Chapter 361: Sorry, I Only Know Jordan as Number 23!
Chen Yan's eruption hit Cleveland like a sudden storm, and the Cavaliers had no choice but to call timeout, trying to cool off a hand that clearly did not believe in mercy.
Out of the break, Cleveland went back to business. LeBron James stood at the top, directing traffic, calling for cutters, pointing teammates into motion. Nothing clean opened up, so he waved Big Z Ilgauskas over for a screen.
James turned the corner and attacked the paint. The moment the second defender leaned toward him, he snapped a pass to Big Z.
Ilgauskas rose from the free throw line and buried it.
Swish.
59 to 55.
Quicken Loans Arena finally sounded alive again. Cleveland had its first points of the second half, and the crowd treated it like a life raft.
…
Phoenix brought it up, and as soon as Chen Yan touched the ball, boos rolled down from every section.
It was not personal. The Suns and Cavaliers were not bitter rivals, and Chen Yan had not done anything to the fans in Cleveland. He had simply committed the greatest sin an opponent can commit in another city.
He was ruining a championship dream.
Chen Yan did not flinch. He did not look into the stands. Right now, his world had 1 rule, put the ball in the basket.
He could pass. He could rebound. He could do plenty.
But he always prioritized scoring.
That was why the comparisons kept pointing toward Kobe Bryant, not LeBron. Chen Yan and Kobe were wired like finishers, cold and direct. LeBron was a battlefield commander, built to carry everything.
Larry Hughes crowded him the instant he caught it, chest up, hands busy. Chen Yan had already hit 3 straight 3s, so Hughes leaned hard into the perimeter, terrified of giving up another inch outside.
Chen Yan punished him for it.
A lightning first step, 1 move, gone.
Hughes chased. Varejão slid over. James rotated from the weak side, ready to wall off the rim.
And then Chen Yan stopped on a dime.
Between the legs, pull back, reset.
He did not walk into the trap. He stepped out beyond the arc, lifted, and fired, no extra rhythm, no adjustment, just pure confidence on a difficult look.
Larry Hughes watched the arc and thought, no chance.
The ball snapped through the net anyway.
Swish.
The building groaned like it had just been insulted.
"Goodness," Mike Breen said, voice rising with the moment. "That is his 4th straight 3 of the quarter."
Jeff Van Gundy let out a short laugh that sounded more like disbelief than amusement. "What exactly are you supposed to do with that? That's not defense, that's survival."
Mark Jackson kept it simple. "He is unconscious."
Hughes glanced to the sideline, almost pleading.
Mike Brown looked back with the same helplessness. Hughes was working. He was not quitting. It just did not matter.
Cleveland came back down.
Ilgauskas found another clean midrange look, but this one rimmed out. Varejão crashed, muscled through bodies, and flipped in the put back.
62 to 57.
Varejão was not a gifted scorer, and he never pretended to be. His currency was effort, and he spent it every possession.
…
Phoenix's next trip stalled.
Cleveland adjusted on the fly, showing a 3 2 look to crowd the perimeter and shade Chen Yan, then sliding into a 2 3 as the ball shifted toward the baseline.
It worked.
The Suns got pushed into a late clock possession, and Stoudemire had to force a rushed midrange just before the buzzer.
Clang.
Miss.
James grabbed the rebound and kept it himself.
Defense keeps you afloat, LeBron raises the ceiling.
He knew it. If Cleveland was going to survive, it would not be because they politely waited for stops. He had to punch back.
He dribbled to the top and suddenly stopped. Varejão started to come up for the screen.
Then James gathered early.
A surprise 3, a cold arrow.
Raja Bell did not even get a real contest up. The release was too sudden.
Swish.
James pounded his chest, eyes blazing.
62 to 60.
Phoenix answered immediately.
Stoudemire faced up, drove hard into Big Z, and finished through contact.
64 to 60.
When the Suns' core was on the floor together, the offense rarely stayed quiet for long.
Cleveland pushed again.
James saw a seam in transition, sensed a half step of hesitation, and exploded. Varejão screened Bell just enough. Diaw was late to help. And once James got downhill with space, there was no gentle solution.
Chen Yan started to slide over, but it was like trying to stop a truck with a clipboard.
Boom.
A vicious right handed tomahawk.
64 to 62.
5 quick points from James in 2 possessions, 3 then a dunk, shooting and driving, the full Cleveland version of him.
He landed and flexed toward the baseline camera, chest high, jaw set. The arena surged with sound, wave after wave, as if the crowd was trying to shove the score upward by volume alone.
And in that adrenaline, James shouted at Chen Yan, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"You can't stop me. This is my house."
Chen Yan did not answer. He just turned and jogged upcourt, calm as a receipt.
He preferred his replies with a scoreboard attached.
…
Phoenix ran action to free him.
Chen Yan cut out from the side. Raja Bell set the screen and clipped Hughes. James switched instantly, no hesitation, knowing what happens when Chen Yan sees daylight.
Chen Yan dribbled into him, a rhythmic crossover, shoulders loose, eyes level.
It looked like a drive.
Then it was not.
He rose for 3.
James launched to contest, but he was too close, too aggressive, and his arm drifted into Chen Yan's space.
Whistle.
Swish.
And 1.
The Suns bench exploded, and the Cleveland crowd's roar got swallowed by the sound of another dagger landing.
Mike Breen's voice spiked. "Count it, plus the foul. Chen Yan is putting on a show in Cleveland."
Mark Jackson shook his head. "That's a grown man shot."
Jeff Van Gundy leaned back. "And it's the worst kind of foul, too. You give up the points, then you give him a free one, and he's already on fire. Fantastic."
Chen Yan stepped to the line and knocked down the free throw.
That was Chen Yan.
He did not just respond, he escalated.
As they ran back, Chen Yan finally gave James his words, delivered with the same cold precision as his release.
"I don't know whose house this is," he said, eyes forward. "But the only number 23 I recognize is Jordan."
James's face flushed instantly.
And suddenly, the battle got even more personal.
<><><><><>
[Check Out My Patreon For +50 Advance Chapters On All My Fanfics!]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]
[Join Our Discord Community For Updates & Events]
[https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9]