The series shifted back to Oakland once again.
At Oracle Arena tonight, the fans were tense, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation.
No surprise—the aura of that 73-win season was still blinding. It had given Golden State fans a sense of unrivaled pride, the feeling that they ruled the basketball world.
And yet, being pushed to a decisive Game 5 by Sacramento felt like a disgrace in their eyes.
Sure, both teams were in California. But so what?
This wasn't just neighbors playing ball anymore—it felt like betrayal. The California in-law was about to overthrow the master!
Amid the electric atmosphere, Chen Yilun sighed.
"What unity! If this kind of battle keeps up for another couple of years, Sacramento and Oakland will be lifelong rivals."
For decades, the two franchises had stayed out of each other's way. Both had been bottom feeders, with no reason to cross paths.
But now, they had risen at the same time—and with their arenas so close, conflict was inevitable.
Fans began clashing constantly.
Chen Yilun looked around, searching for the familiar blue figure he always noticed, but saw nothing. With a touch of disappointment, he turned away.
Guess the guy ran out of paint at home.
On the court, both teams were warming up on their own halves. Oddly enough, not a single player crossed midcourt to greet the other.
Usually, there would be some handshakes, some small talk before tip-off.
But not tonight—no one was in the mood for pleasantries.
Even Ben, who was usually all smiles, wore a serious expression.
As expected, from the opening tip, the game had a fiery edge.
"Sir, why's it so hot in here?"
Tang Zhou sat fanning himself with a stack of papers. "Don't tell me they're pulling the same stunt your teacher used?"
He was talking about Gregg Popovich's infamous trick during the Spurs-Heat Finals, when the AC mysteriously broke down. The arena turned into a sauna, leading to the famous "LeBron cramps game."
Chen Yilun looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Are you stupid? If you're hot, just take off your clothes. It's summer—you're sitting here in a full suit! Who else would be hot if not you?"
Tang Zhou, in a three-piece suit, looked more like a groom than a fan.
"Oh… right."
He glanced down at his outfit, then at Chen Yilun's thin short-sleeve shirt. Embarrassed, he hurriedly peeled off his jacket.
"Man, even your vest is padded," Chen Yilun laughed as Tang Zhou struggled out of his layers.
"I was nervous, okay?" Tang Zhou muttered, fumbling with his clothes.
"Nervous my ass. Look at Coach Malone—calm as ever…" Chen Yilun turned to glance at Malone, then immediately shut up.
Malone stood on the sideline, composed on the surface—but peeking out from his pants were mismatched socks, one red, one white.
"Forget I said anything."
The game itself was pure war. Both teams unleashed everything they had, the physicality a throwback to the bruising battles of the 90s.
Butler barreled into Thompson, knocking him back a step before hitting a tough jumper.
"Don't lose your head! Run the set!" Curry shouted, taking the inbound and pushing the pace.
At this point, both teams had laid all their cards on the table. Every play had been used. What remained was star power and toughness.
Curry crossed halfcourt, used Green's screen to draw the defense in, then kicked it back to Green at the top of the arc.
Green caught it, wiggled his hips, and awkwardly drilled a three.
Both sides were throwing everything they had into the fight.
The score went back and forth into the fourth quarter.
"Our rotation changes are so small today," Tang Zhou muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"No choice," Chen Yilun replied, eyes locked on the floor. "Both sides are going all-in. No tricks left—just their best lineups head-to-head."
Time drained away, yet neither team could break free. The tension only grew as the final seconds ticked off.
Curry, running off the ball, slipped out of the corner and cut straight inside.
Butler, locked in on his three-point threat, never saw it coming.
Before he could react, Green fired a sharp pass inside.
Jokić, carrying some extra weight but ignoring the fatigue, lunged into the paint to contest.
But Curry didn't flinch. He floated it high, brushing Jokić's fingertips before the ball dropped cleanly through.
"Beautiful!"
The Warriors' bench, silent all night, erupted in celebration.
Only 20 seconds remained. Golden State 96, Sacramento 94.
The momentum tilted toward the Warriors.
"Coach!"
Chris Finch shot up from the bench, staring anxiously at Malone.
The obvious move was to use the last timeout and set up a play.
But Malone stood frozen, lips pressed tight, hand half-raised, hesitating. He looked at his players' faces on the court, then slowly lowered his hand.
Calling timeout would help organize a play, yes—but it would also give the Warriors a chance to adjust.
He chose instead to trust his players.
CJ brought the ball up, instinctively glancing at Malone. No timeout. He accelerated across halfcourt.
Butler caught the pass near the logo, taking a deep breath as the clock wound down.
Across from him, Andre Iguodala was locked in. The game would be decided here.
Butler inched toward the top of the key, crossing over again and again, before finally breaking past Iguodala with a sharp move toward the paint.
Sensing danger, Iguodala scrambled back a step to cut him off.
But instead of driving, Butler planted hard, stepped back, and retreated to the three-point line.
He wasn't playing for percentages.
Iguodala, already a step behind, could only stare in disbelief.
Butler was going for the kill.
He was betting everything on the game-winning shot.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser