Chapter 116: Popovich's Crazy Gamble!
Every single seat in the arena was occupied by a fan wearing a black and white jersey.
When the arena DJ called out the names of the Lakersplayers, they were greeted by a landslide-like wave of boos.
And when Lin Feng's name was called...
The boos reached a crescendo.
It was no longer just simple booing.
It was a sound wave mixed with anger, curses, and pure malice, powerful enough to shake the arena's dome.
Kobe's prophecy was about to come true.
A true battle from hell was about to unfold.
"Beep—!"
The whistle blew to start the game.
During the tip-off, Howard easily beat Splitter and tapped the ball to Blake.
The Lakers' first possession.
At the commentator's table, Charles Barkley adjusted his seating position.
"Alright, the game has begun! Let's see what kind of adjustments Popovich and his Spurs will make after that epic collapse in G3."
"I'm guessing they'll return to the strategy from G1 and G2, using even more frantic physical contact to wear down Lin Feng's stamina."
Kenny Smith agreed.
On the court, Blake dribbled the ball, advancing toward the frontcourt at a steady pace.
Everything seemed the same as usual.
Lin Feng also began his off-ball movement, preparing to find an opening to receive the pass.
However, the moment he just crossed the half-court line.
An anomaly occurred.
Kawhi Leonard, like a hunting leopard, suddenly pounced from the wing and stuck right to Lin Feng's body.
At the same time, Danny Green on the other side also abandoned the player he was guarding and, like a shadow, came to double-team from the other direction!
Two people!
Before Lin Feng had even touched the ball!
Right at the half-court position!
The Spurs directly double-teamed him!
A suffocating cage made of arms and bodies was instantly formed!
"My god! What are they doing?!"
Barkley jumped out of his chair in shock, his voice filled with incomprehensible disbelief.
"Double-teaming an off-ball player?! And at half-court?!"
"Popovich is crazy! He's completely lost it!"
The entire AT&T Center, after a brief moment of stunned silence, erupted into an even more frantic roar!
They understood!
They understood the crazy determination of their head coach!
The extreme nature of this tactic was that while Leonardand Green were surrounding Lin Feng...
The Spurs only had three defensive players left for the rest of the half-court.
While the Lakers had four offensive players!
Howard, Gasol, Blake, and Artest!
A bizarre situation of '2 defending 1, and 3 defending 4' appeared nakedly before everyone's eyes!
This was a crazy gamble by Popovich, wagering his reputation as a legendary coach!
At the center of the cage, Lin Feng immediately felt that immense, pervasive pressure.
Leonard and Green were like two octopuses, using every part of their bodies to squeeze his space and interfere with his vision.
He didn't panic, nor did he try to force his way through his opponents.
[Eye of the Heavenly Emperor, Activate.]
In an instant, his field of vision changed.
The entire court transformed into a 3D model composed of countless data streams.
Leonard's next positioning move and Green's reaching arm were all predicted in his mind in advance.
More importantly...
He clearly saw Blake at the top of the arc, Gasol at the free-throw line, and Howard under the basket—green indicators representing 'absolute open space' appeared over their heads!
Lin Feng didn't try to break through himself.
He merely made a very subtle passing gesture toward Blake, who had the ball.
Then, his voice pierced through the enclosure of those two men.
"Pau!"
Blake understood perfectly; without the slightest hesitation, he threw a high lob pass toward the free-throw line!
There, Pau Gasol was standing all alone.
Within three meters of him, there was not a single soul!
Gasol caught the ball.
He froze for a moment.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
This was the Western Conference Semifinals, not the team's practice facility.
He had just been given the easiest, most comfortable open mid-range shot of his entire career.
He even had time to adjust his breathing, look at the rim, and then calmly take the shot.
Perhaps because it was too easy, that tense competitive feeling actually relaxed for a split second.
He jumped and flicked his wrist.
The form was textbook.
"Clang!"
The basketball hit the front of the rim hard and bounced high into the air!
The entire AT&T Center erupted in a massive cheer of relief!
Duncan boxed out Howard, easily grabbed the defensive rebound, and immediately threw a long pass to the fast-breaking Parker!
Parker finished the layup!
2-0!
The Spurs successfully executed a fast break!
In front of the bench, Popovich watched all this expressionlessly.
He didn't applaud for this successful defense.
His face still held that same unruffled, icy calm.
But in his heart, waves were already surging.
He had bet correctly!
He bet that in this hellish away environment of the AT&T Center, under the immense pressure created by nearly twenty thousand fans, the Lakers players other than Lin Feng simply wouldn't be able to hit those damn open shots!
This was his open scheme!
Using Lin Feng to crush the other Lakers players!
On the Lakers' bench, D'Antoni's face turned very grim.
He saw through Popovich's intention, but there was simply no solution.
On the court.
Lin Feng's expression didn't change at all.
He didn't feel discouraged because of Gasol's miss.
He patted Gasol on the back.
"It's okay, Pau. Keep shooting; the next one will go in."
Then, like a true floor general, a calm quarterback, he began to use his gravity to orchestrate the team's offense.
The Lakers attacked again.
The same scene played out once more.
As soon as Lin Feng crossed half-court, he was tightly entangled by Leonard and Green.
This time, Lin Feng didn't have Blake pass to Gasol.
"Dwight!"
He shouted while using a subtle pivot to pin Leonardfirmly behind him.
Blake's pass flew directly toward the rim!
Alley-oop!
The unguarded Howard leaped high under the basket, preparing to slam the ball home!
"Tweet!"
The referee's whistle blew!
Under the basket, Splitter used what was almost a football-style tackle to pull Howard down from the air!
Foul!
Howard walked to the free-throw line.
Amidst the deafening interference from the crowd, he made one of two free throws.
2-1.
Over the next few possessions.
The game turned into a bizarre 4-on-3 offensive and defensive drill.
Lin Feng became the most unique decoy on the court.
He kept moving, drawing the Spurs' two strongest perimeter defenders.
Then, using shouts and gestures, he directed his teammates to attack the Spurs' depleted defense.
Blake got an open three-point look.
"Clang!"
Missed.
Artest also got an opportunity in the corner.
"Clang!"
Still missed!
The Spurs players' morale grew higher and higher.
The atmosphere at the AT&T Center also became increasingly feverish.
Under such immense pressure, the Lakers' role players' shooting touch went cold.
Every time they took a shot, they appeared hesitant.
The point gap was widened bit by bit.
8-2!
D'Antoni paced back and forth on the sidelines in anxiety, yet he had no solution.
Just then.
Lin Feng once again drew a double-team.
This time, through a brilliant piece of movement, he created a massive opening for Nick Young on the wing.
Blake's pass was delivered precisely into Nick Young's hands.
Another open shot!
Nick Young caught the ball.
He heard the boos that were almost piercing his eardrums and saw the wide-open basket in front of him.
In his mind, images flashed of the final game of the regular season after he hit that game-winner.
That feeling of the whole world going quiet for him.
He glanced at Lin Feng, who was being tightly pinned down by two people.
He knew this was an opportunity Lin Feng had traded his own body to get for him.
He couldn't hesitate any longer.
A signature, slightly cynical smile appeared on Nick Young's face.
He took a deep breath and resolutely took the shot!
Chapter 117: A Symphony of Four Against Three! The King's Baton
The basketball drew a high arc in the air.
The entire AT&T Center, nearly twenty thousand Spursfans, held their breath at this moment.
Their gazes were fixed tightly on the orange sphere.
Time stretched infinitely at this moment.
"Swish!"
A crisp, pleasant sound of the ball falling cleanly through the net was transmitted throughout the arena via the pickup microphones beneath the rim!
And into everyone's ears!
It went in!
Nick Young hit that open three-pointer!
8:5!
The Lakers finally broke their scoring drought!
"YES!"
After landing, Nick Young excitedly performed his classic celebration move after hitting a three.
He pointed to his veins, his face radiating immense swagger and confidence!
"Ice in my veins!"
This shot was like a powerful adrenaline shot, fiercely injected into the heart of every Lakers player!
It was also like the first bugle call, sounding the prelude to a counterattack!
In front of the bench, Popovich showed no expression on his face.
Just an open three.
He still firmly believed it was just luck.
The role players of the Lakers couldn't maintain this kind of shooting touch forever.
