GRANDMAESTA_30

Chapter 6: Mission Accomplished

Rosalina Star House

“What kind of berry does it steal the most?” Austin asked.

“Pecha Berries,” Rose replied.

Austin immediately pictured the pink, peach-like berries—soft, fragrant, and naturally sweet.

“So it’s got a sweet tooth, huh?”

Rose nodded.

Austin snapped his fingers. “Simple.”

He pulled a compact Energy Cube Maker from his backpack and got to work, mixing freshly picked Pecha Berries with precision.

Finally, he drizzled it in golden honey from Rose's pantry over the finished cube—until it gleamed.

The result was a perfectly formed, glossy pink Energy Cube that looked as delicious as it smelled.

Austin nodded in satisfaction. “Perfectly standard quality.”

Gulp~

The sudden sound of someone swallowing hard broke the silence.

Both Austin and Ryu turned toward the source.

Rose’s face turned bright red.

“I-I’m sorry!” she stammered, covering her mouth. “I just really looked appetizing!”

Austin chuckled. “No worries. Here—try one.”

He and Ryu each took a bite first, then handed another cube to her.

“It’s good, right? Come on, let’s go.”

Rose’s Berry fields weren’t far from her house—she lived on the outskirts of Celestic Town, where the soil was perfect for cultivating Pecha Berries.

“Come out, Agni, Metang,” Austin called.

Rose blinked in surprise. “Whoa, a Shiny Metang? That’s rare! Hello there, Metang!”

Austin smiled. “Yeah, caught it on my last trip.”

“Tang,” Metang greeted in a calm, metallic tone.

It had already met Rose briefly the day before, inside its Luxury Ball.

“Rose, place this Energy Cube where that Pokémon usually appears,” Austin said, handing her the bait.

“Got it.”

A soft ding sounded in Austin’s mind—

Energy Cube proficiency +25.

He glanced at Rose, who was still holding her bowl of cubes, eyes sparkling with longing.

Austin pretended not to notice. He was a man of principle—or at least good manners.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s hide.”

About half an hour later, Ryu, who had been scanning the area with his Aura, suddenly opened his eyes.

(It’s here.)

Another ding:

Energy Cube proficiency +48.

Austin clenched his fist. “Let’s move. Surround it.”

While the thief was lost in its blissful feast, savoring the sweetest Energy Cube it had ever tasted, it didn’t realize the trap closing in.

There, in the center of the field, sat a small Teddiursa—its brown fur glinting under the sunlight, the yellow ring around its mouth sticky with honey, and the crescent mark on its forehead faintly shining.

The little bear Pokémon was completely absorbed, sitting comfortably on the ground and licking its tiny paws coated in sweetness.

Ryu, Agni, and Metang had already formed a triangle around it, cutting off every escape route.

On the outer edge, Farfetch’d stood tall, twirling its leek like a baton and striking a proud pose.

Completely unaware of the looming ambush, Teddiursa kept licking honey from its palms, humming softly in contentment.

Teddiursa’s data flickered before Austin’s eyes.

Name: Teddiursa

Gender: Female

Ability: Pickup (May occasionally find items on the road.)

Moves: Scratch, Lick, Fling, Baby-Doll Eyes, Fury Swipes

Strength Rating: Iron (Intermediate)

Evaluation: A growing Teddiursa with potential.

“Go, Metang.”

Austin had already checked Metang’s stats the previous night.

Name: Metang

Gender: None

Ability: Clear Body (Unaffected by stat-lowering moves or abilities.)

Moves: Take Down, Magnet Rise, Confusion, Metal Claw, Bullet Punch, Zen Headbutt, Flash Cannon.

Strength Rating: Bronze (Advanced)

Evaluation: A promising Metang with excellent growth potential.

Pokémon strength ratings, from lowest to highest, were:
Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Emerald, Ruby, Diamond, Celestite.

Each level was further divided into Initial, Intermediate, and Advanced tiers.

“Confusion,” Austin instructed calmly, “but don’t hurt it.”

Metang’s eyes glowed faintly blue. With careful precision, it restrained Teddiursa mid-step. The little bear didn’t struggle at all.

“Ryu,” Austin turned to Lucario, “ask if she’s seen her mother.”

Lucario knelt slightly, speaking softly in its aura-tongue.

After a few moments, Ryu shook his head. (It said it hasn’t seen her since birth.)

Austin frowned. “Pokémon hunter… or something else?”

There wasn’t enough to go on. He couldn’t make a call just yet.

He turned to Rose, who’d been quietly watching. “Rose, do you want to catch it?”

“Me?” she blinked in surprise. “You don’t want it?”

Austin shook his head. “If you don’t, I’ll hand it to Officer Jenny first, then decide what to do with it.”

He didn’t have much interest in keeping a Teddiursa himself.
Still, it might make a fine guardian for the Berry fields once it evolved into an Ursaring—though that also came with the risk of… guarding a bit too well.

“I’ll catch it!” Amanda decided, her eyes brightening.

She threw a Poké Ball, and Teddiursa vanished into a beam of red light. The ball wobbled once, twice, thrice—then clicked shut.

“I caught Teddiursa!” she cheered, holding it up with both hands.

“Fetch'd!” Farfetch’d chirped approvingly.

Ding!
Side Quest: Rose’s Troubles — completed. Reward issued.

In Austin’s system pack, next to the Diancite, a new item appeared—a Random Pokémon Item Lottery Ticket.

“Thanks, Austin. And thank you too, Ryu, Agni, and Metang!” Rose said warmly.

Austin waved a hand. “Don’t mention it. We’re family. Just speak up if you ever need help.”

“Rose,” Austin said, “come have dinner with us tonight.”

“Will that be okay? I don’t want to trouble you or Grandpa.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be cooking. Been learning a few things from Grandpa lately.”

“Oh?” Rose smiled. “Then I’ll definitely have to try it.”

“Far!” Farfetch’d flapped its wings.
(Lucky us!)

Austin chuckled. “Alright, I need to keep practicing my knife work before dinner.”

“Be careful on your way back,” Rose said as she left.

...

Gengar floated back into the kitchen, reached into its round belly, and pulled out bag after bag of vegetables.

Da-da-da-da
The rhythmic sound of the kitchen knife echoed through the small kitchen.

His knife work was improving bit by bit—+1, +1, +1.

“Getting there,” Austin muttered. “Maybe I’ll move to meat in two days.”

By the time Rose arrived, Austin was finally able to put the knife down.

Grandpa Alex inspected the newly caught Teddiursa, who was sitting on the floor, licking her paws with honey contentedly.

“Teddiursa and Ursaring can be excellent if trained right,” he said approvingly.

Rose watched the small bear, her round face glistening with honey. “Yeah… I hope she is good enough to guard the Berry fields.”

“It’s fine,” Grandpa said with a knowing smile. “Teach her properly, and she’ll surprise you.”

He studied Teddiursa a moment longer, his sharp old eyes softening. “That carefree attitude—don’t underestimate it. It means she’s focused on what she’s doing. That’s a kind of talent too.”

He turned to Rose. “If you run into trouble, come see me. Don’t try to handle everything alone. I can’t solve it all, but it’s better than you struggling by yourself.”

“Yes, Grandpa Alex,” Rose said.

As for dinner…

Well, Austin had said he’d cook, but cooking currently meant chopping vegetables while the old man supervised.
Even Farfetch’d was better at it.

“Far!”
The bird gave Austin a stern look and tapped his arm with its leek.

Lucario translated calmly.
(He says: ‘Cut properly.’)

By evening, Rose and her new Teddiursa headed home, and Austin finally had a moment of peace. He took out the Random Pokémon Item Lottery Ticket from his pack and smiled faintly.

“Let’s see what luck has in store tonight.”

Chapter 425: January Honors and Broken Records

January 31st, Detroit.

After a much-needed day of rest, the Knicks came into Detroit looking sharp. The Pistons had home-court advantage, but that didn’t help much—New York’s offense came in like a storm.

As the fourth quarter ticked away, Charles Barkley’s voice boomed across American living rooms:
“Congratulations to the Knicks! They’ve just written a new chapter in sports history—21 straight wins to start the season! A record across all four major professional leagues in North America!”

In American sports, there’s a saying that goes, “What goes around comes around.”

But a 21-game winning streak to open a season? That’s not something that comes around very often. It’s a milestone that feels almost unreal.

And to do it in a lockout-shortened season, where every game felt like a sprint instead of a marathon—that made it even more impressive. The Knicks weren’t just fighting opponents. They were fighting fatigue, travel, and the mental grind.

After the Knicks beat the Pistons 117–88, ESPN’s analytics department quickly released the numbers. During this 21-game streak, the Knicks had an average margin of victory of 25.1 points—an all-time NBA record.

They scored at least 100 points in every single game, averaging nearly 120 points per night.
That’s not just dominant—that’s historic.

And their three-point shooting? Absolutely ridiculous. The Knicks averaged 36.8 attempts per game, hitting 41.7% of them—roughly 15 made threes every night.

They’d sat comfortably atop ESPN’s power rankings for weeks. Sure, stats can be misleading sometimes—but not this time. Fans across social media were posting collages of all the records the Knicks had shattered, the sheer number of “No. 1” labels leaving everyone stunned.

After the game, the press conference felt more like a celebration than an interview.
Reporters surrounded Lin Yi, smiling as they congratulated him on the historic streak.

“Lin, do you think you guys can keep this up?” one asked.

Lin thought for a second before replying calmly, “No one dislikes winning streaks. Of course, it’d be nice to go 66–0 or even 82–0,” he said with a half-smile, “but for us, it’s more about staying focused. Regular-season records don’t guarantee anything once the playoffs start.”

The reporters pressed on. “So what keeps you going through all this?”

Lin paused for two beats, then grinned. “Winners never quit, and quitters never win.”

There was a brief silence before laughter rippled through the room.
One reporter whispered, “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Lin’s answers were calm and measured. He wasn’t going to let the media bait him into saying something flashy. He knew exactly what this winning streak meant and how much attention it would draw.

The 73-win Warriors of the future would be showered with praise during their regular season. But this Knicks team? They had become a phenomenon—loved, hated, but impossible to ignore. Lin understood that staying low-key was the smartest move. Less talk, fewer enemies.

Of course, not everyone was impressed.

Larry Brown, ever the traditionalist, scoffed at the Knicks’ run. He called the modern NBA too flashy, blaming the No Hand-Check rule for softening defenses. According to him, the league was “turning into a children’s game,” and the Knicks’ three-point barrage was a symptom of decline.

That didn’t sit well with most fans—or with David Stern.

“What, do you want basketball to turn into a wrestling match?” Stern reportedly quipped.

The truth is, excitement doesn’t always come from brute force. Just look at the 2009–10 Lakers vs. Celtics Finals—defense was still there, just evolved.

Three-pointers changed the game, sure—but they also expanded it. The spacing, the rhythm, the pace—it made basketball more beautiful to watch. People might say dunks are more thrilling, but before the three-point era, there were even fewer dunks. That’s why guys like George Gervin became legends with finger rolls instead.

The drop in dunks isn’t about rule changes—it’s about players being smarter about longevity. In the future, young guys like Wiggins were sipping goji berry tea and doing yoga to preserve their bodies. Talk about old souls.

At the end of the day, the three-point revolution didn’t ruin the game—it redefined it.

And as for Larry Brown? Well, let’s just say the phone stopped ringing for head coaching gigs after that.

...

Just as the Knicks’ historic winning streak was grabbing everyone’s attention, the NBA rolled out its January awards for the 2011–12 season.

In the Western Conference, Rookie of the Month went to Kyrie Irving, while in the East, it was Klay Thompson who took home the honor.

Klay averaged 14.5 points, 2.8 rebounds, and 1.7 assists in January, shooting 49.2% from the field and 43.5% from three, knocking down 2.6 threes per game. Solid, efficient, and confident — the consensus was that Klay and Irving were neck and neck as the top contenders for Rookie of the Year.

Over in the West, Kobe Bryant was named Player of the Month.

The Lakers hadn’t started the season great, but Kobe was still, well, Kobe — averaging 31.2 points a game in January. The only blemish on his stat line was a rough 27% from beyond the arc.

Then again, when you’re scoring that much, people tend to forgive a few missed shots. And Kobe certainly wasn’t shy about taking them — about 30 per game, give or take. Still, he hadn’t quite caught up to John Havlicek’s legendary record for total missed shots… though if anyone had the determination to chase it down, it was definitely the Mamba.

Meanwhile, in the East, there was no debate at all — Lin Yi took home Player of the Month for January. That made it seven straight months with the award, counting back to last season.

Lin’s January stat line looked like something out of a video game: 25.6 points, 16.1 rebounds, 10.7 assists, 2.1 blocks, and 1.6 steals per game — all in just 32.4 minutes.
He shot 51.5% from the field, 43.1% from deep, and an absurd 96.2% from the free-throw line.

The All-Star votes came in soon after. Lin Yi and Chris Paul were both named Eastern Conference starters, while Lin once again led the entire league in total votes. Out West, Yao Ming was voted in as a starter, too — a heartwarming moment for Chinese fans everywhere.

Behind the scenes, Lin remembered something interesting from his past life: the league was already planning to remove the traditional center position from All-Star voting the following year.

Even with history taking a few detours because of his own presence, some things still happened just as he remembered. Like Stephen Curry’s injury on January 31st.

Curry, who had been battling Russell Westbrook for a starting All-Star spot, went down with another ankle issue — a cruel twist of timing.

When Lin heard the news, he immediately called him.

“Hey, Steph, don’t beat yourself up. The All-Star Game will still be there next year. I told you — take care of those ankles. Heal up properly. Don’t rush back if you’re not ready.”

Curry laughed softly, but Lin could tell he was frustrated. Those ankles really were his weak spot. Thankfully, this injury wasn’t as serious as the one Lin remembered from before — Curry would be back in about three weeks.

What caught Lin off guard, though, was Klay’s reaction. He had expected some teasing — maybe even a smug grin — but instead, Klay looked genuinely concerned.

“Man, how’d he get hurt?” Klay said quietly, shaking his head.

Later, he told Lin, “I wanted to beat him fair and square. That way, he’d have no excuses.”

Lin chuckled and reached over to ruffle Klay’s hair.

“You and your duelist pride,” he said.

He couldn’t help but feel it was his job to keep Klay grounded — to pull him back whenever he drifted into those ‘main character syndrome’ moments.

And just like that, a new chapter was about to be turned.

The Knicks had stunned the world with a 21-game winning streak, Lin Yi had added another Player of the Month trophy to his shelf, and the stage was set for an even more exhilarating February.

Chapter 424: Passing Of The Torch

Last year’s Eastern Conference Finals — that impossible, long-range buzzer-beater from Lin Yi — still haunted Miami fans.

And now, the Heat faithful had another nightmare to add to their collection.

Klay Thompson.

The eighth pick in the 2011 Draft.

Son of former No. 1 pick Mychal Thompson.

A man who dunks only when necessary — and whose hairline might just be his source of power.

On this night, he buried the Miami Heat at the buzzer.

LeBron James stood frozen on the court. He watched the replay on the big screen, shook his head quietly, and walked off with Wade, both men silent as statues.

The American Airlines Arena was dead quiet — you could hear a pin drop.

Then Charles Barkley’s voice broke the silence on TV.

“Forget Mychal. Klay Thompson — that kid’s building his own legend tonight!”

Back on the court, Klay jumped onto Lin Yi’s back like an excited kid.

“I did it! Lin, I actually did it!” he yelled, laughing uncontrollably.

Lin didn’t even bother putting him down. He just carried the overjoyed rookie toward the locker room, shaking his head with a grin.

This might’ve been the most thrilling win of their 19-game streak — a buzzer-beater from the team’s rookie sharpshooter. D’Antoni’s trust in his players and the team’s patience with Klay through his mistakes all paid off tonight.

...

In the bay of the Golden State, Curry was sitting on the couch with Ayesha, watching TV. A notification popped up on his phone. The smile faded from his face.

“Ayesha,” he said, standing up. “I’m gonna get some shots up.”

...

Nineteen games. Nineteen wins. The entire basketball world was watching the Knicks now.

In less than a day, they’d face the Rockets in Houston. If they won again, they’d tie a record that had stood for 127 years — the best start in the history of the four major American sports leagues.

2012 was truly the year of miracles, especially for New York fans. The Knicks were unstoppable, and over in the NFL, the Giants were writing their own Cinderella story. Eli Manning had led them through the playoffs, knocking off powerhouse teams — even Aaron Rodgers’ Packers — and was now heading to the Super Bowl to face Tom Brady’s Patriots.

After securing that Super Bowl berth, Manning mentioned the Knicks in an interview.

“Lin and the Knicks have been a huge inspiration for us,” he said. “Different sport, same drive.”

He’d even invited Lin Yi to attend the Super Bowl.

Unfortunately, Lin didn’t really understand American football. Otherwise, he could’ve made a fortune betting on that game.

As for Klay, despite his heroics, he was still a rookie through and through.

At the post-game press conference, he nervously thanked his parents, his teammates, and of course, Lin Yi — calling him “not just a great leader, but the best player in the league right now.”

Lin swore he hadn’t bribed, threatened, or politely encouraged Klay to say that.

He just happened to be standing nearby with a thick copy of One Thousand and One Nights under his arm.

After the conference, Klay whispered nervously, “Boss… I know I wanted to study Mandarin, but could you please put that book down?”

Lin smiled. “Don’t worry. You just haven’t finished your calligraphy practice from last week.”

Klay nearly cried. Calligraphy was fine… but if Lin made him copy One Thousand and One Nights — and in Chinese — that’d be torture.

Meanwhile, the Heat duo nursed their heartbreak in silence as the Knicks boarded a plane to Houston.

Even if Yao Ming himself had invited him out, Lin Yi wasn’t in the mood. The team was exhausted. Most of them had slept barely four hours. Klay hadn’t slept at all — still buzzing from his buzzer-beater.

The veterans, though, were quiet. They’d been there before. They knew the crash was coming.

Sure enough, D’Antoni canceled the morning shootaround and sent everyone back to the hotel. “

Sleep,” he said. “That’s your practice today.”

When evening came, Klay looked nothing like the hero from the night before — just a grumpy, sleep-deprived rookie dragging his feet.

The team grabbed some pizza on the way to the Toyota Center. It was either that or starve, but eating right before the game just made everyone sleepier.

February’s schedule loomed — four games in five days. That would be the real test.

D’Antoni didn’t pressure anyone. He didn’t need to.
Everyone in that locker room knew what was at stake.

If they could beat the Rockets, they’d make history.

And tired or not, the Knicks were ready to chase it.

...

At the Toyota Center, Yao Ming greeted Lin Yi with his trademark grin — that familiar mix of warmth and quiet amusement.

“Haha, Lin, young people really shouldn’t be staying up so late,” Yao teased, giving Lin a light pat on the back. “Trust me, don’t overdraw that body. You’ll regret it when you hit thirty.”

Lin Yi groaned and covered his face. “Yes, yes, I know, Big Yao. You’ve told me that five times already.”

He couldn’t do much about it — even if he could beat Yao on the court, he wouldn’t dare to talk back too much off it. Still, there was one thing Lin Yi refused to compromise on.

“By the way,” he added seriously, “salty tofu pudding is still better than sweet tofu pudding. I’ll die on that hill.”

Yao raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you are still on that?”

“Sweet tofu pudding is a cult, and I’ll prove it someday,” Lin said solemnly.

Yao just laughed, shaking his head. “Kids these days…”

In the 2011–12 season, Yao’s minutes had been cut back to about 20 per game. But even in a limited time, the big man was still deadly — averaging 11 points and 5 rebounds with frightening efficiency. His outside shot was smooth now, too; a 7-foot-6 giant who could hit threes was a terrifying thought.

The Rockets, meanwhile, were stuck in that frustrating in-between — good enough to fight for the playoffs, not good enough to make noise. Head coach Rick Adelman wore the same tired look every night, as if thinking, If Yao just gave me 40 minutes, we’d top three in the West.

But Yao wasn’t the kind of player to burn himself out anymore. He’d learned to pick his battles — and this one, against Lin Yi, meant more than most.

He’d even sat out the Rockets’ previous two games, resting up specifically for this Chinese Showdown.

The game fell right in the middle of the Chinese New Year celebrations, and millions of fans back home were glued to their screens. Both teams wore their special Chinese New Year jerseys, and for that night, it felt like the whole country was watching.

Lin had asked Yao before the game, half-jokingly, “So, when are you finally calling it a career?”

Yao just smiled that mysterious smile of his and said nothing. But Lin could tell. The writing was on the wall. After the 2012 Olympics, Yao would likely hang them up for good.

Houston had been his second home, and he loved the city. But his body — no matter how strong his will — had reached its limit.

Lin still remembered how fast Yao put on weight after retirement. Not long after leaving the game, the big man had ballooned to nearly 400 pounds. It was hard to imagine now, seeing him looking lean and sharp again.

The Knicks managed to scrape out a narrow win that night — barely. By the final buzzer, several players just collapsed on the floor, completely spent. The relentless travel and back-to-backs had pushed them to the edge. Tomorrow’s rest day couldn’t come soon enough.

And while the Knicks took the win, Yao had gotten what he wanted: one last dominant showing against Lin Yi.

From tip-off, his teammates kept feeding him favorable matchups, and Yao went to work — hook shots, fadeaways, and even three-pointers. Lin couldn’t do much except smile and shake his head. The big man had been saving all this energy just for him.

In what might have been their final NBA duel, Yao logged 31 minutes, went 9-for-14 from the field, hit 3-of-4 from deep, and was perfect from the line — 27 points, 12 rebounds, 3 blocks, and 2 assists. It was his best game of the season.

The Rockets lost by six, but the result hardly mattered. For Chinese fans, this was a moment to cherish — a memory of the old giant passing the torch to the new.

Goodbye, Yao Ming.

As for the Knicks, they’d just made history of their own.
Twenty straight wins — tying the best start ever across all four major North American sports leagues.

After a much-needed day of rest, they’d head to Detroit to face the rebuilding Pistons.

If they could win there…

They wouldn’t just tie history anymore.

They’d break it.

Chapter 423: Knicks vs Heat End

In the third quarter, as the Heat tried to close the gap, Lin Yi noticed something was off — drawing fouls wasn’t working tonight.

Part of it was that LeBron James had grown wiser to his tricks. But the bigger reason? Stern had started loving LeBron again.

No one played the carrot-and-stick game better than David Stern. LeBron was, after all, one of the league’s crown jewels — the player they’d invested years into building up. A decline in his shine wasn’t just bad for LeBron; it was bad for business.

In Lin Yi’s memory, LeBron’s back-to-back MVPs in the 2011–12 and 2012–13 seasons had as much to do with PR as performance. The league wanted to reestablish him as the undisputed face of the NBA.

Otherwise, if Derrick Rose could win MVP in 2010–11, why couldn’t Durant take it in 2011–12?

Lin Yi knew LeBron would be his main rival in the MVP race this season.

The problem was that Stern himself was stuck in a dilemma. Both Lin and LeBron were vital to the league’s narrative.

Lin’s rise had unintentionally accelerated LeBron’s fall from grace. The Knicks’ slogan last season — One man, one city, one core, one championship — had hit LeBron right where it hurt most. It was like stabbing a transparent hole in the King’s chest and then sprinkling salt over it.

Stern was leaning toward making this year’s MVP pathway for LeBron a bit easier to restore his prestige. But Lin Yi’s 86-point game and the Knicks’ league-leading record made that almost impossible. If Stern forced it, the backlash would be nuclear.

After all, Lin Yi wasn’t just dominating on the court — he was dominating markets. His presence had practically supercharged the NBA’s growth in China. Stern, ever the pragmatist, decided to play it neutral this time.

His message was simple: You two settle it yourselves.

That said, LeBron’s superstar privileges were clearly back. At least now, when he went up for those borderline-travel layups, the whistle stayed silent more often than not.

.

By the end of the third quarter, Lin Yi already had a triple-double. But the Heat weren’t letting LeBron fight alone tonight. Wade, Bosh, and the rest of the supporting cast stepped up, keeping the game tight.

83–80. Knicks by just three.

To start the fourth, Lin Yi and Paul took a breather, while LeBron and Wade stayed in. Miami seized the moment — and the lead.

Lin could see how hard LeBron was pushing, and Wade was giving everything just to keep up. He respected it — but this wasn’t charity. Sympathy could wait until the final buzzer.

After five minutes of rest, the 404 duo checked back in, fully recharged. Lin and Paul went into a back-and-forth isolation rhythm, trading possessions, slowing the game down. At that stage, minimizing mistakes mattered more than flashy plays.

With 3:59 left, Lin Yi hit a pull-up jumper for his 20th point of the night — tying the game at 106 apiece.

LeBron stood there, hands on his hips, his eyes distant.

The Knicks — and Lin Yi in particular — were becoming his personal nightmare. Not even the old battles against the Spurs or Celtics had drained him like this.

Still, LeBron’s mental toughness kicked in. If there was one thing he’d mastered, it was falling, then standing back up.

He finally understood something tonight: failure wasn’t the mother of success — failure, damn it, was merciless.

.

On the court, after a tense back-and-forth, the Knicks broke the deadlock first. LeBron’s tank was nearly empty by now. Lin Yi blew by him—this 7’ blade of chaos slicing right through the heart of Miami’s defense.

108–106. Knicks lead.

Lin Yi didn’t hesitate in clutch time. LeBron’s stamina was slipping fast, and with the blade in hand, Lin Yi was ready to finish the job.

The fans at American Airlines Arena were on edge. Every possession now felt like life or death. Fortunately for Miami, Wade came through—beating Green off the dribble and twisting in mid-air to avoid Chandler’s block before banking in the layup.

108–108. Tie game.

On the next Knicks possession, the 404 duo linked up again for the night. Lin Yi set a screen for Paul and rolled hard to the rim. CP3 tossed it up, and Lin hammered it home with authority.

110–108.

That dunk had all the brutality and joy of streetball—pure, clean violence for the highlight reel.

Spoelstra immediately called a timeout, trying to settle things down. D’Antoni countered by bringing in Klay Thompson for Markieff Morris, sliding Lin back to power forward.

It was a subtle but smart move—classic post-championship D’Antoni. Lin and Klay were back, and it effectively neutralized Wade’s foul-hunting drives.

Out of the timeout, though, the Heat looked completely lost. LeBron’s face said it all—Miami’s offense ran out of ideas. A 24-second violation followed.

The Knicks capitalized right away. Paul isolated Chalmers and hit a pull-up jumper for his 28th point.

112–108, Knicks.

Another timeout for Miami. Spoelstra had just one left.

Then came the twist.

When the Heat came out of the huddle, Spoelstra threw in James Jones—a move born out of desperation. The Knicks’ zone was suffocating them, and they desperately needed spacing.

And somehow, that gamble paid off.

Jones drilled a corner three, cutting it to 112–111. After Green scored on a backdoor cut, Jones struck again—pulling up from just beyond the 45-degree mark and splashing it home at the buzzer.

114–114. Tie game.

American Airlines Arena exploded.

LeBron hugged Jones like a long-lost brother, both of them shouting and pounding their chests. For once, it wasn’t that James saving the day—it was James Jones.

1:04 left on the clock.

D’Antoni called a timeout, calmly drawing up two plays. “Klay, Green—keep moving, keep the floor spaced. Lin, Chris—take what the defense gives you. If you’re open, shoot. No hesitation.”

Back on the floor, the Knicks had the ball. The atmosphere was suffocating. Lin and Paul ran their usual high pick-and-roll. Lin rolled to the basket, slipped past LeBron, and scored with ease.

116–114, Knicks.

Lin exhaled, feeling the adrenaline flood through him. It had been a while since he’d been in this kind of moment—the kind where every second could swing everything.

And he loved it. This—this was basketball.

Then, Wade attacked again. He baited Klay into contact and got the whistle.

Klay grimaced, clearly upset. Lin gave him a gentle pat on the head.

“Klay, be careful with your hands at the end. Refs usually won’t call normal contact, but if you reach, they’ll see it every time.”

Klay nodded, still frustrated.

Wade sank both free throws. 116–116. 39 seconds left.

The crowd began to roar—“Defense! Defense!”

The Knicks slowed it down. Paul dribbled out the clock, waiting for the screen. Lin popped out this time instead of rolling. CP3 drew the double-team and kicked it out. Klay caught, rose, and fired…

Clang.

The rebound fell to the Heat. Spoelstra didn’t call a timeout—Wade took charge.

“This is my house!” he shouted, before crossing over, stepping back, and hitting the jumper.

116–118, Heat.

The arena erupted. Fans were jumping, screaming, and the Miami bench was waving towels. It felt like a coronation.

LeBron was ecstatic yet again. Jones, Wade—they’d done it.

Or so it seemed.

The officials checked the clock. 0.4 seconds remained.

Lin Yi tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling lights. 0.4 seconds? That’s basically impossible.

Klay, meanwhile, looked devastated—he’d fouled, missed a wide-open shot, and now felt responsible for everything.

Lin reached out again, resting his hand on Klay’s head. “It’s fine. This is how you grow. We may lose, but we’ll learn, and we’ll be better.”

Coach D’Antoni’s final play was simple: Paul inbounding, with Klay, Green, and Battier screening for Lin. If Lin could get a lob, they’d go for it. If not, whoever got open would shoot immediately.

There wasn’t time for speeches—everyone knew what this game meant.

When play resumed, LeBron and Wade were grinning, finally relaxed. The Heat bench was on its feet, ready to celebrate.

As the players took their spots, Lin sprinted toward the rim, with Bosh shadowing him closely. Lin had already made up his mind—if Paul threw it up, he’d go for it, no matter what.

But at the last moment, Paul saw something—someone—flash open on the wing.

Klay Thompson.

Paul didn’t hesitate.

Klay rose, form perfect, release clean. 0.4 seconds was just enough.

Because shooters don’t count time—they count rhythm.

Even if you’ve missed ten in a row, you shoot the next one like it’s the only one that matters.

In that moment, Klay was moving in slow motion in Lin’s mind.

The ball arced through the air.

The crowd collectively held its breath.

No way. Not at 0.4. That just doesn’t happen.

.

.

.

Just kidding—

Swish.

Lin Yi: (⊙﹏⊙)

“KLAY THOMPSON! He hits it! He hits the game-winner against the Miami Heat!”

“Oh, unbelievable! The Knicks win their nineteenth straight!”

When the splash flies, the rim gets wet.

Chapter 422: Knicks vs Heat 2

“This is exactly why Lin is such a brilliant leader,” Chuck said. “He controls the Knicks’ offense like he’s got them on a remote. Every player who joins this team gets a fresh start!”

“Another perfect assist from Lin Yi! That pass made Klay’s shot look effortless!”

O’Neal nearly flipped the desk.

The Big Aristotle was already regretting his life choices. Why did he even agree to join TNT in the first place?

Kenny and Chuck had completely lost it—they were acting like poets up there.

Praising assists like they were gourmet cuisine? Really?

And was nobody going to mention that Klay had just pulled up with a defender right in his face?

Are we sure that shot wasn’t because he saw Lin Yi’s hard stare and panicked into shooting?

…

As the second quarter kicked off, Lin Yi’s assist tally kept rising.

Tonight, Lin was putting on a clinic. He and Whiteside took turns setting picks for Klay, and poor old Mike Miller was running in circles trying to keep up.

Then Bosh went to the bench, and without “Bosh-a-board,” the Heat just couldn’t grab a rebound to save their lives.

Rebound after rebound—it was like the Knicks were gift-wrapping them for Lin. There was no way he was letting those slip.

Ever since Lin Yi started easing off the scoring load this season, he’d quietly become one of the league’s best on the offensive glass—averaging 4.1 a game. The Knicks were jacking up more threes than anyone, and when you shoot that much, you’re bound to have plenty of rebound chances.

Klay was having a blast. In the first six minutes of the second quarter alone, he took eight threes. Add Battier’s two attempts, and the Knicks were completely locked into their shoot-and-crash rhythm.

To be fair, Pat Riley and Erik Spoelstra had thought through just about every possible scenario before the game. They’d even imagined Lin Yi flipping the switch and going full God Mode.

But what they didn’t expect… was getting buried under an avalanche of threes and rebounds.

Honestly, even Lin Yi was surprised by how easily he was rebounding tonight.

Sure, part of it came from his Rebounding Maniac instinct—being able to read where the ball would fall—but it was mostly his length, height, and quick second jump. Poor Haslem didn’t stand a chance.

He’d already had two boards ripped right over his head in the quarter alone. And when Whiteside came in, it didn’t get any easier. Lin Yi might’ve been boxed out, but who was boxing out Whiteside? Nobody.

So Spoelstra had no choice but to send Bosh back in.

And to his credit, once Bosh returned, the Heat stopped hemorrhaging rebounds. But by then, Klay was red-hot.

Swish—!

Swish—!

Swish—!

Spoelstra just stared blankly.

By the midpoint of the second quarter, the Knicks had opened up an 11-point lead—51 to 40.

This was the new Lin Yi—capable of switching between tank and sniper rifle.

Clearly, New York had found a new way to deal with Miami. As long as they dominated the glass, the Heat couldn’t run their fast breaks.

During the timeout, Lin Yi sat down on the bench and sighed theatrically.

“The Heat scored only seven points in half a quarter. Guess that’s why the fans keep calling me the best defender in the league.”

The Knicks bench: “???”

Paul and Tyson turned away in unison—basically saying, “You mean the best aesthetic defense player, right?”

Lin clutched his chest in mock pain. “Is that seriously how you guys see me?”

The rest of the team shot him a look. “Come on, Lin. You know exactly how much effort you’re putting in on defense.”

Lin Yi: “…”

Still, he had a point—strong offensive rebounding does equal fewer chances for the opponent to score. Control the boards, control the game wasn’t just an old saying—it was gospel.

In fact, years later, teams would use offensive rebounding as their main weapon against the Warriors’ run-and-gun attack. It’s one of the reasons the Death Lineup wasn't used for entire games.

.

After the Knicks pushed their lead into double digits, the Heat could only fight back one possession at a time. Luckily for Miami, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade stayed patient.

Not that they had much choice. The Heat didn’t have the same explosive firepower as the Knicks, and they knew one careless stretch could spark another New York run.

James felt like he was living in the wrong storyline. When the Big Three first formed in the summer of 2010, the criticism and noise from the outside world didn’t bother him—in fact, he saw it as proof of fear. Fear of what they were about to become.

But now? Every time they played the Knicks, it felt like they were the ones facing the final boss—one that kept spending coins and upgrading mid-battle.

Before halftime, James and Wade managed to chip away at the deficit. With their combined effort, the Heat cut it to 64–57, finally bringing the gap under ten.

Even so, LeBron felt a dull ache forming in his temples. He was giving everything he had, yet beating the Knicks still felt like trying to climb a mountain in flip-flops.

Wade wasn’t any better off. He knew if the Heat failed to win a title this season, the backlash would be relentless.

Funny thing—while LeBron and Wade were frustrated with Lin Yi, Lin himself was equally frustrated by them.

The Heat were a team you could beat, but not break. No matter how well the Knicks played, Miami always found a way to hang around.

And Lin could feel it—they were adapting. Getting tougher. Sharper.

He couldn’t help but feel a strange respect for them. Now it felt like he’d become the monster that everyone else was using to grind XP.

…

The second half began with Wade knocking down a smooth mid-range jumper—64–59.

Wade roared afterward, pounding his chest. “This is my house!”

On the Knicks’ end, perhaps lulled by Lin Yi’s pass-first approach all night, the Heat’s defense relaxed just a fraction too much.

The moment James tried to recover with a quick slide, Tyson had already planted himself like a wall, sealing the lane perfectly.

Lin slipped into open space. LeBron could only watch, his face tightening like he’d bitten into something sour.

A quick push-off, a hang in the air, a clean release—

Swish!

67–59.

The American Airlines Arena, which had just been roaring seconds earlier, fell silent.

Reality check, Lin thought.

Chapter 220: Champions League Semifinals, Second Leg

On April 29th, the entire Arsenal squad assembled, ready to depart for Spain.

With the World Cup approaching, football fever had swept across Europe — billboards, TV screens, and even airports were plastered with World Cup and Champions League promotions.

Nowhere was that atmosphere stronger than in Madrid.

The moment Arsenal landed, they were greeted not with hospitality but hostility.

As the team bus rolled out of the airport, Real Madrid fans lined the roads, waving scarves and jerseys, chanting loudly, and flashing the famous white crest toward the windows.

Kai turned to glance at them briefly, then looked away, unfazed.

They had the lead, yes — but with Suarez out injured, the pressure was still enormous.

Facing Real Madrid without their most dangerous forward meant one thing: the midfield and defense would carry the burden.

After checking in at their hotel, Wenger clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Right, drop your bags off and meet back at the bus. We’ll head straight to the training ground.”

A short while later, everyone was back downstairs, boarding the bus again.

Their temporary base was Getafe’s training ground — a solid facility, though not the first choice. Atletico Madrid had offered it in the past, but since they too had reached the semi-finals this year, it was off-limits.

Their semi-final with Chelsea would take place the following day, on May 1st.

Training was strictly behind closed doors. No media, no spectators, no leaks.

Plenty of journalists had requested access — some even pleaded for interviews — but Wenger turned them all down without hesitation.

The sessions themselves didn’t differ much from normal. The intensity was there, but the mood among the players was… lighter.

They all knew what Wenger’s attitude signaled — this Champions League run was, realistically, nearing its end.

Without Suarez, Arsenal’s offensive bite had dulled. Continuing any further was going to be an uphill battle.

...

The next day, the Arsenal team bus, escorted by police cars, made its way toward the legendary Santiago Bernabéu.

This was the Champions League semi-final — the eyes of the world were watching.

Helicopters hovered above, capturing live footage for global broadcasts. Even the production setup felt grander than usual; UEFA had upgraded almost everything for the last four teams standing.

As the bus drew closer to the stadium, the noise swelled.

A wave of chants, songs, and roars washed over them.

Real Madrid’s supporters were in full voice, singing their club anthem with spine-tingling passion. Every note carried a hint of intimidation, every chorus a warning.

Among the sea of white, pockets of red could still be seen — the traveling Arsenal fans, brave and proud — but their numbers were dwarfed.

After a quick change in the locker room, the players jogged out to warm up.

The moment they stepped onto the pitch, the boos began.

Shrill. Relentless.

Every Arsenal player could feel the hostility pressing down like a weight.

...

Back in the dressing room, Wenger gathered his men once more.

“It’s the same message,” he said, voice steady. “Go out there and enjoy it. No pressure, no rigid standards. Whatever happens, make sure you walk off that pitch without regrets.”

Vermaelen, wearing the captain’s armband, nodded firmly. He was starting tonight — Kai would not be captain on the pitch.

The team filed into the tunnel.

Moments later, the Real Madrid players arrived, looking composed — maybe too composed. Whether it was confidence or acting, Kai couldn’t tell.

Their squad depth was frightening, and even though Pepe’s reckless challenge had taken Suarez out, Real hadn’t really suffered. Arsenal, on the other hand, had been crippled by that loss.

Kai scanned the Madrid lineup. Strangely, a few of them seemed to avoid his eyes. Whenever he looked at one of them directly, they quickly turned away.

Weird, he thought, frowning slightly, but he didn’t dwell on it.

The referee began walking toward the pitch. It was time.

...

“Both teams are stepping out onto the pitch! This is it — the second leg of the 2013–14 UEFA Champions League semi-final! Real Madrid hosting Arsenal here at the Bernabéu!”

Martin Taylor’s voice carried the electricity of the occasion.

“In the first leg, Arsenal edged a 2–1 win at the Emirates. Now they face a monumental challenge away from home. Can they hold off Madrid’s comeback? Can they keep the dream alive?”

Alan Smith chimed in, his tone thoughtful. “And it’s worth keeping an eye on Kai. He was instrumental in that first leg — his defensive discipline and vision really stood out. The question is, can he repeat that performance here at the Bernabéu, and maybe once again frustrate that famous BBC trio?”

Martin laughed softly. “Well, with Suarez out, Arsenal will need every ounce of structure and spirit they can muster. Holding on tonight might just be the victory they need.”

As the anthem began to echo through the stadium, the players took their positions.

Lineups

Real Madrid (4-3-3):
Goalkeeper: Casillas

Defenders: Carvajal, Ramos, Varane, Coentrão

Midfielders: Khedira, Modrić, Di María

Forwards: Bale, Benzema, Cristiano Ronaldo

Arsenal (4-2-3-1):
Goalkeeper: Szczęsny

Defenders: Sagna, Mertesacker, Koscielny, Vermaelen

Def. Midfielders: Kai, Ramsey

Att. Midfielders: Walcott, Cazorla, Rosický

Forward: Podolski

Kai stood in his own half, surrounded by a wall of jeers. He didn’t need to look around to know what they meant—he was deep in enemy territory.

Other than a faint chant from the small pocket of Arsenal fans high in the corner, the Santiago Bernabéu was roaring for Real Madrid.

Three years at the top level, and here he was.

From a scrawny centre-back fighting for minutes to one of Arsenal’s most trusted players. And tonight, he had a role that could define the entire match.

He couldn’t quite describe the feeling running through himself.

Excitement, nerves... but more than that, an unshakable hunger.

Real Madrid. The biggest stage imaginable. And he was right in the middle of it.

He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the white shirts across from him. This—this was why he’d worked so hard.

Beep!

The referee’s whistle pierced through the noise, and Real Madrid kicked off.

Podolski and the front line surged forward immediately.

Madrid began their trademark keep-ball routine, Modrić dropping deep to dictate the tempo.

Seeing the Croatian get comfortable, Kai barked out sharply,

“Press! Don’t give them time to breathe!”

The Arsenal players reacted at once, pushing high and closing the passing lanes.

It worked. Real Madrid’s rhythm started to wobble.

Even with Modrić pulling the strings, Madrid’s defenders looked hesitant—nobody wanted to risk losing the ball that close to goal.

Martin Taylor: “Arsenal are pressing high, and that’s a clever move. Modrić is the heartbeat of this Madrid side. Once he settles into a rhythm, they become twice as dangerous.”

Alan Smith: “Spot on, Martin. Arsenal are trying to break that rhythm early, and it’s making Madrid’s backline a little uneasy.”

Modrić found Bale on the flank.

With a deft touch, Bale nudged the ball into space, ready to accelerate.

Ramsey stayed tight on him, matching his run. The Welshman couldn’t fully open up, but he managed to reach the byline and whip in a cross.

Cristiano Ronaldo, Kai, and Mertesacker all leapt at once.

Ronaldo’s jump was higher—but Kai had already timed his leap perfectly, meeting the ball first and heading it clear to safety.

“Tsk!”

Ronaldo landed with a frustrated hiss.

He hated it. Kai always seemed to read the ball just that fraction of a second earlier, always reaching the peak of the arc before anyone else.

He could see where the ball was going—but Kai? Kai knew exactly when to rise for it.

Chapter 219: A Glance Is Enough

“You want me to be the main orchestrator?”

Kai looked at Wenger, clearly taken aback.

He had thought about this possibility before, but he never expected Wenger to actually try it now — in the second leg of the Champions League semi-final, of all times.

Making such a bold tactical change at this stage was enough to unsettle anyone.

But Wenger, as always, was calm.

“The reason we’re trying this now, in the semi-final, is because we’ve already made a decision. And I think you know what that means.”

Kai stayed silent for a moment.

Treating a Champions League semi-final as a test match could only mean one thing — the club had already accepted that advancing might be out of reach.

Given Arsenal’s current situation, without Suarez as their primary attacking threat, their chances against Real Madrid were slim.

Their victory in the first leg had been largely down to Pepe’s mistakes.

Kai knew that kind of luck wouldn’t last. Real Madrid’s consistency was far higher than Arsenal’s flashes of brilliance.

Still, now that Wenger had made up his mind, there was no point in hesitating.

“I can try,” Kai finally said, “but I’ll need full authority. Everyone plays at my tempo.”

Wenger gave a small nod. “That’s for you to sort out. I trust you can make them follow your rhythm.”

Kai nodded. The coaching staff’s approval was enough — his teammates already had faith in him.

“Then it’s settled. Let’s try it in a training match first.”

“Go on then.”

Kai grabbed a training bib and jogged onto the pitch, stretching as he went.

Over the last three years, his development has been remarkable.

From a defensive midfielder focused only on breaking up play, Kai had grown into someone with vision — sharper passing, better ball retention, and a real sense of rhythm.

This was why he could accept Wenger’s challenge without flinching.

He had been preparing for this moment.

He knew his teammates’ preferences and habits — where they liked to receive, how they moved, how they thought. Combined with his uncanny sense of anticipation, he felt ready to direct the entire team.

Before the scrimmage began, Kai gathered the starters and spoke to each of them.

“Don’t try to coordinate with me — I’ll coordinate with you. Just play your game, make the runs you’d normally make, and shoot when the chance comes.”

They all nodded. They’d heard this before — and they trusted him.

Kai had a knack for knowing where they’d be, always finding them with his passes.

The coaches lined up on the sideline, watching closely. They were curious to see if Kai could truly run the show alone.

The whistle blew.

Podolski tapped the ball back to Kai, who returned it immediately.

After a couple of short exchanges, Kai dropped deeper to receive again, muscling his way past a defender and quickly threading a pass behind the right-back for Walcott to chase.

Walcott’s touch let him down, and the chance fizzled out — but the sudden change in tempo caught the substitute team completely by surprise.

Wenger and his staff nodded approvingly, though they didn’t show much emotion.

Kai had done this before. The real test was whether he could sustain it — whether he could truly organize the team.

As the play continued, the starters began to dominate.

That was Kai’s influence.

His instinct was to push forward, to play aggressively — and it spread through the whole team.

From his deeper position near the halfway line, Kai kept collecting the ball and dictating play.

He rarely ventured too high, only advancing when a real opportunity opened up or when there was space for a long shot — though he held back from those today.

This was about control, not glory.

Despite his aggressive intent, he never lost composure.

Under his orchestration, the forwards stopped forcing shots. They only pulled the trigger when they had a genuine opening.

The result? Nearly every attempt was on target, and the substitutes were under constant pressure.

When things got congested, they’d recycle possession — always back to Kai.

He was no silent conductor either; his voice carried across the entire training ground.

“Move left! Push up! Hold that line!”

Whether it was reminders, instructions, or a burst of frustration, he was always communicating.

With his control and his voice guiding them, Arsenal’s play looked sharp and fluid.

Wenger smiled slightly, but Pat Rice broke the calm.

“Not enough pressure!” Pat said.

Wenger paused, then nodded. “Alright. Have Sálhi press him hard. Let’s see how he handles that.”

Pat jogged off to relay the message.

Soon enough, Sálhi was glued to Kai, snapping at his heels.

Kai immediately realized what was happening — the coaches were turning up the heat.

Fine by him.

Sálhi tried to nick the ball from behind, but Kai used his body, planting himself wide and solid like a wall. The move had become second nature to him — simple, but brutally effective.

He shrugged Sálhi off, regained balance, and continued to dictate play as if nothing had happened.

Still, Wenger wasn’t satisfied. “Not enough pressure. Get Chamberlain on him, too!”

Two markers now — that was a real test.

With both Sálhi and Chamberlain closing in, the space around Kai shrank fast.

Then his eyes caught Rosicky, drifting quietly toward the center.

You’re the one.

Kai received the ball with his back to the goal, with the players closing in fast.

He feinted forward, leaning his body as if he was about to charge ahead.

Sálhi bit. His weight shifted forward for just a moment — and that was enough.

Chamberlain, watching closely, dropped his gaze to track the ball…

Only to realize it wasn’t there anymore.

What? Where’s the ball?

Before he could even react, the ball had already zipped between Sálhi’s legs and rolled perfectly into Rosicky’s path.

Rosický took a single touch before sliding it across to Cazorla, who darted into the box and finished from a tight angle.

The whistle blew, but everyone was still processing what they’d just seen.

Pat Rice blinked, then burst out, “He passed it with his heel!”

Wenger raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “And he only looked at Rosicky once.”

Pat nodded, excitement creeping into his voice. “Exactly! Just one glance — one read of the pitch — and he made the call. The pass was inch-perfect too! Under that kind of pressure, he still delivers. If he can do that in training, he can handle it in a match.”

One of the assistants, still unconvinced, spoke up. “Then why didn’t he pass to Walcott? He had a decent angle as well.”

Wenger raised a hand, stopping the session. “Alright, pause it there. Kai, over here.”

Kai jogged over, slightly breathless.

“Why didn’t you pass to Walcott?” Wenger asked.

Kai blinked, scratching his head. “Because it would’ve been intercepted.”

Wenger tilted his head. “And how are you so sure about that?”

Kai paused for a moment, putting thoughts into words, then said, “Mustafi had already started shifting left, Jenkinson was closing down on Walcott, and Ramsey was tracking across from midfield. Walcott looked open, but if I’d passed, he’d have been boxed in immediately.”

Wenger’s expression froze — then slowly turned to one of awe.

Pat Rice stared too. “You saw all that — and processed it — that quickly?”

Kai gave a weak grin. “Lucky guess?”

Pat frowned slightly, clearly not convinced.

In truth, Kai was just trying to play it off. He couldn’t exactly say he saw it coming before it happened — literally.

If he had passed to Walcott, the ball would’ve been swallowed up between Jenkinson, Mustafi, and Ramsey. It would’ve been a turnover waiting to happen.

Rosicky’s run, on the other hand, was the right call.

Still, since there was no recording of the scrimmage, he could spin it however he liked.

Whatever he said — went.

UPDATE

A new book for available for reading.

Pokémon Breeder Extraordinaire.

ROOKIE- 2 chps

STARTER- 5 chps

More to come, but updates will be inconsistent.

Chapter 5: The Berry Thief

Austin also wanted to learn cooking because of the special dishes that the system had not yet unlocked.

Anyway, with proficiency, all he had to do was grind.

Breeders and chefs are graded, and passing assessments earns them Alliance certification.

From lowest to highest, the ranks are: Novice, Intermediate, Advanced, Elite, Master, and Grandmaster.

For chefs above the Master rank, Pokémon food made from specific ingredients—like precious resources or rare berries—can enhance a Pokémon’s strength, almost like specialized training.

Kalos’s Gym Leader Siebold is a Master ranked chef.

Grandpa Alex’s culinary skills were at the Master level, while his breeding rank stood at Elite.

After Austin expressed his desire to learn from him, the old man’s face became serious. The air around them seemed to solidify.

Agni, who had been happily slurping beef noodles, froze mid-bite. He began eating more cautiously before clutching his food bowl with his teeth and bolting off without looking back.

You sold out that fast?!

Austin had expected that.

When it came to breeding and cooking, Grandpa was always serious.

Because, to him, that was being responsible toward Pokémon.

A new side quest appeared on the system panel.

【Alexander Black’s Wish】: The old man is troubled that his eldest son became a Pokémon Stylist instead of pursuing a breeding career, and that his second son, granddaughter, and grandson failed to inherit his skills.

Objective: Create a Pokémon food that satisfies Lien before the Breeding House opens.

Quest Reward: Random Specialty Dish ×1

Austin hadn’t expected his grandfather to have such a dream, but thinking about it, it made sense.

His uncle, Hanson, had little interest in breeding and became a designer and tailor instead.

His cousin, Vera, was even more adventurous—she’d gone off to study ancient history and fossils.

Although his father, Leon, had walked the path of a Breeder and chef, the old man’s evaluation of him was simple:

“Not as good as the best, but better than the worst.”

Both breeding and cooking required talent.

For someone like Austin, whose Pokémon gained proficiency just by eating his food, it was almost like cheating.

Though Austin had always cooked for his Pokémon himself, he’d never thought about officially becoming a Breeder.

He originally thought training his own Pokémon was enough.

But now, with his parents opening a new Breeding House, Austin made a decision.

His parents had borrowed money from his uncle—he didn't want to be unproductive.

Even without the system quest, he was determined to help.

Grandpa looked at Austin seriously. “You’re not kidding?”

Austin shook his head. “No, Mom and Dad are opening a new Breeding House, and I want to help them… and also try to embark on this path.”

Austin’s motto was simple: If you’re going to do something, do it to the best of your ability.

The old man nodded slightly. “That’s a legitimate reason. Actually, you have talent and you’re persistent—unlike your cousin, who ran away.”

Hearing that, Austin couldn’t help but think back to his childhood.

He’d spent his days memorizing Pokémon breeding manuals or trying to make Pokémon food.

Whether or not his creations were edible didn’t matter—Gengar would swallow them all anyway.

His cousin had run off early, but Austin had continued learning—until the day he received Ryu as a Riolu and began his journey.

Austin accepted the side quest 【Alexander Black’s Wish】.

The old man pondered for a moment. “Breeding is more complex. Let’s start with cooking. I’ll test your knife skills first. You’ll also need to get a breeding license.”

Cooking and breeding shared many fundamentals, but breeding was indeed more intricate.

A Breeder had to understand countless Pokémon species, study individuals closely, tailor care for each one, and even manage fur health.

Although Austin’s breeding proficiency was Intermediate, he had no official Alliance rank.

“Yes.”

The old man snapped, “ ‘Yes’ what? Go wash and cut the vegetables! Am I supposed to do it for you?”

“Alright!”

As Austin washed the vegetables, the old man called out toward the backyard, “Farfetch’d!”

“Fetch'd!”
(What do you want?!)

“You supervise him. Correct every mistake he makes.”

Farfetch’d puffed out its chest proudly.

“Far! Farfetc'd!”
(Leave it to me! Instructor reporting for duty!)

The old man only had two Pokémon: Farfetch’d for helping with cooking and Gengar for eating the results.

Under the old man’s tutelage, Farfetch’d’s cooking was actually better than Austin’s. Yes, even a duck was outpacing him.

The old man then turned toward the yard.

“Ryu, you explain to him what Farfetch’d says.”

“Lucario.” (Understood.)

Having given his orders, the old man left.

Austin glanced left at Farfetch’d, who adjusted its gold-rimmed glasses with a serious expression, and right at Ryu, who stood with arms crossed like a stern instructor.

From the front yard came the sound of the TV turning on.

…Was this part of your plan, too, Grandpa?

Austin couldn’t help but suspect that the day Grandpa gave him that Riolu egg, he had already planned all of this.

...

“Far. Fetch'dfar~”

(First, julienne~)
Ryu relayed the information.

“Don’t change your accent, hey!” said Austin, which earned a giggle from Ryu.

Under Farfetch’d’s sharp supervision, Austin officially began his cooking journey.

Farfetch’d examined a finely sliced potato strip and nodded with approval. “Fer.”

(Good. Now slice~)

“Farfetch'dfetch'd.”

(Next, dice with a rolling cut~)

Whenever Austin’s technique wasn’t up to standard, Farfetch’d gave him a sharp poke with its trusty leek.

“Farfetch'd. Farfetch'd.”

(The three sides of a rolling cut must be even. Watch carefully, I’ll demonstrate.)

Ryu, standing at the side, translated every word with patient precision.

Before long, the kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of chopping and a steady stream of Farfetch'd instructions echoing like a strange culinary symphony.

There was a reason Austin’s knife skills outpaced his seasoning and heat control—he’d learned knife work first, before running off on his travels.

Now, under the ever-demanding guidance of the Instructor Farfetch'd, Austin found himself reliving his childhood—surrounded by potatoes, cucumbers, and endless corrections.

But strangely enough, he was happy.

Over the next two hours, his cooking proficiency kept ticking upward: +1, +2…

By the end, the old man’s verdict was short and blunt:

“Barely acceptable. Keep cutting. Ten days to half a month of practice—then we’ll talk.”

Austin sighed. “Grandpa, I have something to do tomorrow.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to learn anymore?”

“It’s not that. Rose’s Berry fields have had Pokémon stealing berries lately. I want to help her figure out what’s going on.”

Hearing that, the old man frowned. “That girl... I just saw her two days ago. Why didn’t she say anything?”

Austin shrugged. “You know, Rose—she never likes bothering anyone.”

“Fine,” the old man said after a pause. “But come back as soon as you’re done.”

“Got it.”

The old man waved a hand dismissively. “Watch carefully. Tonight, I’m making garlic butter crab and braised prawns.”

...

The next day, Austin set off with Ryu, Agni, and Metang toward Amanda’s house.

Knock, knock—

The door opened, revealing Rose, her hair a little messy from the morning’s work.

“Austin, Ryu! Come in quickly.”

Her home was modest—just one bedroom and a living room—but it felt warm and lived-in. Austin glanced around.

“Where’s Farfetch’d?”

“It’s out guarding the Berry fields,” Rose said, wiping her hands with a small towel.

“Did something happen?”

Under Austin and Ryu’s gentle questioning, Amanda finally explained the situation—Pokémon had been sneaking into her Berry fields at night, taking the ripest fruit and vanishing without a trace.

Austin’s eyes hardened with determination. “We’ll help you find them.”

“Ryu,” he said.

“Rio.”
(Leave it to me.)

Chapter 4: Celestic Town

"Next stop, Celestic Station. Passengers arriving at their destination, please prepare to disembark."

Austin returned to Celestic Town by train from Sunyshore City, located south of Snowpoint City.

It’s still inconvenient without a Flying-type Pokémon, he thought.

Sure, he could ride Arcanine — and his Shiny Metang could technically fly — but it wasn’t nearly as stable as a Metagross.

The former Breeding House sometimes used Flying-types to deliver Pokémon, but this little problem would soon be solved once Metang evolved.

...

Celestic Town

In November, heavy snow blanketed the quiet mountain town. Even talking caused white mist to drift from one’s lips.

Celestic might be small, but it was well known — not only because of the ancient shrine at its center, which preserved Sinnoh’s old legends, but also because it was the hometown of Sinnoh’s own Champion, Cynthia Shirona.

It had been over half a year since Austin last came home, yet everything still felt familiar.

“Fresh Moomoo Milk!”

“Sweet honey, straight from Combee hives!”

The cheerful shouts of shopkeepers and stall owners filled the snow-dusted streets, like a lively winter market — only here, nearly everyone had a Pokémon by their side.

“Hey, Austin! You’re back, come try some!”

Friendly food vendors waved from their stalls.

“I’ll come by later!” Austin called back, holding a skewer in one hand and waving with the other while Ryu walked beside him.

“Hey, Austin! Ryu! You’re finally back!”

A mischievous voice piped up from behind just before someone patted both their shoulders. Austin and Ryu had sensed her presence long before — they hadn’t said anything.

“Long time no see, Rose.”

“Luca!”
(Long time no see!)

Standing before them was a young woman in her mid-twenties, bundled in a cotton coat and hat, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

Rosalina Star — or as Austin always called her, Rose— grinned from ear to ear.

Passersby paid them no mind; greetings like this were a common sight in a small town.

“Why the sudden visit?” Rose asked.

“My travel ended,” Austin replied with a faint smile. “Thought I’d drop by to see Grandpa.”

“Come on then!” she said eagerly, tugging both Austin and Ryu toward her stall.

A Farfetch’d with glossy feathers sat proudly on a chair, its plump body covering its webbed feet entirely.

“Far!” it cried in greeting, waving its leek like a baton.

“Long time no see, Farfetch’d,” Austin said warmly.

“Perfect timing,” Rose chimed. “I just finished baking some Blissful Muffins. Take a few home for Grandpa.”

Without hesitation, she started packing them into a box.

Blissful Muffins — pastries made from berries and other ingredients — were soft, sweet, and a little like Poffins, though less crunchy and more cake-like. Despite the name, they weren’t from Sinnoh’s Blissful Island at all, but a regional specialty of Galar.

They weren’t exactly famous, so it genuinely surprised Austin that Rose had learned how to make them.

Austin and Ryu exchanged a glance, then simultaneously crossed their arms in an X.

“We can’t take them for free.”

"Rio."
(That’s right.)

Rose blinked.

“What money? Your grandpa’s always looked out for me!”

“Then we’ll just leave them,” Austin teased, jerking a thumb toward home.

Rose pouted, her enthusiasm deflating like a balloon.

Austin counted quickly — about ten muffins in total. After he and Lucario each tried one, he smiled.

“These are great. I’ll take the rest home — Grandpa and the Pokémon will love them.”

As Rose packed them neatly, Austin asked, “What made you start baking these?”

Rose used to sell plain ingredients — his grandfather often bought from her. Her parents had passed away when she was young, and she’d lost her grandparents too, yet she remained remarkably upbeat. That was part of why Austin’s grandfather looked after her so much.

Rose smiled brightly.

“No one else sells them here! I learned it myself so I’d have something unique.”

“Smart move,” Austin said, giving her a thumbs-up.

She struck a proud pose, hands on her hips. “Of course!”

Her Blissful Muffins were genuinely delicious — even better than what Austin could make himself.

“Alright, I’ll head home first,” he said, lifting the box. “Let’s catch up properly sometime soon.”

“Got it! See you around!” she called as he left.

As Austin and Ryu walked down the snowy road toward home, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

Ding

Side quest unlocked

Rose's Trouble (Optional)

Quest Description:
Unknown Pokémon have recently stolen the berries in Rose’s berry fields. Please help the host resolve her trouble.

Task Reward: Random Pokémon Item Gacha Ticket ×1

“She still doesn’t like troubling others…”
Austin glanced back at Rose, who was busy packing up her stall for the evening, and sighed helplessly.

“Ryu, we’ll head to Amanda’s place tomorrow.”
“Cario.”

Even if there weren’t a reward, he’d help. That’s just how he was.

...

Austin’s old house stood quietly at the edge of Celestic Town, its small courtyard enclosed by a bamboo fence no higher than his waist.

From a distance, he could already spot a familiar figure — a plump, purple Gengar sitting happily at the gate, slurping a bowl of noodles.

Upon closer look, they were beef noodles — the broth was rich and steaming, the chunks of beef large and tender. Just from the smell, Austin knew this was Grandpa’s cooking.

You can’t eat that, Gengar. Ghost-types and noodles don’t mix! Let me help you out a little...

“Gengaaar~!”
Gengar, who had been grinning foolishly moments before, froze the instant it noticed Austin eyeing its noodles. It instantly took a few steps back, hugging its bowl protectively.

“Gengar! Gengar!”

Ryu raised a paw and calmly translated,
(He says there’s more in the kitchen — get your own.)

Austin chuckled. “Gengar, where’s Grandpa?”

Gengar pointed toward the backyard with one stubby arm.
“Gengga!”

“Alright. Come out, Agni! Metang!”

He tossed out two Luxury Balls, and in a flash of red light, Arcanine and his Shiny Metang appeared beside him.

“Arcanineee—!”

Agni landed gracefully, its thick mane swaying like waves of fire in the cold breeze.
It sniffed the air, instantly picking up the scent of food, then dashed straight toward the kitchen, cloaked in white light.

Austin blinked. “Extreme Speed… for noodles?”

“Metang.”

Metang’s first instinct was to look around, scanning the area cautiously.
Born in the wild and having survived as a Shiny Pokémon, it had learned to be careful.

“This is my home,” Austin said softly. “No need to worry.”

Metang gave a low hum in response. “Tang.”

Gengar, ever the social one, opened its mouth wide and pulled out… a bottle of iced cola drink.

“Gen? Gengar?”

Lucario’s composure finally cracked.
(He’s offering it to you — he says, ‘Want some?’)

Metang hovered in silence, its computing power trying unsuccessfully to decipher this nonsense.

Austin could only shake his head, amused. “You never change, Gengar.”

As Austin made his way toward the backyard, he heard a familiar voice from within.

“Agni, that you? Wait— Austin’s back?”

“Nine!” Agni barked from the kitchen.

“Good, good! I’ll serve another bowl!”

A moment later, a sturdy old man with dark hair and an ever-youthful spark in his eyes stepped out from the kitchen, wearing a padded cotton coat and holding a ladle.

“Grandpa Alex,” Austin greeted with a grin.

“Why’d you come back all of a sudden?”

Austin straightened up, his tone turning earnest. “I want to come home and learn from you — breeding and cooking both.”

The old man’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but before he could speak, a familiar mechanical chime echoed in Austin’s mind.

Ding!

New side quest available.

Chapter 3: Next Stop, Home

Austin Room, Pokémon Center

After Austin used the random Pokémon item lottery ticket, a chessboard-like grid appeared before him.
A glowing white dot flickered across the screen before finally stopping on a round, transparent stone — a gem with red and yellow hues swirling at its core.

“Ding~ Congratulations, Host! You’ve drawn the Diancite with an extremely low probability!”

“…?”

Austin stared at the message for a long moment.

Where on earth am I supposed to find you a Diancie?

The Diancite appeared in his system inventory, shining faintly.

Diancite: A mysterious Mega Stone that allows Diancie to Mega Evolve when held.

Austin retrieved the stone from his inventory, letting it rest in his palm. It shimmered faintly under the Pokémon Center’s light.

He was familiar with Diancie — a Mythical Pokémon from the Kalos region, said to be a mutated Carbink that radiated a soft pink glow. There was usually only one Diancie among a colony of Carbink, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was unique in the world.

He recalled the Diancie from the Kalos underground kingdom, though it made sense that other colonies might produce one elsewhere. If he could find a Carbink community, then maybe… just maybe, he could discover a Diancie of his own.

His current Identification Eye skill was still elementary. Perhaps once it leveled up, it could detect mutation traits among Carbink more accurately.

Finding a Diancie had already become one of Austin’s long-term goals.

The quest tracker updated automatically to [In Progress], though there wasn’t much he could do about it right now.

The Breeding House would take time to rebuild. He didn’t have a girlfriend yet, and helping Roland fulfill her dream was even further down the road.

Cynthia, at just twenty-two, had already ruled the Sinnoh League for years and was renowned as an archaeologist.
Her younger sister, Rolanda, might share that ambition — but even she knew how hard it was to reach those heights.

Austin sighed. He was sighing too much today.

Let’s shelve that for now.

For the moment, his priority was to evaluate his own condition — and figure out how to gain more skill experience.

He clenched his fists, feeling a subtle pulse of strength surge through him. His physique had noticeably improved.

Super Human Physique, huh?

He smirked.

Alright, call Bruno for me!

Then paused. ...Yeah, maybe not. I’d get flattened.

Bruno’s raw strength was no joke — easily top-tier, beyond even many Masters.

Thankfully, the Identification Eye compensated for Austin’s lack of a Pokédex.

He activated the ability and turned toward his Lucario.

Name: Ryu

Gender: Male

Type: Fighting, Steel

Ability: Inner Focus (Prevents flinching from opponent’s attacks)

Moves: Swords Dance, Calm Mind, Aura Sphere, Comet Punch, Bone Rush, Flash Cannon, Ice Punch, Thunder Punch, Bullet Punch, Force Palm, Protect, Quick Guard...

Strength Rating: Platinum (Initial)

Evaluation: A strong and well-taken care of Pokémon.

Reality wasn’t like the games — Pokémon weren’t limited to just four moves.

Austin’s grandfather, a top-tier Breeder, had taught him early on to help Ryu master both Ice Punch and Thunder Punch — two of the Elemental Punches.

“Luca.”

Ryu, sensing Austin’s gaze, patted its stomach expectantly.

Austin chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get your food ready.”

He set everything else aside and began preparing a meal for Lucario and the Arcanine.

Austin had always preferred to make his Pokémon’s food by hand — a skill his grandfather had instilled in him since childhood.

His grandfather’s voice echoed in his memory:

“An excellent Breeder must prepare food tailored to each Pokémon’s goals, condition, and taste. To raise strong Pokémon, you have to start with what they eat. Never cut corners.”

Since raising Lucario and Arcanine, Austin had come to understand those words deeply.

Pokémon breeding wasn’t just about patience — it was about money. A lot of it.
Raising an Elite-level Pokémon required both aptitude and serious financial investment.

Austin had only raised Lucario and Arcanine so far, and even that had drained his wallet more than he cared to admit.

Now, with the System’s help, maybe things would get a little easier.

“Same as usual? Spicy?”

Ryu nodded, looking determined.

“Luca!”
(Extra spicy!)

Austin grinned. His Lucario had a strange palate — the hotter, the better.

As a berry expert, he knew his ingredients well. Lansat Berries, Liechi Berries, and Salac Berries were ideal, but they were practically impossible to find on the open market.

So, he settled for Leppa and Cheri Berries instead.

He placed their right ratios into his small household berry mixer and began placing specific instructions into the machine according to his recipe. The turntable spun rapidly, blending the mix into a vivid red paste.

Fifteen minutes later, the machine dispensed translucent red cubes, which Austin sprinkled with powdered berries for flavor.

He used the Identification Eye once more — the glowing screen displayed the final result.

Item: Spicy Energy Cubes

Quality: Excellent

Effect: Enhances physical attack and stamina recovery rate for Fighting-type Pokémon.

Austin smiled in satisfaction.

“Dinner’s ready, buddy.”

Ryu’s eyes sparkled. “Lucariooo!”

He was already quite skilled when it came to preparing food for Lucario. At this point, he thought his technique could easily rival that of a professional Breeder.

He’d also prepared portions for Arcanine and his newly caught Shiny Metang.

Since he didn’t yet know Metang’s preferred taste, Austin made its food according to the general flavor profiles that most Steel and Psychic types enjoyed. If it didn’t like it, he could always grind a few different berries into powder or adjust the seasoning later.

“Alright, dig in.”

"Rio."
(Thank you!)

Ryu had been waiting patiently. It carefully tied a napkin around its neck, sat neatly at the table, and began eating the Pokéblocks with a spoon — as calm as ever.

Lucario lived by one rule: Calmness is key.

The moment it took the first bite, the familiar notification chime echoed in Austin’s mind.

“Ding! Gained 7 points of Energy Cube proficiency.”

Austin watched Lucario closely, studying every movement. Noticing his trainer’s gaze, Lucario looked up briefly with a grin.

(It’s delicious!)

Each time Ryu took a bite, another notification followed.

“Ding! Gained 9 points of Energy Cube proficiency.”
“Ding! Gained 8 points of Energy Cube proficiency.”

When he finally finished, Austin checked his status screen.

Energy Cube (Intermediate): 2,598 / 10,000

From this, he drew a clear conclusion — every time one of his Pokémon ate the Energy Cubes he made, his crafting proficiency increased. Apparently, it happened with every single bite.

...Though having the system ping every few seconds was getting a bit much.

Ding!

"Would you like to switch to total proficiency notification mode?"

“Yes. Now that’s user-friendly,” Austin muttered with a raised brow.

After making lunch for Ryu and the others, Austin borrowed the Pokémon Center’s kitchen to cook something simple for himself.

As he began chopping vegetables, another notification popped up in his mind.

“Ding! Gained 1 point of Cooking proficiency.”

If this were a game, there would probably be a glowing “+1” floating over his head every few seconds.

“Ding! Gained 1 point of Cooking proficiency.”

He chuckled.

If only studying worked like this… one problem solved, +1 proficiency. I’d have breezed into a top university by now.

He plated the noodles with a satisfied grin.

“A bowl of vegetable and egg noodles… maybe a bit heavy on the salt.”

Slander! he thought. I just like salty food!

This trip had served its purpose — Austin’s main goal had been to capture that Shiny Metang.

After retrieving his Pokémon from Nurse Joy, Austin boarded the train heading home.

Chapter 2: Arceus Dropped His Backpack?

Austin, who had just captured the Shiny Metang, heard his Pokégear ring. The familiar caller ID flashed — it was his father, Leon Black.

“Son!”

Leon’s round but still handsome face nearly filled the entire screen.

“Move aside, let me talk to our son!”

Amanda Black elbowed her way into view, pushing Leon out of the frame.

Leon soon returned after some jostling.

“Son, when are you coming back? We’ve got something to discuss.”

“I’m heading back soon, just tell me.”

Leon’s eyes practically sparkled through the screen.

“The demolition compensation for the old shop just came through. Your mother and I want to open a Breeding House in Jubilife City — one with a yard big enough to grow rindo berries!”

He looked overjoyed.

“It’ll take about a month to build, though—”

Before he could finish, Amanda's well-placed elbow shattered his daydream again.

Austin’s parents were both Pokémon Breeders and quite well-known.

Jubilife City, the bustling heart of Sinnoh, was the most advanced city both economically and technologically — crowded, competitive, and expensive beyond belief.

Austin started calculating in his head: all their savings over the years, plus the demolition payout...

"How are you doing, sweetie? Are you eating well, sleeping well? Oh, how are Agni and Ryu doing?" Amanda started to fuss over him.

"Am fine, mum. Agni, Ryu, say hi," Austin directed the video call to his Pokémon.

"Arcanine!" Agni gave a loud yelp while Steel gave a simple wave as a greeting.

"Mum, can I talk to Dad now, please?"

"...Ok, but take care of yourself," she said motherly before looking out of frame, "Leooon!"

A few seconds of chaos later.

"Yo son, wassup?" Leon said, acting like a few minutes ago didn't happen.

Austin rolled his eyes internally at the shamelessness before asking, “Is there enough money for that?”

Leon chuckled. “Not quite, but we can borrow a little from your uncle.”

Austin’s uncle, Hanson, also lived in Jubilife City. He was a famous Pokémon Style Designer, specializing in outfits and accessories for Trainers and Pokémon alike — basically a designer-slash-tailor with flair.

“Describe a little?”

“About thirty million.”

Austin nearly choked.

He thought for a moment, weighing the options.

Both his parents were Senior Breeders. He was pretty sure that in due time, they could pay it off.

“I support you,” Austin said at last.

“That's what I wanted to hear!”

“Alright, I’ll be home soon.”

“Good. We’ll talk more when you get here.”

Just as the call ended, a mechanical voice suddenly echoed in Austin’s mind.

“Ding, System binding...”

“Ding, optional main quest detected: Advance the Breeding House”

“Newbie gift package activated...”

Austin paused for a time with his Pokémon, looking at him in concern. He reassured them before he released Metang.

After eighteen f**king years, it decides to show up. I guess better late than never. He sighed thoughtfully.

After treating Metang’s wounds with a Potion, Austin headed down the mountain toward the Pokémon Center.

...

“Miss Joy, I’ll be counting on you.”

Standing across the counter, Nurse Joy, with her signature pink hair and gentle smile, nodded warmly.  

Before the Pokémon Leagues came into existence, there was a woman with pink hair who traveled the lands, healing both humans and Pokémon wherever she went. She was always accompanied by her loyal band of healing Pokémon. Her true name was never recorded, but the comfort and hope she brought during the turbulent days of conflict between humans and Pokémon earned her a lasting title — Joy.

Over time, her legacy gave birth to a lineage known as the Joy Clan. They dedicated their lives to caring for Pokémon and became the founders and caretakers of Pokémon Centers across the world. Yet, the Centers were not staffed only by her descendants; any woman who possessed the skill and compassion to heal could join their ranks — on one condition.

She had to dye her hair pink in honor of the first Nurse Joy, who began it all. This tradition was so deeply respected that even members of the Joy Clan born without pink hair followed it, ensuring that every Nurse Joy carried a visible reminder of the woman who once brought peace to a divided world.

Seeing the Luxury Ball holding Shiny Metang, her eyes widened in surprise.

“You actually caught it? That’s incredible!”

Joy had treated more than a few Pokémon badly injured by that very Metang.
It was considered the overlord of the Back Mountain — some even called the place Metang Mountain.

“Yeah,” Austin said with a small smile. “It was… intense.”

“It’s great you managed it! We were thinking of posting a warning sign for Trainers not to go near that area. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it — Chansey, let’s help Metang recover.”

“Chansey. Chans~!”

Chansey patted its chest proudly with its stubby little arms.

As he waited in his room at the Center, Austin finally had time to examine the System.

A floating exclamation mark blinked in front of his eyes, followed by a virtual display panel that expanded into view.

The system has been bound.

Newbie Gift Package Rewarded:

• Super Human Physique

• Identification Eye (Beginner)

• 1 Random Pokémon Item Gacha Ticket

The personal panel unfolded:

Name: Austin Black

Age: 18

Physique: Super Human
(Greatly enhanced physique.)

Special Abilities: None

Special Cuisine Codex: Unlocked

Skills:

• Center of Attention (Master Class) — The most dazzling star in any crowd.
  (Special skill, cannot be leveled)

• Identification Eye (Beginner) — View basic information and learned moves of Pokémon. (Cannot be leveled)

• Command (Intermediate) —  Skillful in your intent of relaying instructions. (100 / 10,000)

• Breeding (Intermediate) — Solid breeding skills and knowledge. (1,200 / 10,000)

• Energy Cube (Intermediate) — Can make delicious Energy Cubes tailored to Pokémon tastes. (2,500 / 10,000)

• Poffin (Beginner) — Schrödinger’s Poffins: you’ll never know the quality until they’re baked. (0 / 1,000)

• Cooking (Beginner) — Decent knife skills; won’t burn food or poison anyone. (100 / 1,000)

• Ancient Language (Beginner) — A Celestic Town specialty. The less said, the better. (0 / 1,000)

Austin then focused on the bottom part of the glowing panel in front of him.

Main Quests (Optional):

1. Advancing the Breeding House:
Join your family’s Breeding House, help it grow stronger.

• Stage 1 Goal: Serve and satisfy 100 customers (including Pokémon).

• Stage 1 Reward: 1 random unique dish, 1 random Pokémon item gacha ticket, 1 random item.

Side Quests (Optional):

1. Mother’s Wish:
After watching Austin grow into an adult, Amanda’s next wish is for her son to find a gentle, kind-hearted girlfriend and get her gr....

• Quest Reward: Unknown — depends on Wen Hui’s satisfaction.

2. Rolanda’s Wish:
Rolanda dreams of becoming an archaeologist and a Trainer even greater than her sister, Cynthia. Help Roland fulfill the wish.

Quest Reward: Unknown — depends on Rolanda’s satisfaction.

Special Notes:

1. This System exists solely for guidance and will not force the host to accept quests. All choices are yours.

2. Quests have no time limit and carry no penalty for failure.

3. Side quests expand as friendships deepen — with both humans and Pokémon.

4. The list of random Pokémon items has been made public. (Click to view details.)

“Unique dishes?” Austin muttered thoughtfully.

“Forget it. I’ll look into it later.”

He tapped open the Random Pokémon Item List, and his eyes widened.

Good grief… there’s even a Master Ball?

Key Stone, Lucarionite, Electric Z, Dynamax Band, Tera Orb—

What is this System? Doraemon? Or Arceus' backpack in disguise?

Shaking his head in disbelief, Austin accepted both the main and side quests.
He’d have to help out at the Breeding House anyway, so there was no harm in taking them. With no time limit or penalty for failure, it was a practically free experience.

For the girlfriend, though? He finds love, fine, if not, it was no skin off his back.

Only one item lay in his inventory — a Random Pokémon Item Gacha Ticket.

Austin took a breath and smiled faintly.

“Well, let’s see what luck I’ve got today.”

He selected Use Item.

Chapter 1: New Partner

Sinnoh Region – Rikai Town

“The three-way intersection in the back mountain… looks just like the one near Metang Mountain.”

Austin Black stood at the fork, gazing at the rugged slope ahead. This was the fourth spot he’d checked, chasing a vague memory that had been haunting him for days.

Eighteen years ago, Austin was born into this world — a world where humans and Pokémon lived side by side.

To him, this place was both familiar and strange. Familiar because of Ash and Pikachu — faces he’d once known only from TV screens. Strange, because this wasn’t an anime anymore. It was real life.

The house he’d grown up in had been torn down; the old Breeding House had closed.

And for the first time in ages, Austin had time to chase a dream — to find the Silver Metagross in the anime.

Although from the information he got, it was not yet a Metagross but a Metang.

..

At the Musashi & Kojiro Ramen Shop at the base of the mountain, Austin overheard a conversation at the next table.

“I heard someone went up to challenge that Silver Metang again and got wrecked,” a man said.

“Yeah, that thing’s got a bad temper. Hope no one gets seriously hurt next time.”

Austin’s eyes lit up like someone had just handed him a treasure map. This was the place he was looking for.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but… mind telling me a bit more about that Metang? I’ll cover your ramen.”

The couple exchanged glances — and seeing his friendly face and promise of food, they didn’t say no.

By the time Austin left, he’d gotten exactly what he needed.

..

Now, standing halfway up the back mountain of Rikai Town, he tossed two Luxury Balls into the air.

“Agni, Ryu— I’m counting on you.”

In two flashes of light, his partners appeared.

Arcanine, with its thick, flaxen fur striped in black and orange, landed proudly with a flick of its tail.
Lucario, sleek and sharp-eyed, stood tall — a warrior with bone spikes gleaming faintly on its hands and chest.

(Leave it to me.)

Ryu’s calm voice echoed in Austin’s mind.

“Canine~!” Agni barked, its tail wagging like an eager knight awaiting orders.

Ryu knelt and pressed its palm to the ground, eyes closed, sensing the waves of Aura around them.

(Aura within my heart… guide me.)

Within seconds, the terrain unfolded in Ryu’s mind like a map.

Meanwhile, Agni darted ahead, nose twitching as it caught the faint metallic scent of their target.

It didn’t take long.

(Found it!)
Ryu’s voice rang in Austin’s thoughts.

Following his lead, Austin climbed the narrow path until they reached a cliff overlooking a deep ravine.

Ryu pointed.
(It’s down there.)

Austin cupped his hands around his mouth. “Metang! Come out!”

His voice echoed off the stone walls. Moments later, a gleam of silver cut through the shadows — and the Silver Metang rose from the ravine, hovering silently in front of them.

Its steel body glimmered in the sunlight, polished like chrome.

Ordinary Metang were blue. This one was bright silver, its eyes glowing a deep, crimson red.

Austin’s breath caught.

“Unbelievable… a Shiny Metang.”

It was larger than usual too — easily a meter across, maybe more.

Their eyes met: human and machine, challenge and curiosity sparking in both.

“Metang!” Austin called, stepping forward. “Battle me! I am looking for a partner for my battles. If I best you in battle, I want you as my comrade.”

The Shiny Metang hovered in silence, computing the proposal, then let out a metallic hum.

“Tang! Metang!”

It was a yes.

“Ryu, return.” Austin redrew his Pokémon. “Agni, you’re up!”

“Nine!”

Agni’s eager roar echoed through the space.

Its Intimidate ability rippled through the air, trying to pressure the opponent— but Metang didn’t flinch.

Austin frowned.

So… Clear Body, huh? That means my Intimidate and Snarl won’t work.

Before he could react, Metang’s claws began to glow. With a sharp, metallic screech, it lunged forward.

“Metal Claw — incoming!”

“Endure. Close-range Will-O-Wisp!”

The blow landed with a heavy thump, but Agni didn’t retreat. Flames burst from its fur — three deep violet wisps that spiraled together, then exploded against Metang’s steel shell.

The burning aura clung to its body, flickering with eerie persistence.

Metang staggered slightly, its red eyes flickering.

Austin smiled faintly.

Clear Body or not… let’s see you shrug off a burn.

He raised a hand.

“Flamethrower!”

Orange-red flames erupted from Agni’s open jaws, washing over Metang in a searing blaze.

The blast hit with a deafening roar, hurling the silver Pokémon against the cliffside. Sparks danced through the air as molten rock cracked beneath the impact. Metang let out a sharp, metallic cry — scorch marks now streaked across its polished armor.

Before Agni could press the attack, a faint blue glow enveloped its body.

Austin’s eyes widened as Arcanine began to rise off the ground, paws flailing midair.

Confusion? Seriously? It can still pull that off?

The sight made Austin grin despite the tension.

“Flare Blitz!”

“CANINE!!”

Agni’s defiant howl echoed through the valley. Its body ignited once more, flames swirling around it like a living comet.

With a violent burst of power, the massive canine broke free from the psychic hold and rocketed forward, crashing straight into the hovering Metang!

Metang tried to evade, but the lingering burn slowed its movement.

BOOM!

The collision sent shockwaves through the air. Metang was blasted backward, slamming into the cliff face once again, leaving a smoking crater in its wake.

“Extreme Speed!”

This wasn’t a turn-based battle — there were no pauses, no waiting for commands. Austin knew that in a real fight, momentum was everything.

Before Metang could even begin to fall, Agni sprang off the cliff wall like a bullet of white light.

CRASH!

The second impact shook the valley. When the dust finally cleared, the Silver Metang lay on the ground, its eyes spinning faintly before dimming out.

Austin exhaled, lowering his arm.

 “Welcome to the team.” A small, confident smile tugged at his lips.

He reached for his belt, pulling out a sleek Luxury Ball — black with golden accents and twin red stripes.

“Let’s make this official.”

He tossed it with a practiced flick of his wrist. The ball hit Metang, opened with a flash of scarlet light, and drew the metallic Pokémon inside.

One second passed. No shaking.

Click.

A perfect capture.

Austin stooped to pick up the ball, brushing the dust off before raising it triumphantly toward the sky. Ryu, who was released from his ball, and Agni stood at his sides, their eyes gleaming.

“Shiny Metang — gotcha!” he said with a grin.

“Lucario!”

“Arcanine!”

As the echoes faded, Austin’s Pokégear gave a cheerful ping, the screen lighting up with new data.

Chapter 421: Knicks vs Heat

LeBron James’s career has taken a strange turn lately.

Once the undisputed King of the next vanguard, his reign now seemed dimmed—overshadowed by the rise of Lin Yi.

It wasn’t like LeBron hadn’t tried. That summer, he’d spent countless hours polishing his three-point shot, determined to add another weapon for the next time he faced the Knicks.

Once, his three-pointer was like a scope-less 98K. Now, it had evolved—fitted with a shiny red dot sight.

Of course, Knicks fans had their own spin on it. They swore LeBron’s sudden dedication to shooting was born from fear—traumatized by New York’s barrage of threes last season. And before long, online fanbases were waging a war of their own: LeBron loyalists versus Lin Yi believers.

When Lin saw the arguments flooding social media, all he could do was sigh.

“These fans of ours really are vicious.”

...

October 27th, American Airlines Arena.

Nationally televised. Knicks vs. Heat. The defending champions against the league’s most star-studded trio.

From the tip-off, Miami came out swinging. The squad wasn’t here to play nice—they were here to make a statement.

The crowd was electric. Every defensive stop, every fast break, every dunk from James felt like an explosion.

With 7:38 left in the first quarter, LeBron hammered home a thunderous dunk that shook the rim and the arena.

The place went wild.

Eighteen-game winning streak? So what.

Eighty-six points? Big deal.

This was Miami—home of LeBron, Wade, and Bosh.

Scoreboard: Knicks 4, Heat 15

And for the first time that night, it was the Knicks calling for a timeout.

On the bench, Lin Yi rubbed his chin, expression unreadable.

“They’ve got something tonight,” he muttered after starting 0-for-4 from the field.

As he sat down, Paul gave him a playful shove.

“Lin, you just let LeBron blow by you! What was that?”

Lin shot back immediately.

“You’re one to talk! Did you sneak off for fried chicken again last night? Because your first step looked like Shaq’s out there.”

Paul grinned.

“I was conserving energy.”

Lin nodded solemnly.

“So was I.”

On the sideline, D’Antoni stared at the two of them, torn between laughing and losing his patience.

“Alright, comedians—if you’re done, maybe we can talk about basketball again?”

The Heat’s plan was working. LeBron’s jumper, once unreliable, was now deadly enough that the Knicks couldn’t sag off him anymore.

And the numbers backed it up. Between 2011 and 2018, LeBron’s three-point percentages had hovered between 33 and 40 percent—solid, and occasionally elite. Now, with a cleaner stroke and smarter shot selection, he’d become a real perimeter threat.

Lin Yi had a rough start guarding him. LeBron’s raw power offset Lin’s length and timing. To make things worse, Lin’s usually sharp scoring was a bit shaky tonight.

But basketball isn’t a solo duel—it’s five against five. And the Knicks didn’t need Lin to go full superhero to turn things around.

“The Knicks are in trouble tonight,” Kenny Smith said on TNT. “They’ll need to adjust fast.”

“You’re right, Kenny,” Barkley added. “Defensively, this isn’t enough to beat Miami. They look a step slow.”

Even the usually pro-Knicks network sounded worried. But right after the timeout, the champions reminded everyone why they were on an eighteen-game tear.

Paul, Green, Lin Yi, and Markieff Morris—four straight possessions, four straight threes.

Nothing but net.

LeBron froze. Wade blinked. Bosh just shook his head.

In the blink of an eye, that eleven-point Heat lead was gone.

The arena fell silent. Moments ago, fans were sure they’d end the Knicks’ streak. Two minutes later, they were too stunned to speak.

“Beautiful!” Barkley exclaimed, his tone flipping instantly. “That’s championship basketball right there—precision, confidence, teamwork.”

“Exactly,” Kenny Smith agreed. “Ever since that 86-point game, Lin’s been brimming with confidence. That pull-up three over James? Ice cold.”

Shaq, sitting beside them, blinked at his co-hosts.

“Didn’t you two just say the Knicks were finished?”

Kenny shrugged, deadpan.

“We adapt, big man. That’s called analysis.”

Shaq rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, right. Bandwagon’s got front-row seats tonight.”

It was clear the big man was still a rookie in the commentary game.

Everyone gets proven wrong sometimes—that’s part of the job. The trick isn’t to always be right; it’s to sound confident when you’re right and sound wise when you’re wrong.

In other words, the art of commentary: praise naturally, criticize—no script required.

The young Shaq had just learned another on-air lesson.

Still, he wasn’t entirely wrong in his assessment. Even though the Knicks’ four straight threes had tied the game, this Heat team wasn’t the same as last year’s.

LeBron and Wade had finally learned to breathe in sync. When LeBron was rolling, Wade slipped into a perfect supporting role. When LeBron cooled off, Wade’s midrange rhythm filled the gap like clockwork.

Add in Bosh’s smooth lefty jumper from the elbow, and it was obvious—Miami had evolved.

They’d finally understood what last year’s Finals had taught everyone: against teams like the Knicks or Mavericks, trying to out-defend them was a dead end.

You had to outscore them.

The Heat had done their homework. And just like the future teams that would overthink how to lock down the Warriors, most would eventually face the same harsh truth—this was no longer an era where defense alone could win championships.

Especially not against a team like the Knicks.

When New York got rolling, they could turn a ten-point deficit into a tie game in the blink of an eye. If the Heat couldn’t keep pace offensively, they’d never have a chance to face them in the postseason, let alone beat them.

Swish!

As the first quarter wound down, Paul rose from the wing and drained a cold-blooded three to tie it—33-33.

That was exactly why Lin Yi had pushed for him to come to New York in the first place.

In this new era of superteams, you couldn’t build a dynasty on one man’s shoulders. You needed someone who could steady the ship when your star wasn’t in rhythm.

Lin Yi knew it all too well. His own rise had drawn plenty of attention—and plenty of opposition. The Anti-Lin Alliance had turned every game into a chess match.

That’s why he’d switched positions this season, taking on the small forward role—to evolve, to adapt, to stay one step ahead.

Last year’s Knicks might’ve crumbled in a game like this. LeBron and Wade both firing, Lin’s shot off? That would’ve been trouble.

But this year was different. The roster was deeper, smarter. The only real weakness was time—the younger guys still needed to grow into their roles.

Still, this wasn’t just another regular-season game.

Beating the Heat—or losing to them—always meant something more.

In the NBA, mindset mattered just as much as muscle. And Lin Yi understood that better than anyone.

He couldn’t afford to let LeBron and Wade find confidence against his team. Not even once.

If the Knicks were going to rule the East, they needed to make one thing routine:

Eat, sleep, and beat Miami.

When the second quarter began, Lin Yi returned to the floor with Whiteside, Battier, Klay, and Livingston.

A new look and fresh rhythm.

Chapter 420: Win It All

Darko Milicic had long since moved on to the Timberwolves, signing a long-term deal. Meanwhile, Michael Jordan was still running the Bobcats with the same penny-pinching tendencies. Not even Gerald Wallace could get a $10 million contract out of him.

Wallace had everything you could ask for — elite athleticism, defense, consistency. But somehow, MJ managed to fumble it. Lin Yi shook his head, thinking about it.
When he played, he was ruthless. As an owner, he’s just cheap… and blind.

The Bobcats’ current stars were Lance Stephenson — who barely made the Knicks’ rotation last year — and Gerald Henderson, whose shooting form looked a lot like Jordan’s, though that was where the comparison ended.

Every time the topic of Wallace came up, Lin Yi couldn’t help but get annoyed. Not because he was a fanboy, but because what happened next was just absurd.

When the Mavericks heard that the Bobcats weren’t re-signing Wallace, they swooped in with a sign-and-trade — sending Jason Kidd and two draft picks for him.

Then, as soon as the deal was done, Charlotte waived Kidd, whose contract was expiring anyway. And where did Kidd go after his short break? Right back to Dallas.

In other words, the Mavericks basically got Wallace for free — a masterclass in exploiting the rules.

And as if that wasn’t enough, before the regular season even started, they picked up Caron Butler on a minimum deal.

Lin Yi had to laugh. “This isn’t just the Mavs I remember — this is a full-blown superteam. Even the future Warriors wouldn’t look this good.”

Their starting lineup looked like something straight out of a fantasy draft: Amar’e Stoudemire, Dirk Nowitzki, Gerald Wallace, Caron Butler, and Kyrie Irving. The bench? Jason Kidd, Shawn Marion, Jason Terry… basically an All-Star team.

Fans joked that even in NBA 2K, you couldn’t pull off a trade like that — because the Bobcats’ AI would’ve said no. Reality, though? Reality was wilder than any game simulation.

Lin Yi had to admit — the Mavericks’ transformation was just ridiculous. Dallas was already an offensive powerhouse, but now, with Wallace shoring up their defense, they were terrifying. Just two days ago, they’d blown out the Spurs by 25 points.

After that game, Popovich sighed and told reporters, “The Mavericks have broken the league’s balance.”

Lin Yi could almost hear Pop’s dry tone in his head. The Knicks, sure — they’d built their success from the ground up. But the Mavs? They’d just gamed the system.

Next time I’m in San Antonio, Lin Yi thought, I’ll buy Pop a drink. Maybe we can brainstorm how to beat the Mavs’... Bubble tea, maybe.

As for the game that night, the Knicks didn’t waste time. They demolished the Bobcats from start to finish. Losing to this Charlotte team would’ve been embarrassing.

With Stephenson and Henderson leading the charge, it was clear the Bobcats were tanking — all eyes on the upcoming draft and that once-in-a-generation talent, Anthony Davis.

Lin Yi glanced at the scoreboard — Knicks 125, Bobcats 81 — and smirked.

“I just hope The Brow doesn’t end up here,” he muttered. “Would be a waste of a mythical beast.”

After the game, the Knicks packed up and flew straight to Cleveland. The Cavaliers’ new star? Carmelo Anthony.

To be fair, Melo was thriving. Averaging 29.7 points, 48.7% from the field, and 41% from three — pure isolation brilliance. Cleveland loved him.

Cavs fans couldn’t stop hyping him up — and why not? Melo versus LeBron had always been a rivalry, and now, rooting for Melo gave them another reason to jab at LeBron.

The Cavs front office was satisfied, too. Sure, Kyrie Irving was blossoming in Dallas, but Melo’s popularity sold tickets — and annoyed James. Win-win.

Lin Yi chuckled when he thought about it.

“Imagine if LeBron actually went back to Cleveland one day,” he mused. “Two of the top 2002 draft picks together again… and if Riley screws up, maybe even Wade joins them.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Now that would be something. The NBA never runs out of stories.”

...

On the 26th, at Quicken Loans Arena.

While most fans were curious to see if Anthony could turn the Cavaliers around this season, the bigger story in the media was whether the Knicks could keep rewriting history by setting the best season start across all four major North American leagues.

After beating the Bobcats, New York’s win streak had reached 17 games to start the season.

Before tip-off, Barkley shook his head with mock regret.

“What a shame it’s a shortened season. Otherwise, I’d say the Knicks had a real shot at breaking the Bulls’ 72–10 record.”

Kenny Smith laughed.

“Last season, they finished 69–13, remember? Even if they went undefeated this year, it’d still only be 66–0.”

Barkley nodded.

“Yeah, but come on—every single game they’re scoring over a hundred. This team’s the most entertaining thing going right now. Their offense is just on another level.”

“And the ‘Fried Chicken Brothers’—they just make it all click,” Kenny added, throwing shade. “They make everyone around them better. That’s why a lot of people say they’re even stronger than the old duo.”

Shaquille O’Neal, feeling targeted, clapped back, " No amount of kissing ass can still get you a ring, Chuck."

This prompted chuckles from Kenny. This was Shaq's way of shutting Charles up all the time.

The Fried Chicken Brothers were Lin Yi and Chris Paul. Chinese fans called them the 404 Duo, but the American media had long stuck with this fried chicken nickname. It all came from Paul joking during his Knicks signing that Lin had convinced him to come to the Knicks over fried chicken during their conversations. It was a throwaway line—but the name stuck.

Anthony, though, came ready for battle. Cleveland looked surprisingly sharp under his lead—aggressive, focused, and determined.

But that was as far as it went. Unless Melo could drop 86 points by himself, there wasn’t much the Cavs could do against a Knicks team this confident and well-oiled.

Still, it was nice to see Cleveland buzzing again. Stern must’ve been thrilled. Even if he wasn’t a big Melo fan, Anthony’s quieter, more mature demeanor this season had won people over.

Then again, how could he not be low-key these days? One night, he and JR went out looking for fun. After an hour of driving around, all they found was a convenience store. So they grabbed some beers and went back to Melo’s place to talk life.

Lin Yi found that story hilarious. And honestly, he liked Melo—especially tonight, since Anthony’s scoring outburst kept the game competitive enough for Lin to check back in for the fourth quarter.

The Knicks weren’t slacking off; the Cavs were just playing out of their minds.

But midway through the fourth, the wheels came off. JR Smith made one of those plays only JR could make—he threw a pass straight to Chauncey Billups.

Billups, now a Knick, didn’t hesitate. He drained a three on the fast break, then gave JR a thumbs-up like, “Appreciate it, buddy.”

And JR wasn’t done yet. On the next possession, as Anthony drew a foul and went to the line, JR casually untied Lin Yi’s shoelace while jostling for a rebound. The referee, David Sochies, caught him red-handed and immediately tossed him from the game.

Melo just stared at the ceiling in disbelief. After JR’s antics, Cleveland’s spirit was gone. The Knicks went on a big run and sealed it.

Final score: Knicks 119, Cavaliers 98.

Lin Yi notched another triple-double—30 points, 18 rebounds, and 12 assists—while Paul added 28 points, 5 rebounds, and 4 assists, despite Lin “stealing” some of his assists again.

Melo’s 45 points earned him a standing ovation from the Cleveland crowd. For the first time in his career, he was losing games but still earning love. Fans joked that Melo’s “CBA teammates” were the real reason for the losses.

At least LeBron had been loyal—he took all the heat, while Melo got all the sympathy.

After the game, reporters surrounded Lin Yi. The Knicks’ 18-game winning streak was now the best season start in NBA history, and each new win was another step beyond uncharted territory.

One reporter asked,

“Lin, what’s the secret behind this incredible run?”

