TL: 300PS
Chapter 258: The Smell of a Massacre
The Suns had taken three straight games, and Chen Yan had delivered three straight MVP level playoff performances. Every night he stepped onto the floor, he gave the fans something new to yell about. Some Phoenix supporters even started chanting from the stands and on social media, "Chen Yan, Regular Season MVP!"
The award would not officially be given until the start of the second round, but everyone knew first round performances still influenced public impression. And with Kobe Bryant's complicated relationship with the media, no one could say for sure what the final vote would look like.
After Game 3, once the Suns boarded the team bus and returned to their hotel, the remaining playoff games finished up. Chen Yan kept a close eye on the Lakers and the Spurs, the two Western teams most likely to stand in Phoenix's way after the first round.
The Spurs had dropped a painful loss at home to the Rockets, but in Houston they bounced back hard, winning 94 to 74 and retaking home court advantage with a 2 to 1 lead. Tracy McGrady, who had been unbelievable in Game 2, shot only 11 for 31. With their leader struggling that badly, the Rockets offense fell apart.
The Lakers also slipped, losing 96 to 101 to the Utah Jazz. Jerry Sloan leaned on his classic pick and roll system and the Jazz's altitude advantage to drag the series back to life.
Realistically, the Jazz had little chance of eliminating the Lakers, but Chen Yan still hoped they could win another game or two. The longer the series lasted, the more tired the Lakers would be.
Game 4 between the Suns and Nuggets tipped off the next evening.
Inside the home locker room, the Nuggets tried to fire themselves up, shouting "Fight for honor!" before warmups. It sounded passionate, but to anyone outside their circle, the meaning was obvious. Teams chant about honor only when winning is already slipping out of reach.
The Suns' goal was clear. Sweep. Close it out. No mercy. No Game 5.
Before the introductions even finished, the arena showed something new. Scattered throughout the crowd were Nuggets fans wearing cartoon shirts of Chen Yan making the referee technical foul gesture.
After Game 3, his T sign imitation had gone viral. Some local companies rushed out T-shirts overnight. They sold out immediately.
One thing was clear now: anything involving Chen Yan automatically turned into money.
Before the ball went up, George Karl spoke with reporters.
"I still believe in my players," he said. "If we get our offense going, we can win."
The words sounded reasonable—just not against the Suns. Against Phoenix's firepower, Denver needed more than confidence.
The game opened at high speed. Both teams pushed the ball, both sides slashed into the lane, and both offenses kept the pace elevated.
The Nuggets had dropped their pressure and were willing to run with the Suns. But that was exactly the style Phoenix wanted—open court, fast pace, instinctive basketball.
Once the game fell into that rhythm, Denver's chances dropped to almost nothing.
At the end of the first quarter, the Suns led 30 to 23.
The second quarter was where everything shifted.
Chen Yan checked in with four bench players, and the quarter basically became his personal highlight film.
He broke defenders with deceptive steps.
He stroked transition three pointers like he was walking into them.
He slashed to the rim after violent direction changes.
He hit midrange jumpers off curls and relocations.
Every weapon in his arsenal came out.
The Nuggets fans in the arena could feel their stomachs drop. It reminded everyone of the nightmare run Chen had unleashed in the fourth quarter of Game 3.
With one minute and thirty seconds left in the half, Phoenix had blown the lead open to 17.
The Suns took possession again.
Chen Yan caught the ball and immediately pushed the pace. Kenyon Martin, Linas Kleiza, and Allen Iverson all collapsed on him at once, determined not to get embarrassed again.
That turned out to be wishful thinking.
Ignoring three defenders, Chen Yan pulled up from deep.
Bang.
The shot missed, bouncing hard off the rim.
But before the Nuggets could breathe, a louder slam echoed through the arena.
Bang!
Azubuike came flying in with a two handed putback dunk.
The lead ballooned to 19.
Chen Yan slapped palms with him in celebration. Games like these—games that unlocked young players' confidence—meant more to the Suns than the scoreboard alone. Azubuike was starting to believe he belonged.
The final possessions of the half were a mess of contested misses, and with twenty three seconds left, Phoenix had the ball for the last shot.
Chen Yan dribbled at the top of the key, letting the clock drain until he saw the window he wanted.
With seven seconds left, he attacked.
Crossover.
Shift.
Hesitation.
Explode.
Kleiza tried to stay in front, but Chen Yan's pendulum step nearly snapped his footing.
Frozen for a split second, Kleiza could only watch as Chen Yan burst into the lane, gliding past Camby's attempt at a block and flipping in a soft layup off the glass.
The buzzer sounded as the ball dropped through the net.
A buzzer beater to close the half.
The Suns now led by 20.
Chen Yan's second quarter stat line looked unreal: 25 points, 4 rebounds, 3 steals.
More importantly, he had kept his foul count under control. After the trouble he ran into in Game 3, he refused to let foul trouble ruin another big night.
The Pepsi Center was full, but the mood kept dropping lower and lower. Nuggets fans had hoped their team would show some pride, at least enough to avoid being swept on their home floor.
Instead, every one of Chen Yan's plays felt like another cut.
By halftime, the entire arena felt tight, frustrated, and uneasy.
The smell in the air was not hope.
It was the smell of a massacre.
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