However, the subsequent turn of events delivered a resounding, silent slap to his face.
Spurs possession.
Parker used Duncan's screen to drive into the paint, but his floater missed.
Howard secured the defensive rebound and passed it to Blake.
The Lakers pushed the ball up again.
The exact same scene unfolded again.
As soon as Lin Feng crossed half-court, Leonard and Green stuck to him like glue.
This time, Lin Feng didn't even glance at the basket.
His role had completely shifted from a scorer to a commander on the court.
Under the vision of the Eye of the Heavenly Emperor, every movement of his teammates was clearly presented in his mind.
"Paul!"
Lin Feng's voice wasn't loud, but it carried immense penetration.
Almost simultaneously as he shouted, Gasol near the free-throw line intuitively began to move.
Blake's pass arrived perfectly in his hands.
Another open look!
This time, Gasol didn't hesitate.
He caught the ball, jumped, and shot.
The motion was fluid and seamless.
The basketball found the net steadily!
8:7!
The gap was down to just 1 point!
On the commentary desk, Barkley excitedly slammed the table.
"Did you see that! That's Lin Feng's impact!"
"He doesn't need to score! Just by standing there, he can completely tear apart the Spurs' defensive system!"
"This is a four-on-three game! The Lakers are playing their offensive symphony! And Lin Feng is the Kingwaving the baton!"
On the court, the Spurs' offense came up empty again.
Lakers possession.
Lin Feng continued to play the deadliest decoy.
This time, he used a backdoor cut to draw both Leonardand Green to the other side of the court.
The strong side of the Lakers' offense instantly created a three-on-two situation!
"Jordan!"
Lin Feng commanded again.
Blake executed a perfect bounce pass to the cutting Jordan Hill!
Jordan Hill caught the ball and took three big steps toward the rim!
"Bang!"
A massive sound!
He violently slammed the ball into the basket with a powerful two-handed dunk!
8:9!
The Lakers had taken the lead!
Popovich remained on the sideline, his expression grim.
He did not call a timeout.
He was still waiting.
He believed the Lakers' hot shooting touch would eventually cool down.
But he miscalculated.
The rest of the first quarter completely turned into an offensive showcase for the Lakers.
Under the direction of Lin Feng, the massive point of gravity, the Lakers' offense flowed like spilled mercury, penetrating everywhere.
Nick Young hit another three!
Gasol's mid-range jumper was nothing but net!
Artest also received a pass and scored on a layup!
The first quarter ended.
The score was locked at 20:31!
The Lakers led the Spurs by a full 11 points on the road!
Lin Feng's stat line showed 0 points, but the assists column held an astonishing number—8!
The second quarter began.
Popovich stubbornly stuck to his defensive strategy.
But the Lakers players' confidence had fully ignited.
They no longer hesitated or wavered.
Every open opportunity created by Lin Feng, they dared to shoot decisively.
The Lakers, scoring from multiple points, continued to expand their lead.
The gap reached as high as 15 points!
The Spurs' pride and joy, their defensive system that ran like a precision machine, showed visible cracks for the first time tonight.
Ironically, the one who tore this crack was not Lin Feng's supernatural three-pointers.
It was Popovich's own extreme, even insane, tactical choice.
Halftime.
In the Lakers' locker room, the atmosphere was extremely lively.
"Hahaha! That was so much fun!"
Howard waved his towel excitedly.
"I've never played such an easy game! There were open looks everywhere!"
Nick Young also whistled proudly.
"Exactly, this feeling is amazing!"
Excited smiles adorned everyone's faces.
They felt involved in the offense, becoming part of the team's victory.
Only Lin Feng remained exceptionally calm.
He sat in his spot, silently drinking water to replenish his stamina.
He looked at his excited teammates and spoke.
"They will counterattack in the second half..."
His voice was soft, but it instantly silenced the entire locker room.
"And it will be fiercer."
All eyes focused on him.
Lin Feng's gaze was calm and profound.
"Get ready, the real fight has only just begun."
As expected.
The situation in the second half changed abruptly.
As soon as the third quarter started.
Spurs role player Danny Green, after receiving a pass from Parker, hit a highly difficult fading three-pointer from the corner over Artest's defense!
This shot acted as a signal.
A few minutes later.
Spurs reserve guard Patty Mills, on a fast break, pulled up for a shot from two steps beyond the three-point line over Blake's defense!
It went in!
These two unreasonable three-pointers were like two buckets of ice water poured onto the Lakers' blazing hot shooting touch.
They also completely ignited the fire that had been suppressed for half the game in the AT&T Center!
The Spurs seemed infused with divine power.
They unleashed a furious comeback run.
Danny Green's threes were like unsheathed sharp swords, piercing the Lakers' defensive line again and again.
Mills' drives were like sharp knives, stirring up unrest in the Lakers' interior defense.
The confidence the Lakers' role players had built up in the first half began to shake under this sudden storm.
Their shots started becoming hesitant again.
"Clang!"
"Clang!"
The basketball hit the rim again and again.
The point difference was rapidly being eaten away.
15 points.
10 points.
5 points.
When the final buzzer for the third quarter sounded.
The giant scoreboard above the AT&T Center arena displayed a score that made all Lakers fans feel suffocated.
85:85!
The Spurs, with an entire quarter of furious comeback, had tied the score!
The suspense of the game was dragged into the final quarter.
Chapter 118: The Hellish Fourth Quarter! The Final Bet!
The game's suspense was dragged into the final quarter.
The few minutes of the inter-quarter break felt incredibly long for the Lakers players.
In the locker room, the relaxed and enthusiastic atmosphere from the first half had vanished without a trace.
In its place was a suffocating gloom.
No one spoke.
Only Howard's heavy breathing, sounding like a broken bellows, could be heard.
Along with the sound of Gasol constantly wiping sweat from his face with a towel.
Everyone knew very well what that collapse in the third quarter meant.
It meant that Popovich's gamble was tilting wildly in the direction he had envisioned.
The Spurs had pulled them back from the edge of the cliff.
Now, both sides were back on the same starting line.
But on the Lakers' side, the players' physical stamina and mental state had been drained to an extremely dangerous critical point.
"Beep—!"
The whistle for the start of the fourth quarter sounded sharply.
It was like flipping the switch on a gallows.
The final twelve minutes, a bloody war of attrition, officially began.
The Spurs' first attack.
Tony Parker dribbled the ball unhurriedly at the top of the arc, but his eyes were observing Lin Feng's position.
Leonard and Green, like two tireless hounds, were still tightly entangled around Lin Feng.
The movements of the three of them occupied almost half the court.
The Lakers' offense once again turned into a difficult four-on-three.
But this time, the remaining three defensive players for the Spurs had raised their defensive intensity and focus to a whole new level.
Duncan guarded the interior, making it airtight.
Splitter and Boris Diaw were like two moving walls, frantically rotating to cover every possible open spot.
Artest received the ball in the corner, and Boris Diaw was on him almost within a second.
He was forced to take a rushed shot.
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced off the rim.
The entire AT&T Center erupted in a mountain-shaking, tsunami-like cheer!
Transition.
The Spurs' offense also became exceptionally patient.
They no longer pursued unreasonable quick three-pointers like they did in the third quarter.
Instead, they tirelessly drained the Lakers' already depleted defensive energy through repeated ball movement.
Twenty seconds.
Twenty-one seconds.
Twenty-two seconds.
The shot clock was about to run out.
The ball returned to Parker's hands once again.
Facing Blake's defense, he accelerated, changed direction, and with a classic spin move, slipped into the paint!
Faced with the help defense of Howard and Gasol, he adjusted mid-air with a double-clutch, avoided the block, and sent the ball into the basket!
87:85!
The Spurs had taken the lead again!
The atmosphere on the court was tense to the extreme.
Every breath brought a searing pain.
Lin Feng felt like his lungs were a furnace about to catch fire.
He had led two defenders on a chase for over three full quarters.
His legs were as heavy as if they were filled with mercury; every step required an immense effort of will.
He could feel his stamina draining into an abyss at an alarming rate.
Lakers' offense.
The ball was still moving with difficulty.
Lin Feng gave his all to create a fleeting opportunity for Gasol at the free-throw line once more.
Gasol received the ball.
He jumped.
But his arms were already somewhat stiff from the massive physical exertion.