Lin paused, thought for a moment, then grinned.

“Relax more, train more, eat fewer snacks, and sleep more.”

He borrowed the line from iPartment’s Zeng ad in his past life, but it fit the moment perfectly. The Knicks weren’t tense—they were just having fun and playing free.

That same night in Miami, LeBron James was also watching.

The Knicks were coming to town next, and the Heat—14–4 so far—were playing their best basketball since forming the Big Three.

Through 18 games, LeBron was averaging 28.4 points, 7.7 rebounds, and 7.1 assists, with nearly 39% from three—a personal best.

Spoelstra might’ve told reporters that Miami wasn’t thinking about New York, but everyone knew better. You don’t spend an entire summer sharpening your jumper just to take down the Magic.

This Heat team still stood as New York’s biggest obstacle. Lin Yi and D’Antoni knew it, too. The Knicks’ iron-chain defense had frustrated the Heat last season, but they weren’t naive enough to think it would work forever.

Both sides were gearing up. The Knicks wanted to defend their crown; the Heat wanted revenge.

As for streaks and records—Lin Yi didn’t care much. In the end, there’s only one thing that matters in this game:

Winning it all.

Chapter 218: Finding A Solution

Suarez’s injury ruled him out for the rest of the season — three crucial games left, and Arsenal’s main attacking threat was gone.

This season, Suarez had scored 29 goals in 35 Premier League matches, topping both the league’s scoring chart and Arsenal’s tally.

Replacing him wasn’t going to be easy.

Naturally, the first options were Podolski and Sanogo, but neither had managed to convince anyone. Still, Arsenal didn’t have the luxury of choice.

Something was better than nothing.

After their Champions League fixture, Arsenal faced Newcastle in the league.

Newcastle had already secured survival, so their motivation was low.

Even so, Arsenal struggled.

The Gunners won 1–0, thanks to a brilliant solo effort from Cazorla in the 68th minute — dribbling past three defenders before slotting the ball home.

But despite the three points, no one in red and white looked satisfied. They all knew how thin the margin had been.

...

In the dressing room after the match, the mood was tense.

“We’ve got to be more aggressive up front!” one player barked.

“There’s no coordination — every time I cut inside, there’s no one to link with!”

“Then play it back more often! Don’t just charge forward blindly!”

“Pass back? That kills our momentum! We’ll never break through like that!”

Voices rose, tempers flared, but it wasn’t hostility — everyone was desperate to fix the problem.

Podolski finally spoke up.

“I’m not Suarez,” he said plainly. “Our styles are different. I can play center-forward, but I need more support. I can’t do it alone.”

He wasn’t concerned about pride — he just wanted his teammates to understand him. Only then could they play to his strengths.

“My individual drive isn’t enough,” Cazorla added firmly. “You can’t rely on me to connect midfield and attack every time — it’s too risky!”

Walcott chimed in. “I can help. If I only play 70 minutes, I’ll have more energy to drop deeper and link up.”

Rosicky nodded. “Same here. I’ll do it.”

Cazorla shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. If you drop back, we lose our counterattack threat. You two need to stay higher up.”

Then his eyes shifted — toward Kai and Flamini. Finally, he fixed his gaze on Kai.

“Kai,” he said seriously, “you’ve got to join the attack.”

The room fell silent.

Everyone turned toward Kai.

Since the latter half of the season, he’d focused almost entirely on defense — anchoring the midfield, protecting the back line.

If Suarez were still fit, that balance would have worked perfectly.

But now? Arsenal needed a new source of attacking power — and if it couldn’t come from the forwards, it had to come from midfield.

Kai was already considering it. He wasn’t short on options: long passes, short combinations, those curling low drives of his — he could orchestrate or finish.

But pushing forward came with risk.

If he failed to get back in time, the defense would be exposed. And with Mertesacker’s slow turning speed, opponents would definitely target that weakness.

He was still deep in thought when applause suddenly filled the room.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Wenger had walked in after finishing the press conference.

“Gentlemen,” he said loudly, “this isn’t for you to worry about. The coaching staff will handle the tactical side. What you need to do is stay sharp and keep your focus.”

He raised two fingers.

“Two more matches.”

That was all he had to say.

The room shifted instantly — tired faces lit up.

Two wins away from the Premier League title. Arsenal’s first in over a decade.

Many in that room had never even felt what it was like to be champions.

The thought alone brought a quiet fire to their eyes.

Wenger smiled faintly, noticing their renewed energy.

He nodded, then motioned for everyone to head back to Colney.

Later that evening, at the training base, the players had gone, but the staff remained in the meeting room.

Wenger stood at the head of the table, the tension visible even in his calm tone.

“Luis’s injury is a massive blow. Podolski and Sanogo can’t fill that gap — we’ve seen that already.”

His gaze moved slowly around the room. “It’s our job to find a solution.”

The coaches exchanged uneasy glances.

After a long silence, Lehmann finally spoke.

“What if we try a false nine? Like Barcelona?”

The room went quiet again.

A few thoughtful nods — it was an intriguing idea. But everyone knew it came with its own risks.

Not necessarily a bad idea, just not a good choice.

The reason was simple — Arsenal had never trained to play with a false nine.

After Wenger dismissed Lehmann’s proposal, Pat Rice leaned forward and said, “If we can’t solve the issue up front, then maybe the answer lies elsewhere.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “Let Kai take charge as the main orchestrator — controlling the tempo, dictating the play, and distributing the ball. Cazorla can then focus purely on breaking lines and making that final pass.”

Wenger raised an eyebrow. “We are already doing that, aren't we?”

“Yes,” Pat said with a nod. “But we’ve never truly let him express his full range. Give him total control of the organization and rhythm — let him conduct the midfield.”

He continued, his tone more assured now, “There are two main benefits: First, it allows Kai to properly link defense and attack — the true mark of a complete midfielder. Second, it frees Cazorla to do what he does best: break through and deliver the killer ball. Frankly, I’ve always felt we’ve restricted Cazorla too much by forcing him into a deeper creative role.”

Gerry Peyton, the goalkeeping coach, crossed his arms and asked, “Can Kai really handle that kind of pressure?”

The room fell quiet.

It wasn’t because anyone doubted Kai — quite the opposite. Everyone knew he could handle it. Even Peyton himself realized it the moment he asked.

Kai had never once flinched under pressure. Big matches, high stakes — he’d always risen to the occasion.

Boro Primorac, a long-time first-team coach, spoke up next. “To be honest, we’ve thought about this for a while. We initially pictured Kai as a complete box-to-box midfielder, someone like Yaya Touré — capable of influencing every phase of play.”

He leaned back and added, “Now, by letting him control things from deep, we’re narrowing his range but sharpening his influence. He can definitely cope with that — and defensively, nothing really changes.”

The more he spoke, the more confident he sounded. “Let’s not forget — Kai’s already leading the Premier League in assists, level with Gerrard. And if you factor in his defensive metrics and ball recoveries, even Gerrard doesn’t come close.”

Boroglanced around the table. “He’s ready. It’s time we give him the platform he deserves.”

His words struck a chord. Everyone in the room knew he was right.

From the moment Kai had pulled on the number 4 shirt, he’d been destined to become Arsenal’s heartbeat. The only surprise was that this moment had arrived sooner than expected.

Wenger scanned the room. “Any objections?”

No one spoke. Heads shook all around.

Wenger nodded slowly, then took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. “Alright then, gentlemen. Since we’ve agreed on the direction, let’s focus on how to make this system work smoothly on the pitch.”

Pat Rice raised his hand.

Wenger turned toward him. “Yes, Pat?”

“There’s one issue,” Pat said, sounding uneasy. “We’ve got no match to test this out. Training sessions won’t tell us if it actually works in real competition.”

The room fell silent again as the staff exchanged uncertain looks.

Then Wenger’s voice broke through, steady and firm. “There is one match where we can test it.”

Everyone looked up.

“Which match?” they asked almost in unison.

Wenger’s gaze hardened.

“The next one,” he said. “The Champions League semi-final, second leg."

Chapter 217: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg End

“Damn it!!”

Pepe was livid.

He felt he’d been humiliated twice, and the rage inside him was boiling over. His eyes darted around the pitch, hunting for that Uruguayan.

This was all that bastard’s fault.

Ramos quickly noticed Pepe’s agitation and rushed over to calm him down. But deep down, he knew—Pepe was a ticking time bomb now.

At this rate, he could do anything.

Ramos glanced toward the touchline, silently pleading for the manager to intervene.

Maybe it was time for a change—let Pepe cool off before something worse happened.

But Carlo Ancelotti didn’t budge. His expression was grim, but his arms stayed folded.

Too early for a substitution. Just fifty minutes gone.

And besides, he wasn’t sure what kind of change would even help.

His gaze shifted toward Cristiano Ronaldo, who had been unusually quiet tonight. Their talisman wasn’t finding his rhythm.

Cristiano could feel it too—the frustration creeping in—but he didn’t show it. Instead, he shouted, urging his teammates on, trying to lift the spirit of the side.

It helped a little, but not enough. The noise couldn’t reach the backline.

And Pepe, right now, wasn’t listening to anyone.

Kai noticed Pepe’s expression from across the pitch and made his way to Suarez.

“Be careful,” he muttered. “That Portuguese bald guy looks ready to kill you.”

Suarez nodded seriously.

He knew Pepe’s temper all too well. After being embarrassed twice, that man could lose it at any moment.

Kai gave a small pat on his shoulder and jogged back into position.

The whistle blew, and Benzema placed the ball at the center circle once again.

It was the first time this season he’d stood there twice for a kickoff in one Champions League game—never a good sign.

It spoke volumes about the kind of night Real Madrid were having.

“Real Madrid trail again, and the pressure’s mounting on Carlo Ancelotti,” said Martin Taylor. “Does he stick or twist here?”

The camera cut to the Real Madrid manager, who stood still, hands behind his back.

Alan Smith added, “He’s calm on the outside, but you can see he’s thinking—especially about Pepe back there. The man’s fuming.”

Ancelotti’s eyes lingered on his defender. He didn’t know whether to pull him off or keep faith. Either choice could backfire.

He could only hope Pepe would keep his head.

Real Madrid, desperate to equalize, began to push harder.

Cristiano Ronaldo led the charge, leaping for every aerial ball like a man possessed.

Kai and Mertesacker had no choice but to jump with him.

After five relentless minutes, Mertesacker looked drained—six full leaps in quick succession, his legs trembling from exhaustion.

But Cristiano and Kai were still going.

Bang!

They rose together again. Kai’s timing gave him the edge; he went up early, but Cristiano adjusted, jumping almost in sync.

Neither was backing down.

It wasn’t just a duel for the ball anymore—it was pride.

Their thighs burned, lungs heavy, but both refused to give in.

Bang!

Kai got to it first, heading the ball clear once more.

As they landed, Cristiano pounded his thighs in frustration; Kai rubbed his legs hard, grimacing.

Their eyes met briefly.

“Your legs are shot,” Cristiano frowned.

“Yours too,” Kai shot back.

They both turned away with a half-grin.

The corner came in again—still looking for Cristiano.

He broke toward the center, ready to soar, but Kai flashed across him like a shadow.

They jumped together—same movement, same determination.

Kai’s explosiveness won out again. He rose faster, clearing the danger once more.

When they landed, Cristiano stumbled; Kai nearly buckled but steadied himself.

Both men laughed breathlessly, shaking their heads.

How was he still jumping? They thought of each other

Even they didn’t know.

Alan Smith chuckled from the commentary box. “You can tell both of them are running on fumes, but neither wants to show it. What a battle this is turning into.”

Martin Taylor added, “It’s pure willpower now—Kai and Ronaldo testing each other’s limits. And right now, neither’s blinking.”

Kai’s one-on-one work on Cristiano Ronaldo had solved a major problem for Arsenal — but it came at a cost.

Because Kai had to stick to Ronaldo like glue, he couldn’t join the attack as much. He was burning energy on defense, and you could see it in every sprint. Fortunately, he wasn’t alone.

Cazorla picked up the slack and began to influence the game. He hadn’t been taking players on much tonight, but when he did this time, he cut through with real purpose — one or two touches, then off into Madrid’s half. Suddenly, Cazorla became a second threat for Arsenal, right behind Kai.

Real Madrid’s back line was solid, though. Still, football is messy, and accidents happen.

A piercing scream cut through the tension.

Suarez was on the turf just outside the box, clutching his leg. Pepe, head down, was swearing like mad. His face had contorted with fury. Cazorla moved toward him — and Pepe shoved him away, grabbing his face.

“You dog! Get lost!” Pepe spat.

Cazorla fell back, covering his face. Before Pepe could finish, he was sent to the floor— landing in obvious pain. Cristiano Ronaldo, who’d been stepping forward, just stood and stared.

Kai had burst forward at full speed and shouldered Pepe clean off his feet. His face was hard, and when Pepe writhed on the ground, Kai shouted, “Get up! Don’t you want to fight? Come on!”

Pepe tried to respond, but the pain in his abdomen stopped him, so he glared instead. Kai leaned in and spat out, “What are you looking at, not so macho?”

Ramos strode across and tapped the back of Kai’s head, saying something under his breath. Kai slapped at him. Ramos looked stunned — and then moved as if to charge. Casillas held him back.

The referee finally arrived. With a sharp blast, teammates hauled Ramos and Kai apart.

Fans in the stands erupted — Arsenal supporters were furious. Pepe’s tackle looked deliberate; they saw it as an attack on Suarez.

“Don’t lie there and play the victim!” one section yelled.

“Get up, bastard!” another screamed.

They called out furiously to Pepe, playing the victim.

The situation was boiling over, so the referee acted. He walked to Pepe and showed him a straight red. Then, after a beat of hesitation, he pulled a yellow from his pocket and booked Kai.

Kai barely registered the card. He went straight to Suarez’s side.

“How is he?” he asked.

Dr. Gary shook his head slowly.

“Can’t continue,” he said, crossing his arms and gesturing to the bench.

Two stewards carried a stretcher onto the pitch and took Suarez off.

Kai’s face went ashen. He’d warned Suarez, but he’d underestimated how vicious Pepe could be. Suarez going off hurt Arsenal badly — even if Real Madrid had paid the price with a red.

In the commentary box, Martin Taylor summed it up: “Suarez is out, and that’s a real blow for Arsenal. You never want to see a player carried off.”

Alan Smith added, “Pepe’s challenge was retaliation — reckless and dangerous, and the red was justified. Kai stood up for his teammate and took a booking for it. He’s brave — but he’s also picked a fight with two of Real Madrid’s toughest figures. That takes guts.”

Kai retreated to his half with his shoulders heavy and his jaw set. If no one had intervened, he might have gone after Ramos properly. It was the heat of the moment. But in those moments, walking away is sometimes the only sensible choice.

The once-fiery Champions League semi-final had turned sour — tension thick enough to cut through with a knife.

Both sides were seething. Arsenal’s players were full of anger, while Real Madrid’s frustration simmered dangerously close to the surface. Challenges grew harder, tempers shorter. The referee had to flash two more yellow cards just to calm things down.

Pepe’s red card had left Madrid a man short, and the Spanish giants clearly lost some of their bite. Arsenal, despite losing Suarez, pushed forward through Walcott’s pace and Rosický’s creativity.

Suarez’s replacement, young Sanogo, seized the moment with determination. It was a difficult situation, but for him, this was also a golden chance to prove himself.

Real Madrid made quick tactical changes. Carlo Ancelotti switched to a conservative shape, sacrificing Benzema to reinforce the defense. A 4-3-2 setup took shape — damage control mode. He wasn’t chasing an equalizer anymore. His focus was survival — keep the scoreline tight and regroup back in Madrid.

Arsenal smelled blood. They wanted another goal, a cushion to carry into the second leg.
But with ten men entrenched behind the ball, Real Madrid were stubborn. Every gap was closed, every shot blocked. When the final whistle blew, Arsenal had won 2–1 — a valuable victory, but one tinged with unease.

Martin Taylor: “A big win for Arsenal in the first leg — but it’s not without cost. Suarez’s injury is a huge concern. They’ve got the lead, but the loss of their main striker could have major repercussions in both the Premier League and the Champions League.”

Alan Smith: “You’re right, Martin. Pepe’s red card will hurt Madrid, but they’ve got depth in defense. Arsenal, though… Suarez’s absence will really test their squad depth.”

When the final whistle echoed, Kai didn’t even pause. He brushed past everyone — even Cristiano Ronaldo’s outstretched hand — and strode straight down the tunnel.

Inside the locker room, he found Suarez still seated with the medical staff. The sight eased his mind slightly.

If Suarez was still here, it couldn’t be too bad.

Kai knelt beside him. “How’s it looking?”

Suarez grinned through the pain. “Just a strain. I’ll be fine after some rest.”

Kai blinked. “Just a strain? Looked a lot worse from the pitch.”

Suarez rolled up his shorts, revealing three nasty scratches down his thigh — already cleaned and bandaged. “Pepe’s studs caught me. Flesh wounds, that’s all.”

Kai let out a long breath and turned to Dr. Gary. “Can he play the next match?”

Lewin shook his head. “No chance. He’ll need a few weeks at least.”

Kai sighed heavily. Suarez’s injury wasn’t catastrophic, but it was still a major setback.

When the rest of the team arrived, everyone crowded around Suarez. Relief washed through the room when they heard it wasn’t serious — though disappointment lingered knowing he’d miss upcoming fixtures.

Kai clapped Suarez on the shoulder and smiled. “Rest up. We’ll bring that Champions League trophy back for you.”

Suarez chuckled softly, warmth flickering behind tired eyes. He appreciated it — even if guilt gnawed at him. Everyone was fighting for the same dream, and now he’d have to watch from the sidelines.

Outside the dressing room, headlines were already taking shape.
In England, Suarez was being defended — Pepe’s tackle branded “disgraceful” and “cowardly.”

In Spain, however, the tabloids were spinning their own story: “Did Suarez Bite Again?”

Even though replays clearly showed Pepe’s hand near Suarez’s mouth, still photos made it look incriminating — Suarez’s grimace captured at just the wrong moment.

It didn’t help that both men already had reputations: one for temper, the other for… well, biting. Fans on both sides dug in, defending their own.

But the Suarez-Pepe saga wasn’t the only thing making headlines.
Kai and Ramos had stolen the spotlight, too — their altercation had gone viral.

Ramos, not one to take humiliation lightly, hit back on social media:

“A coward who hides behind his teammates. @Lekai”

Kai’s reply came quickly:

“You sure you’re not talking about yourself? If Casillas hadn’t held you back, you’d be lying next to Pepe. 💪”

It was short, sharp, and brutal. The online feud sent the football world into a frenzy — pundits, fans, and tabloids all jumping into the fray.

But Kai didn’t engage any further. He had no time for drama — not with the Premier League still raging, and Madrid waiting for revenge in the second leg.

Chapter 419: Still Undefeated

From the 16th to the 21st, the Knicks swept through their homestand, defeating the Magic, Suns, Bucks, and Nuggets to push their season-opening winning streak to 16 straight.

Something significant did happen in one of those interviews involving Lin that dominated the headlines for a while.

...

Bucks 90, Knicks 130

Post Game Interview:

The locker room was still buzzing when Lin Yi stepped up to the post-game podium. The Knicks had just crushed the Bucks at Madison Square Garden — another statement win, another triple-double for Lin.

The reporters were already leaning forward, recorders in hand.

“Lin, huge win tonight,” one of them started. “Another triple-double at the Garden. How are you feeling after that performance?”

Lin smiled, adjusting the mic. “Honestly? I’m really happy. But more than that, I’m proud of how we played as a team tonight. Everyone contributed — it wasn’t just me. We moved the ball, defended hard, and stayed focused from start to finish.”

He paused for a second, his tone even and measured. “We just want to keep this run going as long as we can. Keep winning, keep improving. If everything lines up the way it should, I think we’ve got a real shot to go deep in the playoffs — maybe even all the way.”

The room hummed as the next few questions came in. Reporters asked about the team’s chemistry, his growing partnership with Klay, and how the Knicks were maintaining their energy through such a long season.

