"Trying to wear me down?"
James wiped the sweat from his face with a rough motion. Deep in his eyes, a barely noticeable spark of fierce resolve flickered.
"Want to beat me? That's not going to be easy."
With that, James caught a pass from his teammate and began slowly bringing the ball up the court, staring down the Celtics' tightly packed defense. He took a deep breath, forcing what little energy remained in his body back into his legs, then suddenly burst forward.
Fighting through Tatum's defense, he charged into the mid-range area and rose up for a forced pull-up jumper—swish!
The instant the ball dropped through the net, James turned and sprinted back on defense.
Staring at James's broad back, a sudden sense of panic surged in Tatum's chest.
"How is he still playing like this? Does he have unlimited stamina?"
"Don't space out!"
A voice suddenly sounded behind Tatum.
Irving dribbled past him. "He's at his limit. Just push a little harder!"
Watching James's figure, Irving's eyes burned with fighting spirit.
Wasn't this the exact reason he had decisively left Cleveland for Boston last year—to prove that he, too, could be the leader of a team?
As a former teammate, Irving understood James's dominance on the court better than anyone. But he also knew that James's authority in the basketball world was slowly fading.
A man like him was never meant to live in someone else's shadow forever.
Irving had always been an ambitious player. What he wanted was to compete for the vacant crown that would be left once James stepped down from the throne.
Of course, Irving wasn't naive enough to think that beating the Cavaliers this year alone would strip James of his influence.
But if he could get past the Cavaliers this season, then he would truly step into that arena.
He would earn the right to compete alongside those people on the same stage.
That was why this series meant everything to Irving.
Suppressing his surging emotions, Irving pushed the pace, then unleashed a wide crossover that cleanly shook off Rodney Hood. He drove into the paint and, under Kevin Love's help defense, twisted his body and smoothly extended his arm, laying the ball into the hoop.
Cheers erupted inside TD Garden.
Irving was playing out of his mind tonight.
With the Celtics' stacked roster providing a solid safety net, Irving was free to fully display his offensive talent.
No matter the situation, he always found a way to put the ball into that damn basket.
By now, Celtics fans had almost grown used to his performances, reacting without much surprise.
"Timeout! Timeout!"
Tyronn Lue called for a timely timeout. This stoppage wasn't about drawing up new plays or making adjustments.
By this point, the Cavaliers were already running on empty. Coach Lue's timeouts were now used simply to give James a chance to recover his stamina at the right moments.
Walking to the sideline, James found an open seat and dropped into it, taking the water bottle handed to him by a teammate.
But the moment he grasped it, James was startled to feel his hand trembling slightly.
This was the body's natural reaction after reaching its absolute limit.
Without saying a word, James took small, careful sips of water.
Even now, at this point, he couldn't afford to collapse. James knew it clearly—if he showed even the slightest sign of fatigue, everything he had done tonight would be wasted.
"Come on, brothers!"
After catching his breath, James stood up from the chair. "It won't take much longer. Let's go win this game."
Back on the court, James immediately powered through for a tough, iron-willed layup, once again cutting into the deficit.
The score now stood at 76–82.
The Celtics led by six.
Coach Stevens spoke with some dissatisfaction. "We're throwing so many bodies at him, and he's just one man. Why does it still have to go down to the wire?"
"That's different."
Danny Ainge's voice suddenly sounded beside him.
"Even if it were the Kings out there, it'd be the same."
Ainge's gaze burned as he watched James on the court.
"He's an old lion, fighting with everything he has to protect his territory. Whoever steps in right now is bound to take a few hits."
"But it's fine. He's done for."
Ainge's face still carried that gentle, friendly smile, yet his words were ruthless. "He's one step from the end. James doesn't have a chance anymore."
As Ainge and Stevens were talking, Ainge suddenly widened his eyes, as if he'd seen something unbelievable.
On the court, second-year Jaylen Brown was holding the ball, motioning for his teammates to clear out.
And standing in front of him—
Was LeBron James!
"You absolute idiot! What are you doing?!"
Sure, the Celtics' plan was to drain James's stamina—but who told you to go one-on-one with him?!
But Jaylen Brown on the court didn't care about any of that. Right now, Jaylen was fired up, ready to take James head-on.
"Bang!"
Jaylen took a quick hard dribble and drove inside, but such a straightforward move was never going to fool James.
James slid laterally and used his body to bump Jaylen off balance, sending him stumbling.
Undeterred, Jaylen spun quickly, trying to squeeze his way through.
James followed calmly from behind, waiting until Jaylen went up for the layup before suddenly exploding upward and swatting the ball away with a solid chase-down block.
"Were you possessed just now?"
Irving stared at the stunned Jaylen, holding it in for a while before finally blurting that out.
"You're a rookie trying to go at James one-on-one? What were you thinking?"
While James's defense had often been criticized, the harshest people ever said was that he sometimes coasted—no one had ever claimed he was a bad defender.
Jaylen, embarrassed after the chase-down block, scratched his head awkwardly.
"Sorry… I got carried away."
"Alright, don't blame him,"
Horford said as he walked over, twisting his neck. "In this situation, it's easy for anyone to get heated."
"But that's it. Everyone fall back. From here on out, this game isn't something you kids can take part in anymore."