"Clang!"
Another brick!
"Defense!"
"Defense!"
Nearly twenty thousand fans at the AT&T Center stood up!
They waved their towels, using all their strength to cheer for the home team!
The wave of sound was like tangible pressure, looming over the hearts of every Lakers player.
Their shooting percentage began to drop sharply.
The offense came to a standstill once again.
Meanwhile, the Spurs, led by Parker and Ginóbili, played steadily.
The point gap was ruthlessly widened bit by bit.
89:85.
91:86.
Time was ticking away, second by second.
Popovich stood on the sidelines with his hands in his pockets, his expression still unchanged.
But in his deep-set eyes, there was a coldness that suggested his schemes were succeeding.
His gamble seemed to be paying off in the final moments of the game.
What he bet on was that Lin Feng's stamina would be completely exhausted by this relentless defense!
When there was only a minute and a half left in the game.
Tony Parker once again made a ghostly driving layup!
93:91!
The Spurs led the Lakers by 2 points!
D'Antoni called the Lakers' second-to-last timeout of the game.
Lin Feng walked off the court.
Instead of going to the coach, he plopped down directly onto a chair at the end of the bench.
He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
Sweat dripped from his chin, one drop after another, hitting the floor and splashing into tiny blossoms.
His chest was heaving violently.
The whole world seemed to be spinning.
His teammates gathered around, everyone's eyes focused on him.
D'Antoni's tactical board was filled with complex lines, but he knew those things were meaningless in the current situation.
The team had reached its limit.
Now, it was his turn.
It was the turn of the team's only and final hero.
Lin Feng didn't look up.
He simply closed his eyes, completely blocking out all the external noise.
The coach's shouting.
The sound of his teammates' breathing.
The deafening clamor in the arena.
Everything vanished.
In his mind, only the basket remained.
Along with the most primal, almost insane desire for victory.
He knew that with his current physical strength.
It was only enough to support him opening [ZONE] once.
The final time.
This one and only chance had to be used at the most critical moment for a killing blow.
The timeout ended.
Lin Feng stood up.
He took a towel from a staff member and wiped his face.
When he looked up again.
The fatigue in his eyes had disappeared.
In its place was a heart-palpitating calm, like the deep sea.
The game continued.
Spurs' offense: Duncan played Gasol one-on-one in the low post, but his turnaround jumper missed.
Howard boxed out Splitter tightly and grabbed this crucial defensive rebound!
Lakers' offense.
Artest drew a foul from Ginóbili while driving.
He walked to the free-throw line.
One of two free throws made!
93:92!
In the final 30 seconds of the game, the Lakers narrowed the gap to 1 point through free throws.
The Spurs missed their final attack, and the Lakersgrabbed the rebound!
The ball was handed to Lin Feng; facing the frantic double-team of Leonard and Green, he once again activated [Midorima ZONE]!
Chapter 119: The Art of 0.01 Seconds!
The ball was passed to Lin Feng. Facing the frantic double-team from Leonard and Green, he activated the [Midorima ZONE] once again!
In that moment, the world before Lin Feng changed.
The noisy AT&T Center, filled with curses and shouts, fell completely silent in his perception.
The frantic, savage expressions on the faces of nearly twenty thousand San Antonio Spurs fans solidified into a static painting.
On the sidelines, Popovich's expressionless face and D'Antoni's anxious roaring both turned into silent movies.
The flow of time in his world was forcibly slowed down tenfold, perhaps even a hundredfold.
He could clearly see a drop of sweat sliding down Leonard's temple, breaking down into finer mist in the air.
He could clearly see Danny Green's fingertips trembling slightly from exerting maximum force.
He could hear every heavy and powerful beat of the heart in his chest.
Kawhi Leonard and Danny Green were like two massive, flesh-and-blood gates rapidly closing.
They squeezed toward him from both the left and right directions.
Their arms spread out, forming an airtight net.
Their bodies leaned forward, sealing off all his routes for advancing and lateral movement.
This was a perfect, textbook defensive trap, enough to make any superstar scorer feel despair.
While activating the [Midorima ZONE], the [Eye of the Heavenly Emperor] was also operating at its peak.
In Lin Feng's vision, every subsequent movement of the two opponents transformed into clear, visible future images with trajectory lines.
He "saw" that in 0.3 seconds, Leonard's left hand would cut toward his dribbling path.
He "saw" that in 0.4 seconds, Green's body would fully stick to him, colliding with his chest and causing him to lose balance.
He "saw" that all passing lanes were completely sealed off by the opponents' bodies and arms.
A regular shot? Impossible.
A breakthrough? That was even more of a pipe dream.
A pass? His teammates were tightly guarded by the rest of the San Antonio Spurs defenders, leaving no space to receive the ball.
A dead end.
An absolute checkmate.
In this extreme state, Lin Feng's brain operated rapidly at a speed that surpassed the limits of human comprehension.
Countless offensive options were generated in his mind, only to be vetoed by himself in the next microsecond.
His physical energy was completely exhausted.
This [ZONE] activation was barely achieved by draining the last bit of energy from his body.
He only had one chance.
One opportunity to shoot.
Time was rapidly ticking away on the sideline clock.
2 seconds... 1 second... Just as the two "gates" of Leonardand Green were about to close completely and swallow him whole.
Just as their arms were about to touch the basketball and their bodies were about to collide with his chest.
Lin Feng made a move that brought the entire world to a halt.
A move that would make physics weep.
He did not choose to step back, nor did he choose to jump forcibly.
His body suddenly sank down at an extremely bizarre angle, violating the limits of human joint movement!
His right hand, which was rapidly dribbling the ball, did not slap the ball upward.
Instead, he used his wrist to give the basketball an extreme, ground-hugging lateral push!
The basketball did not bounce.
Like a black sprite imbued with life, it rolled at high speed, almost skimming the floor at an extremely tricky angle, toward Lin Feng's back-left.
Its path precisely slipped through the only unblocked gap—less than five centimeters wide—behind the heel of Kawhi Leonard's moving left foot!
What was that?!
It was a behind-the-back dribble!
An extreme behind-the-back dribble executed when his body was completely locked down and his center of gravity was so low he was practically sitting on the floor!
The magnitude, speed, and angle of this move completely defied the conventional laws of basketball.
It shouldn't have succeeded.
According to the prediction of the [Eye of the Heavenly Emperor], the success rate of this move was less than one percent!
But Lin Feng gambled!
He bet on his absolute control over his body!
He bet on the godlike ball handling achieved in the [ZONE] state!
Before anyone could react, the basketball had passed through Leonard's defensive area and arrived on the other side of his body.
And his left hand was already waiting there.
As if he had practiced it a thousand times, his left palm firmly caught the basketball rolling from behind!
This incredible move created an opportunity for him.
A fleeting shooting window, perhaps lasting only 0.01 seconds!
The moment his left hand caught the ball, Lin Feng made no adjustments.
He didn't even glance toward the hoop!
Following the inertia of the backward force release, his body completely lost balance, and he fell backward.
Just at the last moment before he was about to crash onto the floor.
He used the last ounce of strength in his body, adopting a near-supine shooting posture, and forcefully pushed the basketball in his hands toward the sky!
The release point was only a step away from the LakersLogo at the center court!
"Thud!"
His back slammed heavily onto the cold, hard floor.
A massive wave of exhaustion and pain, as if threatening to tear him apart, surged madly from every corner of his body.
He didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.
He could only lie there, gasping for breath, staring intently at the basketball he had shot.
The moment the ball left his fingertips.
The clock on the sideline lit up with a dazzling red light, signaling the end of the game time!
"Buzzzzzzz—!"
The final buzzer sounded sharply!
The basketball traced an unimaginable arc through the air, almost touching the arena's ceiling, spanning the entire court!
The entire AT&T Center fell into an eerie, deathly silence at that moment.
Everyone's movements froze.
Fans who were cheering for the San Antonio Spurs' successful defense had their arms still raised in the air, but the smiles on their faces were frozen.
On the sidelines, Popovich, who was about to embrace his assistant coach in celebration, had his hand suspended in mid-air, his face displaying a blankness mixed with confusion and horror—an expression never before seen in his coaching career.
On the bench, all the Los Angeles Lakers players stood up from their chairs, craning their necks and gaping, like worshippers gazing upon a miracle.