Lin answered them all patiently — a mix of calm professionalism and that grounded charm fans loved him for.

Then, as things began to wind down, he cleared his throat and leaned slightly toward the mic.

“Uh, before we wrap this up,” he said, voice softening, “I wanna go a little off-script here.”

The chatter quieted instantly.

“This isn’t about basketball,” he continued. “It’s about something that happened recently. Some of you might’ve seen what went down with the paparazzi and my girlfriend.”

He took a breath, his expression tightening slightly. “She was out having dinner with her sisters, and they basically harassed her — flashing cameras in her face, questioning her integrity, the whole deal. That’s not right. I get it — I chose this life. I play basketball, I’m in the public eye. But she didn’t sign up for that.”

There was a murmur among the reporters, pens already scratching against notepads.

“I just want to say this: the paparazzi need to stop. That kind of behavior crosses the line. It made me really angry to see her treated that way.”

Then Lin gave a wry smile, shaking his head slightly. “But hey, paparazzi will be paparazzi. I’m not expecting them to stop because I said so. So, I’ve taken my own steps. I’ve hired security — and if anyone tries that again, they’ll be dealt with. Quickly.”

A tense silence fell over the room. The reporters didn’t even look up — everyone was scribbling, phones already lighting up with alerts.

Lin looked around, then gave a small nod. “Alright. That’s all from me. Thanks, everyone.”

Without another word, he stood, straightened his jacket, and walked off the stage — leaving behind a room full of stunned reporters, and the sound of writing on notepads was heard.

...

By the 22nd, the media buzzed with speculation about which team might finally hand them their first loss, and the paparazzi seemed to have gotten the memo and backed off.

Lin Yi and Olsen, on the other hand, quietly spent an unforgettable Chinese New Year’s Eve together—away from the noise, just the two of them.

“Huh? Toyota wants me to endorse their cars?” Lin Yi asked, dumpling dough still on his hands as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Yeah,” Zhong said casually. “They’ve got this sports car called the 86. Thought it’d be a fun fit, you know? With you making 86 points recently.”

Lin Yi, half-listening to Zhong, went behind Elizabeth, who was looking serious in kneading the dumpling dough. He began to assist her by controlling her hands in the kneading process.

Liz, feeling Lin's presence behind her, decided to back into him and grind on him.

Lin could see her mischievous smile from his height. Feeling challenged, he leaned in to kiss her neck, which caused her to yelp.

After struggling to pay attention to the Toyota deal, since he was dealing with a boner and an unrepentant woman, he didn't take it. It wasn’t out of arrogance—just instinct. Something about it didn’t feel right.

Zhong didn’t push. There were plenty of brands to work with anyway. Later that day, he sent Lin Yi another email. “Check your inbox. Nike’s designer Caesar just finished your 86-point limited edition sneakers. Only 50,000 pairs will be released worldwide. Demand’s insane—lottery only.”

The collaboration between Lin Yi and Nike had been smooth so far. They were already planning to offer him a lifetime contract once his current deal expired—turning the Death line into something as iconic as Jordan’s.

The sneakers themselves were stunning: bold yet clean, in red, blue, white, and black. Fans could even customize them to their taste. Lin Yi had no idea that, years later, those same shoes would become a collector’s dream—nearly impossible to find.

The NBA didn’t schedule a Chinese New Year’s Day game that year, so the Knicks got two rare days off. Klay Thompson dropped by to visit and immediately started teasing.

“Bro, these dumplings are tiny! You sure they’re not ravioli?”

Lin Yi’s face twitched. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. The team chefs made buns, not dumplings. Don’t blame me for their crimes!”

He also made time to call Yao Ming and Yi Jianlian to exchange New Year’s greetings. Yi was having a solid season after tweaking his form—Nikola Vučević often asked him for shooting tips.

According to ESPN’s advanced stats, John Wall averaged at least three assists per game that came off Yi’s baskets. It proved that playing smart and consistently could go a long way in keeping a career alive.

Yao, meanwhile, was thrilled with how Lin Yi’s show This Is Basketball had reignited passion for the sport back home. “Lin, your idea was brilliant,” Yao said. “Basketball only thrives when there’s a strong base. Our college leagues actually have a few great prospects too.”

Lin Yi couldn’t help but admire Yao’s dedication. He remembered that Yao would later pioneer China’s 3-on-3 basketball system—recruiting players straight from grassroots competitions. Whether they’d win the Asian Games or not, Yao was right: without a mass foundation, no sport can last.

By the time Forbes released its 2011 Asian Celebrity List, the top three spots were all Chinese: Lin Yi, Yao Ming, and Yi Jianlian. Basketball fever was everywhere. Agencies were making young idols learn to dribble, and celebrities were flooding Weibo with gym selfies and jump shots.

Basketball had become more than a sport in China. It was the culture now—and Lin Yi had played a big part in that.

Chapter 418: A Passionate Talk (R-18)

The night flight from Oklahoma City touched down past midnight. Lin Yi’s body ached from the back-to-back schedule, but his mind wasn’t on rest or recovery. Not tonight.

He had spent the whole flight replaying Ashley Olsen’s call in his head — the paparazzi. The more he thought about it, the more that quiet anger built inside him.

By the time the car rolled up to his villa in New York, the exhaustion had disappeared, replaced by something sharper — worry mixed with guilt. He hadn’t been there.

He hit the bell, waited. A soft light flickered on inside. Moments later, the door opened.

“Lin?” Elizabeth blinked, surprised, still in a loose sweater and socks. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back tonight.”

“I wanted to see you.” His voice was low, rough from travel and emotion.

She smiled faintly and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. The moment he felt her warmth, the tension in his shoulders loosened a little. He held her close, breathing in the faint trace of her perfume. Then she looked up, and before either of them said another word, they kissed — long, quiet, and full of the longing that had built up over weeks of distance.

When they finally broke apart, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled softly. “Come in, superstar.”

Lin followed her into the living room. The place was dimly lit, a candle flickering on the coffee table. She curled up on the couch beside him, but he didn’t start with small talk.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly.

Elizabeth froze for a second. “Tell you what?”

“The paparazzi. The things they shouted at you. Ashley told me everything.”

Her expression shifted — surprise first, then defensiveness. “I didn’t want to worry you. You had a game, Lin. You don’t need this kind of—”

“Liz.” His voice hardened, but not in anger — in concern. “You’re my girlfriend. If people are harassing you, I need to know.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers tightening around each other. “I just… didn’t want to look like I couldn’t handle it. You already get enough attention, and I didn’t want to add to it. I didn’t want people saying I’m with you because of the fame or the money. They already—”

Her voice cracked slightly. “They already make me feel like I’m some kind of accessory in your life.”

Lin’s anger — that low fire in his chest — softened instantly. He reached out, carried her up into his arms with his hands cradling her thighs. She didn’t resist this time; her head rested against his shoulder, her breathing uneven.

“Liz,” he said softly, “I don’t care what anyone says. You’re not with me for any of that. You were there when I was a rookie. There before the records, before the titles, before everything really blew up. You think I’d believe a headline over what I know about you?”

She gave a quiet laugh — short, shaky. “You’re too good at this, you know that?”

He smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No. I’m just telling the truth.”

They stayed that way for a long while before she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a raw intensity that cut through the dim light.

"I need you, Lin," she whispered, her voice trembling not from the previous tension but from the ache that had been building inside her for days. The harassment, the noise, the isolation—it all melted away when she looked at him like this, like he was the only anchor in her storm.

He didn't hesitate. Despite the bone-deep fatigue from the flight and the games, his body responded to her words like a spark to dry tinder. He carried her toward the bedroom, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands clutching at his shirt as if letting go would mean losing him again. The door clicked shut behind them, the room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Lin lowered her onto the bed, his hands sliding up her sweater, pushing it over her head in one fluid motion. She arched into his touch, her skin flushed and warm under his palms.

"Touch me. Feel me," she breathed, guiding his fingers to the clasp of her bra. He unhooked it quickly, tossing it aside, and cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples. She gasped, her hips bucking up against him, seeking friction.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his voice husky as he leaned down to take one nipple into his mouth. "My addiction."

He sucked gently at first, then harder, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. Elizabeth moaned, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer and deeper. The sound of her pleasure ignited something primal in him, chasing away the last remnants of exhaustion.

She tugged at his shirt, yanking it off him, her nails scraping lightly down his chest. "I need to feel you inside me," she said, her words urgent, desperate.

Her hands fumbled with his belt, unbuckling it with shaky fingers. Lin helped her, shoving his pants down along with his boxers, his cock springing free, already hard and throbbing from the heat of her body against his.

Elizabeth's eyes darkened with hunger as she wrapped her hand around his length, stroking him firmly from base to tip. He groaned, his hips thrusting into her grip. "God, Liz," he rasped, kicking off his pants completely before turning his attention to her.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and panties, peeling them down her legs in a slow, deliberate drag that made her shiver.

Naked now, she spread her thighs for him, her pussy glistening with arousal. Lin settled between her legs, his hands gripping her hips. She rocked against him, her clit brushing his cock, both of them panting into each other's mouths.

"Please," she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck me, Lin. I need you inside me."

He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging her slick folds. With one steady thrust, he pushed inside her, filling her. Elizabeth cried out, her walls clenching around him, hot and wet and perfect. He paused for a moment, buried to the hilt, savoring the way she pulsed around his length.

Then he started moving, slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in, deep and measured. She met every thrust with her own, her legs locking around his waist, urging him harder.

"HMM! Yes!, yes!, like tha~t," she gasped, her breasts bouncing with each impact. Lin's hands roamed her body, one sliding down to rub circles over her clit, making her arch and moan louder.

The exhaustion was forgotten; all that mattered was this—their bodies slamming together, skin slick with sweat, the wet sounds of him fucking her echoing in the room. He picked up the pace as he hugged her in a sitting position and pounded into her with fervent strokes, his balls slapping against her ass. Elizabeth's breath came in short, ragged bursts, her fingers clawing at his back as pleasure coiled tight in her core.

"I'm close," she panted, her pussy fluttering around his cock. "Don't stop—oh fuck!, yes–sh! Lin!"

He drove into her harder, his own release building, the pressure at the base of his spine intensifying.

"Come for me, Liz," he growled, pinching her clit lightly. That sent her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with a keening cry, her juices soaking his cock as she clenched and spasmed.

The sensation pulled him under, too. With a guttural groan, Lin thrust deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he came inside her, hot spurts of cum filling her up. He collapsed against her, both of them trembling, breaths mingling in the afterglow.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, locked together, his weight a comforting blanket over her. Elizabeth traced lazy patterns on his back, a soft smile curving her lips. "I love you," she whispered, the words carrying all the reassurance she needed.

"I love you too," he replied, pressing a kiss to her neck. In that intimate quiet, the world outside—the paparazzi, the headlines—faded to nothing.

Lin Yi and Elizabeth Olsen fell asleep tangled in each other's arms, their bodies pressed close under the sheets. The night passed quietly, the villa silent around them.

...

The next morning, the alarm blared, with Lin waking up first and kissing Elizabeth's shoulder. She stirred and opened her eyes, smiling at him. They got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

They brushed their teeth side by side at the sink, bumping elbows and laughing, teasing each other over who used more toothpaste. Elizabeth rinsed her mouth and turned to him.

"This feels nice," she said.

Lin soon started the shower, steam filling the room. They stepped under the warm water together. He picked up the soap and lathered his hands, then ran them over her shoulders and down her back. His fingers traced her spine, appreciating the curve of her hips. He turned her around and washed her breasts, his palms sliding over her nipples until they hardened. Elizabeth leaned into him, her hands on his chest.

"You have the best body," he said, his voice low.

He knelt and soaped her legs, moving up to her thighs and between them. His touch lingered on her pussy, gentle and thorough. She moaned softly and threaded her fingers through his wet hair.

He stood and rinsed her off, then she returned the favor, washing his chest and stomach, her hands gripping his cock for a moment before letting go. They toweled dry and dressed in robes.

In the kitchen, Lin made breakfast—eggs, toast, and fruit. They sat at the table. Elizabeth sipped coffee while he ate.

During small talk, Lin brought it up. "About the bodyguard thing last night... you were against it before."

She nodded, cutting into her eggs. "I know. I didn't want to seem paranoid or draw more attention. But after the paparazzi hassle, I get it now. Some protection makes sense."

He reached for her hand. "I'm glad you agree. It'll keep you safe."

Seeing her relax, Lin stood and pulled her from her chair. He sat back down and guided her onto his lap, her robe hitched up slightly. She settled against him, making herself comfortable.

He picked up a piece of toast and fed it to her, watching her bite and chew. She licked a crumb from her lip, and he kissed her softly.

"This is nice," she said, resting on his chest.

He fed her some fruit next, his free hand on her thigh. They stayed like that, sharing bites and quiet words, the morning calm wrapping around them.

After breakfast, Lin checked his clock. "I need to head to Madison Square Garden for training with the team."

Elizabeth slid off his lap and straightened her robe. "Go"

He kissed her once more before preparing his stuff and meeting her at the door for a final goodbye.

Chapter 216: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 6

Arsenal’s attack didn’t end in a goal, but it solved a lot of their earlier issues going forward.

Cazorla, finding his rhythm again, was exactly what they needed.

Slap!

Cazorla winced, spinning around after feeling a sharp sting across his back.

“ What was that for?!” he yelped.

Kai grinned and barked a laugh. “Fifty minutes in and you finally wake up, eh?”

Cazorla couldn’t help but chuckle. “Heh, not bad, huh?”

Kai gave him a fierce look. “Now keep it going. Break through them.”

Cazorla nodded, his expression firm.

The first half had been torture for him — nerves, tension, that constant self-blame whenever a pass didn’t land right. His body had felt stiff, unresponsive, like he was trapped in his own head.

But after halftime, something clicked.

Wenger’s words came back to him — enjoy the moment, enjoy the stage.

He wasn’t alone. This was Arsenal. Eleven men, fighting together.

“Come on, lads! Lift your heads! Let’s show Madrid what we’re made of!”

Kai raised his arms and shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd.

The response was instant — shouts, claps, defiant energy surging through the team.

On the touchline, Wenger let out a quiet breath of relief.

Cazorla was crucial. When he played with confidence, Arsenal’s attack had life and rhythm. If he shut down again, their offense would sputter out.

In the first half, Kai had been the one carrying the creative load, but he couldn’t do everything. He needed Cazorla to spark that link between midfield and attack.

Pat Rice shook his head beside Wenger. “If only he had the same mindset as Kai.”

Wenger smiled faintly. “If everyone did, we’d have a lot more world-class players. It’s normal to be nervous — what matters is how you rise above it.”

“So,” Pat said with a wry grin, “we’re about to see the counterattack?”

Wenger shrugged lightly. “Who knows? The game’s in their hands now. All we can do is trust them.”

“I do,” Pat replied firmly. “Every single one of them.”

Back on the pitch, Kai walked over to Ramsey. “Don’t dive in straight away,” he said calmly. “Slow Bale down, make him hesitate — then wait for Cazorla to drop in. You’ll trap him together.”

Ramsey nodded. “Got it.”

Bale had been tormenting him earlier, and he wasn’t about to let that happen again.

As Kai drifted back into position, his eyes locked onto Cristiano Ronaldo.

He licked his lips — his next challenge.

How do you stop someone like him?

Ronaldo didn’t dribble as much these days, nor did he waste energy roaming wide. But when he did move, he was lethal — and his aerial power was still unmatched.

Kai trusted his own spring, but he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

And Ronaldo’s off-the-ball movement was chaos — unpredictable, relentless. He’d need total focus.

“Come on, then,” Kai muttered under his breath.

Casillas took the goal kick, launching the ball high into midfield.

Modrić and Cazorla both rose for it, clashing shoulder to shoulder — but neither made contact.

The ball spun loose, dropping toward the back line.

Kai moved first, but Ronaldo was already on the move.

They jostled hard, bodies colliding. Ronaldo shoved. Kai shoved back. Neither budged.

Kroos' ball arced above them — both men timed their leap.

Bang!

Ronaldo’s vertical leap edged it. He got there first, flicking the ball down toward Modrić.

Kai landed, irritation flashing across his face, but he didn’t dwell on it — he turned and sprinted to track Ronaldo.

Modrić drove forward, Ronaldo and Bale already charging toward the box.

Ramsey stepped up to press — but Modrić, with a deft flick of the outside of his foot, lofted the ball perfectly to Bale on the right wing.

Bale controlled it smoothly and whipped in an early cross.

It was aimed at Ronaldo.

The Portuguese star surged into the area, eyes locked on the dropping ball.

But just as it descended, a red shirt came soaring from behind.

Ronaldo’s eyes widened — too early?

No.

Kai had launched himself high — unnaturally high — spreading his arms wide in mid-air, gliding forward on pure momentum.

He met the ball cleanly with his forehead, hammering it out of the penalty area.

Martin Taylor: “That’s magnificent from Kai! He read it perfectly and out-jumped Ronaldo!”

Alan Smith: “Superb defending — that’s pure determination. He knew he couldn’t let Ronaldo get a sniff there!”

The Emirates roared as Kai landed, his chest heaving, eyes locked on Ronaldo.

Cristiano Ronaldo stared at him, slightly taken aback. He hadn’t expected Kai’s hang time to be that good — or his timing that precise.

It wasn’t that Ronaldo couldn’t do it himself, but the hardest part was always judging the flight of the ball. You couldn’t predict its exact drop, and jumping too early meant wasting your effort.

But Kai had read it perfectly.

After clearing the ball, he immediately spun around and sprinted out of the penalty area — heading straight toward Real Madrid’s half.

His arms pumped, his strides long and powerful. The new running posture he’d been practicing finally felt natural, and he could feel the difference — the wind rushing past, the freedom in each step.

“Kai!!”

Someone called out behind him.

He turned — just in time to see the ball flying his way.

Kai stopped sharply, twisted, and let the ball drop onto his shoulder. It bounced lightly, rolled to his left, and he struck it on the half-volley — a perfectly timed pass whipped toward the far right flank.

Once again, he’d aimed behind Coentrão.

The ball zipped across the pitch, skipping over the turf with a backward spin that slowed it down just enough.

Right on cue, Walcott arrived, barely needing to control it before cutting inward with pace.

The sudden shift threw Real Madrid’s back line into disarray.

Ramos stepped forward to close him down — but Walcott slipped in a quick diagonal pass back to Cazorla.

Cazorla took one touch and laid it off neatly to Kai, who’d followed up. Without hesitation, Kai chipped the ball delicately with the inside of his foot.

It arced over Pepe’s head and dropped right behind him — exactly where Rosicky was arriving.

Rosicky leaned in, chested the ball down, spun, and smashed a thunderous shot toward goal!

From that range, Casillas barely had time to flinch. The ball rocketed into the back of the net!

The Emirates erupted—

Then froze.

The Arsenal supporters, halfway through their celebrations, hesitated when they saw the Real Madrid players swarming the referee.

No whistle yet.

Kai and his teammates rushed over too, voices clashing.

“That’s offside!” shouted Ramos.

“No way! Ask the linesman!” Kai shot back.

“He was behind me when he played it!”

“No! We ran at the same time — check it!”

The shouting grew louder as players from both sides crowded around. The referee waved his hands, urging them to back off, pressing a finger to his earpiece.

“The referee’s confirming whether that was offside,” said Pat Rice tensely.

“I don’t think it was — Rosicky timed it perfectly,” Martin Taylor observed.

A few seconds later, the referee nodded, turned toward the center circle, and blew his whistle.

Goal stands!

For a heartbeat, the stadium was silent.

Then came the explosion — the red half of London erupted in sheer ecstasy.

“Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal!” Alan Smith shouted over the roar. “Rosicky again! Arsenal retakes the lead against Real Madrid! The Emirates is absolutely rocking tonight!”

In the stands, Arsenal fans jumped, hugged, and waved scarves wildly. The air was electric — disbelief and joy blending into one glorious sound.

