He just sat down in front of his locker, unbothered.

No one else spoke.

Nobody was stupid enough to get in the middle of this.

Then, the door opened—Lue and Van Gundy walked in.

Lue immediately noticed the tension. He might not have known the exact details, but one glance at Tatum's red face told him enough.

Truthfully, Tatum's issue wasn't just about struggling.

It wasn't even about missing shots.

It was about not taking them at all.

Lue cleared his throat, signaling Van Gundy to go over the second-half adjustments. Then, he subtly gestured for Tatum to step outside with him.

---

The Warriors came out swinging in the third quarter, going straight to their signature Death Lineup.

Lue responded in kind—small-ball for small-ball.

First possession?

Steph Curry wasted no time. Quick release. Money from three.

Warriors struck first.

But on the other end?

Han Sen went right at Paul George, using a sharp crossover to break past him before absorbing Draymond Green's contact and finishing the and-one.

Draymond had already struggled to defend Han before.

Now, with Han's added height and reach? It was even harder.

More importantly?

Han had gotten his second wind over halftime.

Kerr saw it and immediately signaled for more traps.

The next time Han drove inside, three defenders collapsed on him.

But he didn't force it.

Instead, he kicked it out—straight to the open man.

Tatum.

For a split second, Tatum hesitated.

Not because he was scared.

But because he was surprised.

After what Han had just said to him in the locker room, why the hell was he still passing him the ball?

But this time?

He didn't hesitate.

Tatum wasn't scared to shoot. He was never scared to shoot.

He just needed to prove it.

His release wasn't the fastest, but with how much defensive attention Han drew, the Warriors couldn't rotate in time.

Swish.

Tatum drained it.

He glanced toward Han instinctively—looking for some kind of reaction.

But Han had already turned and was jogging back on defense.

No acknowledgment.

No celebration.

Nothing.

Tatum clenched his fist.

So that's how it was.

---

On the next play, George caught the ball in the corner, faked a shot, and drove baseline.

Tatum had been caught leaning—George got past him.

But just as George rose up for a dunk—

Tatum came flying in from behind.

His timing was perfect.

He swatted the ball off the glass with authority.

The crowd erupted.

One possession—one three, one chase-down block.

The difference from the first half was night and day.

Tatum let out a roar, letting all that pent-up frustration out.

Again, he turned instinctively toward Han.

And again?

Han wasn't looking.

It only made Tatum more determined.

The game had shifted.

With Mitchell, Hield, Tatum, Sabonis, and Han on the floor, all four Kings outside of Han could shoot.

Especially Hield—his gravity alone forced weak-side defenders to stick to him.

That left Tatum operating in the strong-side wing.

And now that he was willing to shoot?

Golden State's defense had a problem.

Han drove again, drawing the trap.

The pass went to Tatum.

Klay Thompson sprinted over to contest.

But instead of rushing the shot, Tatum stayed composed.

He pump-faked, watched Klay fly past, then exploded toward the rim.

Draymond was locked in on Han—he wasn't in position to help.

That left only Looney.

A half-step late on the rotation.

And it wasn't enough.

Tatum took off early.

Extended his arm high.

And threw it down hard.

BOOM.

Poster.

Tatum baptized Looney.

The arena exploded.

This?

This was the version of Jayson Tatum Kings fans had been waiting for.

For weeks, they had heard the criticism.

Luka Dončić, the rookie the Kings didn't draft, had already posted a 30-point game against the Spurs.

Sure, playing with Jokic helped.

Jokic was the kind of player who could make anyone look good—even a washed-up version of Westbrook could shine next to him.

But none of that mattered to the fans.

All they saw was that Luka was thriving in Cleveland.

And Tatum?

Tatum had struggled.

Some had even started saying the Kings should've kept Dončić and traded Tatum instead.

But now?

Now, they were seeing exactly why Sacramento had chosen him.

For the first time all night, Han looked at Tatum.

Not in celebration.

Not with praise.

Just acknowledgment.

And deep down, Han couldn't help but think—

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Why does it always take yelling at him for him to play like this?