At the commentary table, Barkley and Kenny Smith, two legends who had seen it all, stopped breathing, their eyes wide as saucers.
In front of the television.
Taylor Swift put down the guitar in her hand, stood up, and walked to the screen.
The red wine glass in Scarlett Johansson's hand trembled slightly, and the burgundy liquid rippled against the glass wall.
In an apartment, Yinna clasped her hands tightly together and held them against her chest.
Everyone's gaze converged on the orange leather ball.
It flew.
Quietly, solitarily, it flew.
It was like a messenger entrusted with a sacred mission.
It carried Lin Feng's entire physical strength and will.
It carried Kobe's expectations.
It carried the challenge from two Queens.
It carried all the Los Angeles Lakers' unwillingness to submit and all their hope for the season.
Under the dead silence of over eighteen thousand spectators, it crossed the half-court line and passed the free-throw line.
It reached its apex in the air.
And then, it began to descend.
Straight toward the hoop, which had become incredibly clear in everyone's eyes, it flew.
Chapter 120: The Longest Flight in History!
The basketball was in the air.
It began to fall.
That ridiculously high arc, spanning the entire court, became the sole focus of the world at this moment.
The roof-raising clamor at the AT&T Center vanished.
Completely vanished.
Nearly twenty thousand San Antonio Spurs fans seemed to have been collectively paused.
Their arms were raised, mouths agape, expressions frozen in the previous second's revelry, prepared for the San Antonio Spurs' successful defense.
But their voices were caught in their throats, unable to utter a single syllable.
Everyone's pupils reflected the descending orange ball.
Time, at this moment, seemed to be stretched into infinitely long threads.
Courtside.
Gregg Popovich, the always stoic veteran coach, had just been about to turn and high-five his assistant coach.
He thought he had won.
His crazy gamble had paid off in the final second.
A tiny, upward curve had even begun to form at the corner of his mouth.
But now, that curve froze.
His hand stopped in mid-air.
His head snapped back, looking at the high-flying basketball.
In his deep-set eyes, for the first time in his coaching career, there appeared a blankness mixed with bewilderment and shock.
On the court.
Tim Duncan, the soul of the San Antonio Spurs, the totem of this city.
He looked up.
His expression had always been so calm, so rock-solid.
But now, that calmness shattered.
For the first time, his gaze wavered.
It was a primal, incomprehensible wavering at what was happening before his eyes.
Tony Parker knelt on the ground, having just celebrated his crucial score.
Kawhi Leonard and Danny Green, the two defenders who had pushed Lin Feng to the brink, stood motionless like two stone statues.
They were the closest to Lin Feng.
They knew best under what impossible circumstances that shot had been taken.
The Los Angeles Lakers bench.
Howard, Gasol, D'Antoni... everyone stood up from their chairs, leaning forward, craning their necks, like a group of believers awaiting a divine oracle.
Their breathing also stopped... Los Angeles.
In Kobe's private mansion.
He had been leaning on the sofa, a glass of water in his hand.
But he had stood up at some point, unaware.
The water glass was casually placed on the coffee table, unnoticed even by himself.
He stood there in front of the huge TV screen, his body taut like a fully drawn bow.
His eyes were fixed on the flying basketball on the screen.
"This kid..."
A very low murmur, laced with disbelief, squeezed from his throat... Lin Feng's apartment.
Yinna tightly covered her mouth with her hands.
She was afraid she might scream due to excessive tension.
The light from the TV screen reflected in her large eyes, tears welled up but stubbornly refused to fall.
She didn't understand tactics.
She only knew that he had fallen.
Then, the ball flew up... In a top-tier music recording studio.
Taylor Swift put down her guitar.
She stood up and walked to the TV, a strange brilliance flickering in her blue eyes.
It was the unique glow, mixed with admiration and a desire to conquer, that comes from witnessing an extraordinary performance beyond expectation... In a luxurious apartment overlooking the city's night view.
Scarlett Johansson swirled the red wine in her glass.
The reddish-brown liquid formed ripples against the glass.
A curve of interest appeared at the corner of her mouth.
She looked at the man lying on the floor and the ball flying in the sky on the screen.
"Mr. Beast..."
Her husky voice echoed softly in the empty living room.
"You always surprise me."
...All eyes converged on that ball.
It passed its apex.
And began to descend.
Its direction was perfectly precise.
Straight towards the orange hoop, which had become incredibly clear in everyone's eyes, it flew.
Without any spin.
Without any deviation.
It was like a precisely guided missile.
"Swish!"
A crisp, pleasant sound of the basketball swishing through the net.
Through the microphone beneath the hoop, it clearly resonated in the dead silent AT&T Center.
The sound wasn't loud.
But it was like a heavy hammer, striking hard at the heart of everyone present!
And through the TV broadcast, it spread throughout the world.
The ball went in.
Below the hoop, the glaring red light of the timer had already lit up.
Buzzer-beater!
Game-winner!
94:93!
The Los Angeles Lakers won!
The AT&T Center fell into three seconds of absolute silence.
It was a suffocating quiet, where even heartbeats could be heard.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
"Roar-------!"
A huge, beast-like roar suddenly erupted from the Los Angeles Lakers bench!
It was Dwight Howard!
Like a mad bull, he was the first to charge onto the court!
Immediately after, the entire Los Angeles Lakers bench erupted!
Gasol rushed onto the court with his arms raised!
Artest wildly waved a towel!
The aging Blake jumped and hopped like a child!
D'Antoni's mouth hung open; he wanted to say something but found himself speechless, only able to cover his face with his hand!
They frantically rushed towards the center of the court.
Towards the man still lying on the floor.
The San Antonio Spurs players seemed to have had all their strength drained.
Parker slumped on the ground, his eyes vacant.
Duncan slowly lowered his head, supporting himself with his hands on his knees.
Leonard and Green, the two stone statues, finally moved.
They simultaneously looked at the figure of number 24 lying on the ground, their eyes filled with incomprehensible shock and a sense of defeat.
Popovich turned around.
He didn't look at the scoreboard, nor at his players.
He simply walked back towards the player tunnel with his unique, somewhat stumbling gait, without looking back.
For the first time, his back seemed a little desolate.
And at this moment.
At the center of the storm.
Lin Feng lay on the cold floor.
Every cell in his body screamed with fatigue and pain.
His strength was completely drained.
He couldn't even lift a finger.
But he heard it.
He heard that "swish," the most beautiful sound in the world.
He saw it.
He saw the final score frozen on the scoreboard.
He saw Howard, he saw Gasol, he saw all his teammates rushing towards him like a bunch of madmen.
Their faces showed ecstasy, adoration, and the excitement of surviving a disaster.
Lin Feng smiled.
He used his last ounce of strength to pull the corner of his mouth upwards.
Then.
The world before his eyes began to spin.
His teammates' ecstatic faces blurred.
The bright lights above the arena turned into individual spots of light.
The deafening cheers also grew distant.
Everything went dark.
He completely lost consciousness.
Chapter 121: Burning Life!
He completely lost consciousness.
The last scene before the world plunged into darkness was Howard's face, twisted between crying and laughing, and the figures of his teammates rushing towards him frantically.
"Lin!"
"Quick! Team Doctor! Where's the Team Doctor?!"
The ecstatic celebration came to an abrupt halt the moment they touched Lin Feng's body.
In its place were panicked shouts that pierced their eardrums.
Howard was the first to rush over. He wanted to help Lin Feng up from the floor, but Lin Feng's body was as soft as a puddle of mud, completely unresponsive.
His face was frighteningly pale.
His lips had no trace of color.
The rise and fall of his chest were so faint they were almost imperceptible.
"Don't move him!"
The Lakers' Team Doctor, Gary Vitti, rushed in with two assistants, roughly pushing aside the surrounding players.
Vitti knelt beside Lin Feng, his fingers quickly probing for his carotid artery.
His other hand pried open Lin Feng's eyelids.
Those eyes, which had just been shining with divine light, now had somewhat dilated pupils.
"Damn it!"
Vitti's face instantly became incredibly grim.
"Stretcher! Get a stretcher over here quickly!"
"Clear a path! We need to get him to the medical room immediately!"
Vitti's voice carried an unquestionable authority and urgency.
The Lakers players' ecstatic joy had long faded, leaving only bewilderment and worry.
Gasol stood at the edge of the crowd, watching Lin Fenglying motionless on the ground. The conductor who had just led them in a magnificent offensive symphony now looked like a broken puppet.
A huge, cold fear surged in his heart.
The entire AT&T Center was eerily quiet.
The Spurs fans were still standing in their seats.
They didn't leave.
They just silently watched everything unfolding in the center of the court.
The shock and unwillingness brought by the buzzer-beating game-winner had been diluted by this sudden scene.
Their expressions were complex.
There was schadenfreude, bewilderment, and even a hint of concern for a respectable opponent that they themselves hadn't noticed.
In front of the Spurs' bench.
Duncan lowered his head, propping himself up with his hands on his knees. No one knew what he was thinking.
Ginóbili slumped in his chair, covering his face with a towel.
And Kawhi Leonard still stood there like a stone Sculpture.
His gaze pierced through all the people, fixed intently on the number 24 figure lying on the ground.
In his mind, the scene from that last second replayed over and over again.
That incredible behind-the-back dribble.
That super long-range three-pointer shot while his body was completely off-balance and falling backward.
He couldn't understand it.
It had surpassed all his understanding of the sport of basketball.
That wasn't skill.
It was more like... a sacrifice that burned one's life.
At the commentary desk.
Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith remained silent for a long time.
On the monitor in front of them, slow-motion replays of the game-winning shot were playing repeatedly.
Each replay made their hearts clench once more.
"I've been commentating basketball for over twenty years."
Barkley's voice was a little hoarse.
"I've seen Jordan's 'The Shot,' Miller's 'Miller Time,' and Ray Allen's'Shot of the Century.'"
"But... I've never seen a shot like this."
"With his physical strength exhausted and completely locked down by two defenders, he completed a full-court game-winner in an almost suicidal manner."
Kenny Smith took over, his voice also filled with awe.
"This is no longer about the outcome of a basketball game."
"What we are witnessing is the birth of a legend."
"But now, I only hope that the prelude to this legend does not end in tragedy."
His gaze turned to the figure being carefully lifted onto a stretcher by medical personnel.
"We see that Lin Feng has been secured on the stretcher."
"His condition looks very grim."
"What price did he pay for that shot?"
...In Lin Feng's apartment.
"Thump."
The phone in Yinna's hand slipped and fell onto the carpet with a dull thud.
She froze completely.
On the TV screen, that pale, bloodless face, that weak figure being carried away on a stretcher, pierced her heart like the sharpest needle.
They won?
A game-winner?
So what?
She didn't care!
She didn't care about anything!
She only saw that he had fallen.
He lay on that cold floor, like a lamp whose oil had run out, about to extinguish.
Tears, no longer restrainable, surged from her big eyes like a bursting dam.
She frantically picked up her phone, trembling, trying to dial Jeff's number.
But her fingers couldn't seem to press the familiar digits correctly.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
"Why... why is this happening...?"
The girl's crying sounded so helpless in the empty living room... New York, backstage lounge of the "Red" tour.
Taylor Swift was still standing in front of the TV.
On the screen, the cheering Lakers players and Lin Fengbeing carried away formed an incredibly jarring, contradictory image.
The light flickering in her beautiful blue eyes became even more complex.
She had indeed said that she liked to watch the performances of winners.
And Lin Feng had just staged what could be called the most magnificent and shocking display of individual heroism in history.
He won.
He won that bet.
As agreed, her next concert would be for him alone.
But now... that winner had paid a price far beyond her imagination.
That was no longer a performance.
That was a real war, with everything at stake.
She was used to turning love and men into inspiration for her songs, into notes and symbols.
She was also used to controlling everything.
But at this moment, she suddenly realized that the man on the screen, that Eastern boy lying on the stretcher, seemed to be slipping out of her control.
He made her feel another, more primal, more intense, and more dangerous emotion in a way she had never seen before.
That wasn't conquest.
It was... heartache... Hollywood, hilltop villa.
Scarlett Johansson put down her Red wine glass.
She leaned on the sofa, watching the man being slowly carried out of the stadium on a stretcher on the screen.
The curve of her lips had disappeared.
In its place was an indescribably solemn expression.
"Mr. Beast..."
She let out a soft breath.
"You... broke yourself."
She thought she was just a queen sitting at the highest point of the gladiatorial arena, enjoying the beasts' fight to the death.
She enjoyed the thrill brought by blood and violence.
But when the bravest beast, after tearing apart all its enemies, collapsed from exhaustion and was on the verge of death.
She found that she wasn't as happy as she had imagined.
This play seemed to have been a little too immersive.
So brilliant... it made her a bit flustered... Los Angeles.
In Kobe's private training gym.
He turned off the TV.
The huge screen plunged into darkness.
Kobe picked up his phone and dialed a number.
"It's me, Rob."
On the other end of the line was the Lakers' General Manager, Rob Pelinka.
"Kobe? Did you see that shot?! Oh my god! It was just..."
Pelinka's voice was full of excitement.
"I don't care about that shot."
Kobe cut him off directly, his voice cold as iron.
"I need to know Lin's condition now, immediately!"
"I want the top medical experts to go to San Antonio right now!"
"Use all the resources we can!"
"If he has any problems, Rob, you and I are both finished!"
After hanging up, Kobe stood motionless in the dark training gym.
In his mind, he saw flashes of himself falling to the floor when his Achilles tendon ruptured.
He knew that feeling.
That feeling of powerlessness, of his body betraying his will.
"Idiot..."
He cursed softly.
He didn't know if he was cursing Lin Feng or his past self... In the AT&T Center player tunnel.
The stretcher was quickly pushed towards the medical room.
The Lakers' accompanying staff were in a chaotic mess.
Gary Vitti ran alongside the stretcher, continuously checking Lin Feng's vital signs.
His brows were furrowed tightly.
"His heart rate is abnormal!"
Vitti growled at his assistant beside him.
"Too fast! And extremely irregular!"
"His body temperature is also rising abnormally!"
He lifted the towel covering Lin Feng, seeing that Lin Feng's skin was abnormally flushed.
"Damn it! Is it acute myocarditis or arrhythmia caused by overexertion?!"
"Prepare the defibrillator! And adrenaline!"
Every one of Vitti's commands made the surrounding atmosphere even more tense.
Jeff Austin also followed beside him, looking at Lin Feng, who was lying unconscious on the stretcher with his eyes tightly closed, sweating profusely from anxiety, but unable to utter a single word.
Just as the stretcher was about to be pushed through the medical room door.
Lin Feng, who had been unconscious, suddenly twitched his eyelids.
He seemed to have regained a faint trace of consciousness.
His lips moved with difficulty, emitting a barely audible, faint voice.
"Water..."
Chapter 122: A New Generation of Spurs Killer! Kobe's Warning!
"Water..."
The voice was so faint it was almost impossible to catch.
But in the noisy and chaotic player tunnel, Jeff Austin, who had been staring fixedly at Lin Feng, heard it.
"Water! He wants water!"
Jeff shouted as if he were grasping at a life-saving straw.
Team Doctor Gary Vitti frowned but didn't stop him.
Being able to ask for water at least proved that his consciousness was returning.
A bottle of mineral water was handed over. Jeffunscrewed the cap and carefully brought the bottle to Lin Feng's parched lips.
The cool liquid moisturized his burning throat.
Lin Feng's eyelids fluttered even more intensely.
He struggled, trying to open his eyes.
A few minutes later, in the medical room that the San Antonio Spurs had urgently cleared, Lin Feng finally regained consciousness.
What met his eyes was Gary Vitti's serious face, filled with worry.
Also surrounding him were Howard, Gasol, and D'Antoni.
"What... happened to me?"
Lin Feng's voice was hoarse, sounding like sandpaper rubbing together.
"You kid almost played yourself to death!"
Howard's voice was the loudest, carrying an exaggerated sense of lingering fear.
"Acute dehydration, combined with temporary shock caused by excessive fatigue."
Vitti shone a flashlight into his pupils, his tone softening slightly.
"Your body has been squeezed dry."
"Every muscle and every organ is on the brink of collapse."
"Lin, that last shot of yours... you were playing with your life."
Lin Feng didn't speak.
He just rolled his eyes around, looking at the complex expressions on his teammates' faces—a mix of ecstasy and worry that hadn't yet fully faded.
He knew he had won... when the Los Angeles Lakers' private plane landed at Los Angeles International Airport.
They were greeted with a hero's welcome.
Thousands of fans wearing purple and gold jerseys packed the airport exit.
When Lin Feng, escorted by security personnel, was the first to walk out of the tunnel.
The deafening cheers of "MVP" almost blew the roof off the terminal.
Camera flashes were like countless stars lighting up the day.
The media's direction took a 180-degree turn.
The front-page headline of the Los Angeles Times used a title so large it was exaggerated.
[God wore number 24 and conquered San Antonio in 0.1 seconds!]
The expert commentary section of ESPN went even further, placing him directly on a pedestal.
"The Saint City Bane!"
"A new generation of Spurs Killer!"
"His heart is forged from thousand-year-old cold iron!"
The joy of victory was like mellow wine, plunging the entire city into a tipsy carnival.
This atmosphere of revelry also spread to the Los Angeles Lakers' training facility.
"Hey, Nick, what pose are you going to use to sink a three-pointer in the next game?"
Howard joked with Nick Young during practice.
"Standing on one leg and shooting with my eyes closed, of course."
Nick Young responded smugly.
"Anyway, Lin will draw all those guys away; it'll be so open in front of me I could throw a party."
The young players' faces all bore an unconcealable look of ease and pride.
The series was tied at two-all.
They had even stolen a victory from the San Antonio Spurs' home court, reclaiming home-court advantage.
The Pivotal Game 5 would be held at the Staples Center.
In their eyes, victory seemed to be already in the bag.
Because of this, the training atmosphere became a bit lax.
Only two people remained absolutely calm.
One of them was Kobe.
He hadn't come to the training facility, and no one knew what he was doing.
The other was Lin Feng.
He didn't participate in his teammates' horseplay.
He was alone in the team's video analysis room.
Watching the footage of Game 4 over and over again.
Especially that final game-winning shot.
With the Eye of the Heavenly Emperor activated, he conducted countless reviews of every detail of that shot.
That extreme behind-the-back dribble.
That gap, only five centimeters wide, that slipped past Leonard's heel.
That ultra-long-range three-pointer pushed out while completely off-balance.
The more he watched, the tighter his brow furrowed.
There was too much randomness.
The element of luck even outweighed skill.
Popovich's tactic—the open scheme of using two people to lock him down and force the other Los Angeles Lakersto score—hadn't truly been broken.
It had only been forcibly prolonged by him in a near-miraculous way.
Would he be so lucky in the next game?
Lin Feng turned off the video.
He walked toward the training court.
"Hey, Lin, come join us! We're playing a game to see who's the most accurate shooter!"
Nick Young waved at him.
Lin Feng shook his head.
He found the team's practice partner, the big man who had specifically tormented him before Game 4.
"Continue."
Lin Feng's voice was very calm.
"Use the intensity of Game 4—no, use an even higher intensity than Game 4 to come at me."
The practice partner was stunned.
The laughing teammates around them also went quiet.
"I need to get used to finding my shooting rhythm while every breath is interfered with and every run is met with a collision."
There was no flicker of emotion in Lin Feng's eyes.
His focus and composure were like a bucket of cold water poured over everyone's heads.
The lighthearted atmosphere in the training facility froze.
Pau Gasol looked at Lin Feng, a hint of approval and guilt showing in his eyes.
He was the first to stop his shooting practice and walked over to Lin Feng's side.
"Count me in."
Gasol said to the practice partner.
"The two of us will defend him together."
The team's preparation atmosphere became tense and solemn once again... training ended.
Lin Feng dragged his exhausted body back to his apartment.
He opened the door.
A familiar, faint fragrance wafted toward him.
The living room lights were on.
A graceful figure was busy in the kitchen.
It was Yinna.
She had come.
Immediately after Game 4 ended, she had boarded a flight to Los Angeles.
Hearing the door open, Yinna poked her head out from the kitchen.
Her face still bore a trace of haggardness from undried tears, but the moment she saw Lin Feng, all the light lit up in those beautiful large eyes.
"You're back."
Her voice carried a faint, imperceptible tremble.
Lin Feng stood at the door, looking at her.
Looking at this girl who had flown thousands of miles just for him.
The pressure, fatigue, and worry about the next game accumulated over the past few days seemed to find a harbor to rest in at this moment.
He walked over and gently hugged her from behind.
Yinna's body stiffened slightly, then completely relaxed, leaning into his embrace.
"I'm fine."
Lin Feng rested his chin on her shoulder and spoke softly.
"Mhm."
Yinna nodded, but her tears betrayingly flowed again.
That night.
They didn't do anything out of line.
Yinna made him a simple dinner.
Then, the two of them snuggled on the sofa and watched a very boring romance movie.
This was the most peaceful and warm time Lin Feng had enjoyed since coming to this world.
"Next game, I'll go to San Antonio with you."
When the movie was almost over, Yinna suddenly spoke.
Lin Feng was taken aback.
"I want to be there in person."
Yinna turned her head to look into his eyes, her gaze filled with unprecedented determination.
"I want to watch you with my own eyes."
Lin Feng looked at her and didn't refuse.
He nodded.
"Okay."
...The next day.
The entire Los Angeles Lakers team prepared to set out for San Antonio once again.
The night before departure.
Lin Feng received a phone call.
It was from Kobe.
"Come to my training facility."
Kobe's voice betrayed no emotion.
When Lin Feng arrived at Kobe's private training facility.
Kobe was sitting alone in the middle of the empty court.
A crutch lay beside him.
"Sit."
Kobe pointed to the floor beside him.
Lin Feng sat down as instructed.
"Do you know which opponent I've faced the most in the playoffs during my career?"
Kobe suddenly asked a question.
"The Spurs."
Lin Feng replied.
"That's right, the Spurs."
Kobe's gaze shifted to the distant hoop, as if he were reminiscing about something.
"I played seven series against them."
"Every time, it felt like a walk through hell."
"Every time, they pushed me to my limits."
"I've won, and I've lost."
"But I learned the most important thing from them."
Kobe turned his head, his gaze sharp as lightning, looking directly at Lin Feng.
His expression was serious to the extreme.
"Never underestimate the heart of a champion."
"Especially one belonging to a man named Gregg Popovich."
Lin Feng's heart sank.
"That shot in Game 4 was beautiful."
Kobe continued, though there wasn't a hint of praise in his tone.
"But that won't save you."
"The more silent he is now, the more lethal he will be in the next game."
"He will attack your strongest point in the most unexpected way."
"Namely, the shooting you take so much pride in."
Kobe's warning was like a red-hot brand, deeply etched into Lin Feng's heart.
Making him full of vigilance for the upcoming Game 5.
Chapter 123: A Deathly Silent San Antonio!
Kobe's warning was like a red-hot brand, deeply etched into Lin Feng's heart.
It left him filled with vigilance toward the upcoming Game 5... The Lakers' private jet landed once again at the San Antonio airport.
The moment the cabin door opened, Howardsubconsciously shrunk his neck, bracing himself for a deluge of boos.
But there was nothing.
Outside the exit tunnel, it was empty.
There were no angry fans, no provocative signs, and certainly no deafening curses.
Only a few local media reporters stood in the distance with their cameras, filming quietly.
The entire airport was eerily quiet.
"Hey guys, what's going on?"
Howard walked down the stairs, his face filled with unconcealed confusion.
"Where are their people? Did that shot in G4 make them all go into isolation?"
Nick Young also poked his head out to look around, his face equally full of disbelief.
"Something's not right."
Lin Feng walked at the front of the team; his brow had not unfurrowed since the moment he stepped out of the cabin.
This kind of silence made him feel more uneasy than any clamor.
Just as Kobe had warned.
A silent Popovich was the most terrifying.
This calm before the storm cast a thick shadow over his heart.
The team bus drove smoothly to their hotel with almost no interference.
On the streets, everything seemed normal.
But that omnipresent, oppressive atmosphere was like an invisible net enveloping the entire city.
After checking into the hotel, Lin Feng immediately turned on the TV and tuned to the local sports channel.
On the screen, there was no overwhelming hype or incitement of conflict like there had been before G4.
The sports anchor's tone was as calm as if they were reporting the weather.
The program content was also just an objective analysis of the respective strengths and weaknesses of the Los Angeles Lakers and the San Antonio Spurs.
Everything seemed so normal, so professional.
And that was precisely the biggest abnormality... Inside the hotel's meeting room.
D'Antoni's coaching staff was holding an emergency meeting.
"What on earth is Popovich up to?"
D'Antoni paced irritably in front of the tactical board.
"No psychological warfare, no inciting the fans, and even the media is as quiet as a flock of sheep."
"This doesn't fit his style at all."
Assistant coach Bernie Bickerstaff also had a solemn expression.
"It's as if... they've given up on off-court distractions?"
"No, quite the opposite."
D'Antoni stopped in his tracks and tapped the tactical board heavily with his finger.
"This is the most brilliant psychological warfare."
"He's using this method to tell us that he's already found a way to deal with us and doesn't need any off-court factors at all."
"He wants us to guess, to doubt, and to let us throw ourselves into disarray."
The meeting room fell into silence.
No one could guess what that old fox Popovich was really up to.
"Spread the word!"
D'Antoni's voice broke the silence.
"Be prepared for any and all changes!"
"No matter what tricks they play in the next game, we must stick to our own rhythm!"
...In Lin Feng's room.
He didn't go to the coaching staff's meeting.
He was sitting on the carpet, playing the recording of G4 on the tablet in front of him.
Yinna walked up from behind carrying a glass of warm water and gently placed it on the table beside him.
She didn't speak, just quietly sat down with him.
Since arriving in San Antonio, she had keenly sensed the tension in Lin Feng.
She knew he was under immense pressure.
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself."
Yinna's voice was light and soft, like a breeze blowing across a lake.
Lin Feng's gaze moved from the screen and landed on her face.
In the girl's eyes was pure worry and trust, without any impurities.
"I'm fine."
Lin Feng managed a forced smile.
Yinna reached out and gently took his hand.
Her hand was a bit cool, yet it carried a reassuring strength.
"No matter what happens, I believe in you."
The girl didn't ask a single question about basketball.
She simply expressed her support in the simplest and most direct way.
This unconditional trust allowed Lin Feng's nearly snapping nerves to relax slightly.
He squeezed her hand back and nodded... The next day.
The final training session before the game.
On the San Antonio Spurs' side, they broke tradition by opening the last ten minutes of training to the media.
When reporters rushed into the gym with their cameras, what they saw was a scene that left them dumbfounded.
The San Antonio Spurs players weren't running any tactical drills.
Duncan was practicing his signature 45-degree bank shot.
Parker was practicing floaters.
Danny Green and Leonard were doing basic three-point shooting practice.
The atmosphere in the entire training facility was as relaxed as a community event.
After training ended, Popovich unusually took the initiative to accept media interviews.
"Coach, do you have anything to say about G5?"
A reporter handed over a microphone.
Popovich even had a slight smile on his face.
"What do I want to say? I want to say that I hope God wears a Spurs jersey during the game tonight."
He shrugged and cracked a joke.
"As for Lin's game-winning shot in G4..."
Popovich paused and looked at the camera.
"My view is that Lin didn't make that shot."
"It was God wearing a number 24 jersey who threw it in."
"What can you do about that?"
The old coach's words drew a burst of laughter from the crowd.
In an almost playful manner, he attributed that historic game-winner to luck and divine intervention.
These remarks quickly reached the Lakers' side via the internet.
Howard curled his lip upon seeing it.
"This old man really knows how to play dumb."
But when Lin Feng saw the news, his heart sank even deeper.
He knew that Popovich's 'kill with praise' tactic had arrived... The night of Game 5.
AT&T Center.
When the Lakers players emerged from the tunnel, preparing to step onto the court.
The expected landslide of boos did not appear.
In its place was an unprecedented, hair-raising scene.
The entire arena was packed to capacity.
But not a single person made a sound.
All the fans had stood up from their seats.
They were all wearing uniform, solid black T-shirts.
Nearly twenty thousand people in black formed a silent, oppressive phalanx.
They just stood there quietly.
With cold, emotionless gazes, they watched every Lakersplayer who stepped onto the court.
It wasn't boos.
Yet it was more suffocating than any booing could ever be.
Chapter 124: The Cage of Mount Tianwang!
It wasn't booing.
Yet it was more suffocating than any booing could ever be.
The entire AT&T Center felt like a silent, massive tomb prepared specifically for them.
"What the hell..."
Dwight Howard was the first to step onto the court. Looking at the dense, dark circles of the crowd surrounding them, he felt a chill run down the back of his neck.
This feeling was far too eerie.
It was like walking into a deserted battlefield where the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood, yet not a single gunshot could be heard.
"Are they... observing a moment of silence for us?"
Nick Young forced a joke, but his smile looked worse than a crying face.
Lin Feng walked at the front, his gaze sweeping across those expressionless faces.
He didn't say a word.
But Kobe's warning echoed with increasing clarity in his mind.
"He will use the way you least expect to attack your strongest point."
This silent, pressure-filled welcoming ceremony was the first card Gregg Popovich had played.
A trump card of psychological warfare that struck directly at the heart.
In the first row of the stands.
Yinna wore a white coat that stood out against her surroundings, her hands clenched tightly, palms drenched in sweat.
She could feel the silent gazes around her, like countless invisible needles piercing the figure in the center of the court.
She didn't understand basketball.
But she could feel the oppression, like the calm before a brewing storm.
"Beep—!"
The whistle to start the game shattered the hair-raising silence.
Tim Duncan, with his eternally unchanging poker face, easily won the opening tip-off for the San Antonio Spurs.
The ball was handed to Tony Parker.
The San Antonio Spurs' first attack was exceptionally simple.
There were no fancy tactical movements.
Tony Parker lobbed the ball to Tim Duncan in the low post.
Tim Duncan caught the ball, backed down, leaned against Pau Gasol, and performed a classic turn for a 45-degree bank shot.
"Swish."
The basketball fell cleanly through the net.
2:0.
The entire process was smooth as flowing water, simple and efficient.
After the goal, the AT&T Center remained silent.
No cheers, no applause.
Those nearly twenty thousand black-clad spectators were like a group of cold executioners, merely watching everything with indifference.
The Los Angeles Lakers' possession.
Steve Blake dribbled past half-court and handed the ball to Lin Feng.
Lin Feng received the ball.
He looked up at the opposing defensive formation.
Everything seemed no different from the last game.
Kawhi Leonard was stuck to him like a shadow.
Danny Green was roaming on his flank.
Lin Feng began to dribble, preparing to pin down the opponent's defense through movement, just as he had in the previous game.
The moment he took his very first step.
A sudden change occurred!
Kawhi Leonard, like a hunting cheetah, suddenly lunged forward a step and slammed his chest hard against Lin Feng!
Simultaneously, Danny Green on the flank collapsed inward, acting like a pair of iron pliers to block Lin Feng's path to the right!
And that wasn't all!
The San Antonio Spurs' power forward, Tiago Splitter, who should have been defending Dwight Howard in the paint, ghosted up from the free-throw line at that exact moment!
He circled behind Lin Feng, sealing off all his paths of retreat!
Kawhi Leonard in front.
Danny Green to the right.
Splitter behind.
The moment Lin Feng stepped over the half-court line, the three of them formed a moving triangular cage made of flesh and blood!
They trapped Lin Feng firmly in the middle!
At the commentator's desk.
Charles Barkley suddenly stood up from his seat, his eyes wide.
"My god! What is this?!"
"Three people! The San Antonio Spurs are using three people to triple-team Lin Feng just as he crosses half-court!"
"Has Popovich gone mad?!"
Kenny Smith was also shocked, pointing at the screen with a trembling voice.
"No! This isn't a simple double-team!"
"Look at their positioning! This isn't to steal the ball! This is purely for... imprisonment!"
On the court.
The moment Lin Feng was surrounded, he felt something was wrong.
This wasn't the tight man-to-man pressure from G4.
This was pure, regardless-of-cost physical confrontation!
Kawhi Leonard's chest was like an iron plate, firmly pressing against him.
Danny Green's arms were like vines, constantly entangling and interfering with his dribble.
Splitter, behind him, used his weight and strength to repeatedly bump the back of Lin Feng's thighs with his knees!
Pushing!
Squeezing!
Bumping!
Blocking!
The three of them were like three hungry wolves smelling blood, using every part of their bodies to frantically drain Lin Feng's physical energy.
They gave him no comfortable space to move!
They gave him no rhythm to adjust his breathing!
"Beep!"
Lin Feng was hit hard by Kawhi Leonard and stumbled, nearly losing the ball.
He looked at the referee.
The referee simply shook his head, signaling for the game to continue.
The officiating!
The referee's officiating standard was clearly favoring the home team!
They were turning a blind eye to this gray-area physical contact that could almost be called "football-style defense"!
Popovich stood on the sidelines with his hands in his pockets.
His face remained as calm as still water.
But in his deep-set eyes, there was a cold, cruel glint of a successful scheme.
This was the final trump card he had prepared for Lin Feng!
"Cage Tactic"!
A crazy gamble that abandoned the team's overall defensive rotation to use three people to grind one person to death!
"Pass the ball! Lin!"
D'Antoni shouted from the sidelines in a panic.
Of course Lin Feng wanted to pass!
However, in a space squeezed so tightly by three people that there were almost no gaps, every pass became incredibly difficult!
His vision was blocked!
His shooting space was compressed!
Relying on the super perception granted by the Eye of the Heavenly Emperor, he barely found a gap and used an awkward posture to pass the ball to Nick Young on the perimeter!
The ball was passed out.
But the ball speed was slow.
The arc was high.
By the time Nick Young caught the ball, the rotating Spurs defender, Tony Parker, had already lunged in front of him!
The optimal attacking opportunity had been missed!
Nick Young was forced to take a hurried shot.
"Clang!"
The basketball hit the front rim hard and bounced out!
Tim Duncan boxed out Dwight Howard in the paint and easily collected the rebound.
The first round.
The Los Angeles Lakers' attack came to nothing.
But scarier than this result was how Lin Feng felt.
From just this one round of confrontation.
He felt as if a giant rock was pressing against his chest; every breath brought a burning pain.
His legs were already starting to feel sore under Splitter's non-stop small movements.
He looked up at the old man on the sidelines.
Popovich was also looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Lin Feng understood everything from the other man's calm gaze.
Kobe's warning exploded in his mind like a thunderclap.
He was wrong.
He thought he was being vigilant enough.
But he had still underestimated the madness and ruthlessness of this old fox.
Popovich wasn't attacking his shooting technique at all.
What he wanted to destroy was the most fundamental prerequisite for Lin Feng to complete a shot!
It was his stamina!
And his space!
Chapter 125: Ice-Cold Shooting! On the Brink of Collapse!
Kobe's warning exploded in his mind like a thunderclap.
He was wrong.
He thought he was being vigilant enough.
But he had still underestimated the madness and ruthlessness of this old fox.
Popovich wasn't attacking his shooting technique at all.
What he wanted to destroy was the most fundamental prerequisite for Lin Feng to even take a shot!
His stamina!
And his spacing!
The Spurs' offense continued.
The ball went to Duncan again.
Still in that same spot, still that same movement, still that same forty-five-degree bank shot that drove opponents to despair.
Swish.
4-0.
On the other end, Lin Feng was still imprisoned in that three-man cage.
With every off-ball run, he had to give his all just to shake off Leonard's tugging and Green's positioning.
With every breath, he could smell the sweat on Splitter.
His energy consumption was three times, even five times that of a normal game.
He couldn't find the absolute state of focus required to enter the Midorima ZONE at all.
Because all his energy was being forced into the most primitive physical confrontation with these three beasts.
He managed to find a gap with great difficulty once more and passed the ball to Gasol at the free-throw line.
Wide open!
A massive opening!
Gasol caught the ball, jumped, and shot.
Clang!
The basketball hit the rim and bounced high into the air.
The rebound was easily snatched by Duncan.
The moment the basketball bounced off the rim.
The previously silent AT&T Center suddenly erupted into a sharp, synchronized roar of mockery!
"Hahahaha!"
That sound was like a giant hammer, smashing hard against the hearts of the Lakers players.
Then, it quickly returned to silence.
Cold and lethal.
Transition.
The Spurs' offense remained unhurried.
And Lin Feng was still in that cage, struggling bitterly.
He was like someone caught in quicksand; the more he struggled, the deeper he sank, and the faster his stamina drained.
Once again, he created an opportunity for Nick Young in the corner.
"Shoot!"
Lin Feng's voice was slightly hoarse from lack of oxygen.
Nick Young received the ball.
No one was in front of him.
He adjusted his breathing and aimed at the hoop.
He shot!
Clang!
Another crisp sound of the ball hitting iron!
"Hahahaha!"
That mountain-shaking, sea-tsunami-like mockery rang out on time again, as if performing some precise ritual.
Popovich stood on the sidelines, his face devoid of any expression.
His gamble was moving toward success, step by step.
He had calculated correctly.
He had correctly calculated that this Lakers team, in Kobe's absence, had no second, let alone third, scoring option who could consistently produce under the pressure of an away game of this caliber, like a Pivotal Game 5!
Lin Feng watched his teammates waste the opportunities he had traded his life for, time and time again.
In his heart, a fire of anxiety and anger was burning wildly.
He couldn't wait any longer!
He couldn't pin his hopes on others anymore!
On the Lakers' next possession.
Lin Feng didn't choose to pass again.
He decided to do it himself!
Facing Leonard's defense, he used an extremely forced step-back that almost made him lose his balance to jump for a shot!
Three people, three pairs of long arms, loomed over him simultaneously.
His shooting space was compressed to the extreme.
He could only push the ball out by feel.
The arc of the ball was very flat.
The power was also clearly lacking.
The basketball didn't even touch the rim; it hit the bottom edge of the backboard directly.
An airball!
"Hahahahahaha!"
This time, the mocking laughter was louder and more piercing than any time before!
The first quarter ended.
The scoreboard at the AT&T Center showed a score that made all Lakers fans feel suffocated.
27-12.
The Lakers had only scored 12 points in a single quarter, trailing the Spurs by a full 15 points!
And on Lin Feng's personal stat line was a glaring number.
0-for-2, 0 points, 0 assists.
Interval between quarters.
D'Antoni held the clipboard, standing in front of the players.
He kept drawing and then erasing.
His forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.
He realized he had no solution.
No way to crack Popovich's unreasonable, almost thuggish "Cage Tactic."
It was an open scheme.
Using his three key players to completely neutralize your one king.
As long as the Lakers' role players couldn't hit their shots, this tactic was unsolvable!
"Defense! Crank up our defensive intensity!"
In the end, D'Antoni could only roar out such a pale and powerless phrase.
The second quarter began.
The situation on the court didn't change at all.
Lin Feng was still trapped in that cage, fighting like a cornered beast.
The other Lakers players' shooting remained as cold as a San Antonio railroad track on a winter night.
The point gap widened further.
Lin Feng's patience was being worn away bit by bit.
In an attempt to force his way past the defense, Lin Fengtried to use a burst of speed to break through Danny Green's defensive line.
Green didn't hesitate, slamming his side hard into the accelerating Lin Feng!
Bang!
A dull thud.
Lin Feng lost his balance entirely and fell heavily onto the floor!
The cold, hard sensation of the floor spread through his entire body from his back.
However.
The referee's whistle did not blow!
The referee standing not far away just shook his head, indicating it was normal defensive contact!
Lin Feng lay on the ground, looking at the referee and his impassive expression.
An uncontrollable surge of fury suddenly erupted from his chest!
He sprang up from the floor and roared loudly at the referee.
"You're not calling that?!"
"Are you kidding me?!"
"Is he blind?!"
Lin Feng's English wasn't particularly fluent, but every word he shouted now was filled with rage and accusation.
The referee's face darkened.
He didn't hesitate for a second.
Tweet!
A sharp whistle!
He pointed his finger first at the out-of-control Lin Feng, then made the gesture for a technical foul!
The entire AT&T Center erupted into deafening cheers at that moment!
Lin Feng stood there, completely stunned.
He looked at the referee who had made the call, then at the gloating, cheering Spurs fans around him.
He felt like he had fallen into a massive, cold trap.
For the first time, a crack appeared in his mentality.