This was the Champions League semi-final.

Arsenal had led Real Madrid twice in one night.

Who dared say the Gunners’ canons had no ammo?

Not only were they loaded — they were firing straight into the Madridistas' hearts.

Chapter 215: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 5

Real Madrid’s equalizer in the closing stages of the first half had been a heavy blow for Arsenal.

But they didn’t back down. As the first half drew to a close, the contest between the two sides only grew fiercer.

Both teams were attacking relentlessly, each desperate to edge ahead before halftime.

After 45 minutes of high-intensity play, fatigue began to creep in, and mistakes were bound to happen — both sides were waiting for one.

Yet neither blinked. Real Madrid and Arsenal both remained disciplined, their defenses refusing to crack.

When the whistle finally blew, the scoreboard still read 1–1.

Martin Taylor: “And that’s the end of a gripping first half! Both teams have played at full throttle — disciplined, composed, and aggressive in attack. It’s been a brilliant half of football.”

Alan Smith: “Absolutely. Arsenal’s defense stood firm against Real Madrid’s pressure, and credit to Real too — they handled Arsenal’s counters well. With the score level, the second half promises to be electric!”

The Arsenal supporters roared their approval, waving scarves and flags, urging their side to push on.

The players trudged back down the tunnel, sweat dripping, lungs burning.

Wenger was the last to enter the dressing room. He shut the door, turned to face his players, and began setting out his adjustments for the second half.

“We cannot lose the midfield,” Wenger began firmly. “That’s the heartbeat of this match. Once either side loses control there, the whole game swings one way.”

He turned to Kai. “In the second half, you’ll swap positions with Ramsey. You’re marking Ronaldo.”

Kai nodded.

He actually preferred it this way — Ronaldo’s style, though deadly, was more predictable than Bale’s raw bursts of speed. And with this switch, Kai would link more directly with Walcott on transitions, which suited his game perfectly.

“Santi,” Wenger said, turning toward Cazorla, “I need you to make an impact.”

Cazorla gave a sheepish smile. His first-half display hadn’t been up to his usual standard — Real’s pressure had smothered his rhythm.

If not for Kai’s relentless work disrupting Madrid’s build-up, Arsenal’s midfield might’ve been overrun.

Cazorla drew in a breath, then straightened up. “I’ll get it right.”

Wenger nodded, clapping his hands together. “Good. Lads, remember — there’s still another forty-five minutes. Don’t overthink the result. Play your football, enjoy the game!”

In the Real Madrid dressing room, Carlo Ancelotti’s approach was different.

He didn’t draw up new tactics. He didn’t need to. The system was already in place — now it was about execution and energy.

“Keep your composure,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And remember — when you get the ball, find Ronaldo.”

It was simple but effective.

Ronaldo was Madrid’s cutting edge, their superstar, their weapon. Ancelotti knew his job wasn’t to complicate things — it was to make sure Ronaldo got the platform to do what he did best.

..

Halftime flew by.

The players emerged from the tunnel, faces set, ready for battle.

Neither side had made changes — same lineups, same intensity.

Martin Taylor: “Here we go then — the second half, and it’s all to play for!”

Alan Smith: “Exactly. Arsenal will know Real Madrid are going to step it up now. This is the real test for them — can they weather the storm?”

Martin Taylor: “And for Kai as well. He’s carried a huge defensive load so far, but with Ronaldo and Bale both flying, his discipline will be absolutely vital.”

Kai closed his eyes for a moment.

Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale…

He focused his breathing, trying to block out everything else.

Wenger’s words echoed in his head: Don’t think about the result. That’s not your job. Just play. Enjoy the moment.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was sharp and steady.

The whistle blew. Real Madrid kicked off the second half — and immediately went on the offensive.

Bale drove straight down the flank, trying to muscle past Ramsey again, sticking with the same explosive strategy from the first half.

But Ramsey wasn’t Kai — his one-on-one defending wasn’t as sharp. He had to rely on Gibbs for support, doubling up to contain Bale.

Even so, it wasn’t enough.

After a few failed attempts, Bale began to find his rhythm again — his confidence rising, his movements fluid.

Alan Smith: “Bale’s really growing into this now — he’s got that spring back in his step!”

Martin Taylor: “And that’s a problem for Arsenal. Ramsey’s struggling to contain him — if that flank opens up, it could pull their whole shape apart.”

Kai, stationed on the right and marking Ronaldo, kept glancing across the pitch, alert to Ramsey’s struggle. He was tracking Ronaldo, yes — but he was also ready to drop back in a heartbeat if Bale broke free again.

Kai hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to drop back and help Ramsey.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement — Bale, charging down the flank again, full of confidence, throwing in a series of flashy step-overs.

Freed from Kai’s earlier shackles, Bale looked like a man reborn.

He nudged the ball to his left, gearing up to bulldoze past Ramsey. To be honest, it wasn’t particularly fancy — Bale’s real danger had always come from his raw pace and sheer power, not the tricks.

Ramsey was already half a step behind when Bale made his move. The Welshman’s grin widened — he could almost see the open grass ahead.

But before he could break free, someone came flying in from the side.

Cazorla.

He slammed into Bale with perfect timing, cutting off his run. Bale stumbled, suddenly off balance, as Ramsey regrouped to close in. The two Arsenal players trapped him in a tight pocket.

Martin Taylor: “Cazorla! What a recovery run — perfect timing on that double-team!”

Alan Smith: “And Bale’s in a spot of trouble here! He’s been boxed in completely!”

Under relentless pressure, Bale lost his footing, and the ball slipped away.

Cazorla pounced, nicking it cleanly before spinning away and bursting upfield.

Modrić darted in to intercept, stretching a leg to block — but Cazorla, reading it early, stopped dead and slid the ball neatly past him with a slick La Croqueta, gliding through as the Madrid midfielder spun around helplessly.

Martin Taylor: “Cazorla! Past Modrić — beautiful bit of footwork!”

Alan Smith: “That’s more like it! That’s the Cazorla Arsenal have been missing tonight.”

Cazorla was flying now, slicing diagonally across midfield, the pitch opening up in front of him. Xabi Alonso gave chase, but couldn’t quite close the angle.

Momentum surged through Arsenal’s attack — you could feel it.

Within seconds, Cazorla was just outside the penalty area. He shaped to shoot — Ramos lunged to block — but Cazorla deftly hooked the ball to his left instead, ghosting past him.

Only for Pepe to step up.

The Spaniard didn’t panic — he flicked the ball sideways in a flash.

And there was Suárez, bursting into the box.

The ball came at an awkward height, but instinct took over — Suárez twisted his body mid-air and went for the scissor kick.

Bang!

The strike was pure. His instep connected perfectly, sending the ball spinning toward the top corner.

Casillas threw himself full stretch — but it was clear he wasn’t getting there.

Then—

Ding!

The ball smashed off the post.

Martin Taylor: “Oh, what an effort! Cazorla set it up beautifully — Suárez hits it clean — and it’s off the post!”

Alan Smith: “Agonizing! That was inches away from being a stunner!”

All around the Emirates, fans froze, hands clutching their heads in disbelief.

Suárez landed hard, pounding the turf in frustration. Cazorla just shook his head, half-smiling in exasperation.

Martin Taylor: “So unlucky — but that was a brilliant move. And the best news for Arsenal — Cazorla’s rhythm is finally coming back.”

Alan Smith: “Exactly. He’s a vital part of Arsenal’s creativity. If he’s in form again, that takes a lot of weight off Kai’s shoulders in midfield.”

Kai exhaled deeply, his eyes following Cazorla as he jogged back.

Yeah — that was the spark they’d been missing.

Chapter 417: An Angry Beating

The gym in Oklahoma City was quiet except for the rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood. Lin Yi sat on the sideline, towel draped over his shoulders, catching his breath after an intense shooting drill. His phone buzzed on the bench beside him.

An unknown number.

He frowned, wiped his hands on his shorts, and picked it up anyway. “Hello? Lin Yi speaking.”

There was a brief pause, then a familiar, calm voice came through.
“Hi, Lin… this is Ashley. Ashley Olsen.”

Lin straightened a little. “Ashley Olsen? Big Sis Ashley?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Sorry to bother you — I know you’re busy, and you’ve got a game tomorrow. But this is… kind of urgent.”

Something in her tone made Lin’s chest tighten. He turned slightly away from his teammates, lowering his voice. “What’s going on? Is Elizabeth alright?”

Ashley hesitated. “She’s safe, but… there was an incident tonight. Some paparazzi cornered us outside a restaurant downtown. They said some really awful things — about her, about you. It got ugly for a minute.”

Lin’s expression darkened. “How bad?”

“They were shouting things about her using you for fame, calling her names, saying she was only with you for publicity.” Ashley’s voice cracked slightly, the anger and frustration breaking through her usual composure. “Mary-Kate and I tried to block the cameras, but… it shook her up. She tried to act calm, but I could tell she was holding it in.”

Lin exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. The air around him seemed heavier, and for a moment, the noise of the gym faded out. His face shifted from worry to a deep frown, his eyes narrowing as if he could see those paparazzi right in front of him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, steadying his tone. “Thank you for telling me, Ashley. I’ll handle this. I’ll talk to her when I’m back in New York.”

“I didn’t want to make it worse by calling,” she said. “But I thought you should know. She’s trying to keep it together, but… it’s not easy being in your spotlight.”

Lin nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You did the right thing. I appreciate it.”

There was a pause — the kind that said both of them had more to say, but didn’t know how. Then Ashley’s voice softened. “She really loves you, Lin. She’s just trying not to burden you with all this.”

Lin’s grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

They said their goodbyes, and Lin ended the call.

He sat still for a moment, staring at the gym floor. His teammates noticed something off. Chris Paul walked over, tossing a towel at him.
“Everything good, man? You look like you just got bad news.”

Lin blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “Yeah… just something personal. I’ll deal with it.”

Paul studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. But don’t bottle it up too much, alright? You’re carrying enough already.”

Lin managed a small nod. “I’m fine.”

The practice resumed, the sounds of the gym coming back to life. Lin picked up his ball and started shooting again — each shot sharper, harder, more focused than before.

...

Before the Knicks tipped off against the Thunder, the consensus among analysts was that Oklahoma City could cause real problems for the defending champs.

Now, as the game began, Durant lined up across from him, full of energy, ready to attack. Lin looked him over once and thought, Wrong night to test me, Kevin.

Durant had forgotten something crucial — the Knicks’ role players were well-rested after the Grizzlies game. They were fresh, locked in, and ready to feed off Lin’s mood.

And Lin… was playing angry.

Thunder coach Scott Brooks went with the usual script: heavy coverage on Lin, crowd him, make him pass. It might’ve worked on another night. But tonight, Lin Yi wasn’t forcing shots — he was controlling everything. Every rebound, every rotation, every touch of the ball carried weight.

Something was simmering under every movement — a sharpness that made his teammates play harder, faster, meaner.

The Thunder’s defensive focus on Lin backfired completely.

He didn’t chase points — he dismantled them piece by piece. Waited for the right pass. Crashed the glass. Set up teammates. Even intercepted a few of Paul’s assists just because he could. It wasn’t about numbers tonight — it was about control.

And the Knicks followed his lead.

Shots started falling from everywhere.

Brooks kept calling timeouts, looking more lost each time.

Lin barely reacted.

He just stared at the floor during breaks, hands clasped, jaw still tight.

When Klay Thompson started struggling against James Harden’s step-back, Lin finally spoke.
“Don’t let him get in your head,” he said quietly, patting Klay’s shoulder. “Play your game. Don’t give him what he wants.”

Klay nodded. He could feel that same edge in Lin’s tone — calm, but burning.

By the second quarter, the Thunder clawed back, but the Knicks’ momentum returned just as quickly. Danny Green picked up the slack, knocking down threes like he was in a shooting drill. The bench was hyped. The Knicks’ sideline felt alive.

Brooks, meanwhile, couldn’t figure it out. He had all that young talent — Durant, Westbrook, Harden — but they weren’t in sync. They were individuals fighting battles, not a team.

Lin Yi knew that feeling well, but tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for empathy.

He was running on anger — not the kind that made you lose control, but the kind that sharpened every instinct. He was angry at how the world treated people close to him. Angry that he couldn’t be there. Angry that someone like Elizabeth — kind, private, grounded — had to deal with that circus because of him.

Every assist, every rebound, every screen — it was his way of letting it out.

When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read: Knicks 130, Thunder 101.

Another road win.

Another message sent.

Lin Yi’s stat line was hot even with all his facilitation — 34 points, 15 rebounds, 13 assists.

A triple-double.

Everyone who watched him play could feel the difference. The composure, the intensity — it wasn’t the same as usual. It was colder, heavier.

Durant had dropped 30-plus again, but it didn’t matter. It was his fifth straight loss to Lin Yi. He’d expected headlines comparing their games, maybe questioning his leadership. But this time, nobody even mentioned his name.

Everyone was still talking about Lin’s 86-point masterpiece from the last game.

Durant could only mutter under his breath as he left the court,
“Yeah, of course… Lin again.”

Lin didn’t even notice. He was already in the tunnel, chatting briefly with Harden about their offseason workouts. Harden joked, Lin smiled faintly, and that was that.

...

After taking down the Thunder, the Knicks finally flew back to New York.

The 2011–12 NBA season felt like a blur — rushed, cramped, and exhausting.

Injuries had started piling up across the league. The tight schedule was punishing, and the Knicks were incredibly fortunate to have avoided disaster so far. Even Tracy McGrady, who hadn’t played a minute this season, was still in one piece. For now, anyway.

Returning to New York with a 12-game winning streak, the Knicks were flying high — comfortably sitting atop the standings and making the rest of the league look like it was scrambling to catch up. But take the Knicks out of the picture, and the season was nothing short of chaos.

The Heat and Bulls were the only other teams in the East that looked remotely stable. The Pacers, though… they were starting to look dangerous. Paul George was quietly evolving — longer, smoother, sharper — already giving off the aura of a future superstar. Would PG still suffer that injury this time around? Maybe this time, things would be different.

Meanwhile, north of the border, the Raptors were starting to show signs of life. A rejuvenated DeMar DeRozan was averaging nearly 23 a game, his jumper smoother than ever. Lin couldn’t help but feel a bit proud — DeMar had listened when Lin and the guys told him to fix his shooting mechanics. Gone was the predictable mid-range obsession; his game now fit the modern league better, more fluid, more confident.

In the East, the strong were strong, and the weak were… well, invisible.

But out West? That was a different story.

The Hornets — of all teams — had started the season 7–5. Led by Danilo Gallinari and Lou Williams, they looked way too competent for a franchise that was supposed to be tanking.

If the Hornets accidentally played themselves out of the number-one pick, the entire league’s future could shift.

The Mavericks were another headache. Kyrie Irving had Dallas fans falling in love in his rookie season. A confident Kyrie could become — smooth handles, fearless drives, impossible layups. If Dallas figures out their defensive issues, they could become the biggest threat in the West.

And then there were the Spurs. Always lurking, always silent, always waiting to remind everyone that they never really go away. Jimmy Butler was fitting in perfectly, bringing his relentless energy and work ethic to San Antonio’s system. People said Thibodeau made him. Nah, Butler made himself.

The league was ramping up, and everyone was coming for the head of the king in the East.

Chapter 214: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 4

In the 13th minute, Arsenal stunned everyone by taking the lead—something few had seen coming.

That goal, however, did more than ignite the Emirates—it lit a fire under Real Madrid’s front line.

From the restart, Madrid came charging forward with ruthless intent. The BBC trio—Bale, Benzema, and Cristiano Ronaldo—immediately began to press Arsenal’s back line, their pace and precision putting the Gunners under immense pressure.

Arsenal’s midfield soaked up the pressure, but even with Kai anchoring the center, it wasn't easy to contain that much talent at once. And then there was Modrić—constantly threading dangerous passes through the tightest spaces.

Rather than losing focus after going behind, Madrid’s intensity only grew.

Cristiano Ronaldo, in particular, looked like a man possessed. Arsenal were now feeling what it meant to face two of the world’s most fearsome attackers.

Every time Ronaldo entered shooting range, the air seemed to tighten. He could score from anywhere—left, right, or center—and Modrić was always lurking, ready to deliver another pinpoint pass.

Ronaldo’s aerial threat was another nightmare altogether. Even Mertesacker, standing nearly two meters tall, couldn’t fully contain him. The timing of Ronaldo’s leaps, his reading of the ball’s flight—it was almost unnatural.

Kai had his own battle on the opposite side. Bale had started to drop deep to receive the ball, dragging Kai out of position before exploding down the flank with terrifying speed.

Although Kai made several vital interceptions, Bale managed to slip past him a few times with his speed. Fortunately, Arsenal’s defensive rotations were sharp; the team’s coordination made up for individual lapses.

Meanwhile, Arsenal were not simply defending. They had noticed Pepe—already on a yellow card—and began targeting him with quick passes and sharp runs, forcing him into uncomfortable positions. Pepe fumed but could do little; he had brought it on himself.

Arsenal also managed to carve out a few counter-attacks, but with Walcott tightly marked and Rosický lacking the burst for fast transitions, their breakaways fizzled out. After a few failed attempts, Arsenal switched tactics, settling into a controlled, possession-based rhythm.

With only one true wing threat, they focused on stability. Rosický wasn’t a sprinter—he was there to keep the midfield calm and structured.

Even so, Arsenal continued to trade blows with Real Madrid.

Madrid’s record in this season’s Champions League had been terrifying. Nine goals over two legs against Schalke, six more against Manchester United in the quarter-finals—their attack was a machine.

With Modrić pulling the strings, the BBC trio usually ran rampant. Yet against Arsenal, they looked… restrained.

Ronaldo was tightly shadowed—Ramsey barely left his side. Bale’s pace caused problems, yes, but Gibbs’ timely support created a trap each time he tried to cut inside. Benzema, caught between Arsenal’s center-backs, found himself isolated and frustrated.

It wasn’t that Madrid were toothless—they couldn’t link together. Too many solo efforts, not enough cohesion.

Ancelotti, standing on the touchline, frowned slightly but couldn’t hide a flicker of admiration.

Trust Wenger to pull something like this.

Most managers facing the BBC trio tried to contain Ronaldo, the shell of Madrid’s artillery. But that was nearly impossible; focus too much on him, and Bale or Benzema would strike from the shadows.

Wenger, however, had flipped the script.

Rather than trying to stop Ronaldo directly, Arsenal split the trio apart—cutting off Benzema’s link-up play and limiting Bale’s runs. Without their connective play, Madrid’s artillery still had shells—but no cannon to fire them.

The match was turning into a fascinating tactical duel.

Midway through the first half, Modrić received the ball near midfield. Kai darted in with a sliding challenge, but Modrić shifted his body just enough to stay on his feet, maintaining control.

Kai’s eyes widened slightly. The Croatian looked wiry, but he was remarkably strong on the ball.

Recovering quickly, Modrić slipped a pass to Xabi Alonso, who immediately recycled it forward.

Kai retreated into position, his expression tight with focus. He had expected Madrid to be strong, but their midfield stability was even greater than he imagined.

Arsenal’s central core—Suárez, Cazorla, and Kai—was formidable, but Madrid’s axis of Benzema, Modrić, and Alonso was equally elite. Six players capable of running a match—and neither side giving an inch.

The real battles, though, were on the wings. And against Madrid’s duo of Bale and Ronaldo, Arsenal’s flanks were under siege.

Rosický and Walcott did their best, but it was a tall order. Arsenal’s fragmentation tactic required constant running—if their stamina dipped, Madrid would inevitably find gaps.

By the 38th minute, Madrid were still hammering at Arsenal’s goal.

Szczęsny, after a shaky start, was now playing the match of his life—diving left and right, parrying shots, even saving a Ronaldo knuckleball that had “goal” written all over it.

But that, too, told a story. Arsenal were being forced back, playing more reactively than they’d like.

Then—thwack!

The sharp sound of the ball smacking the net echoed around the area.

Every Arsenal defender froze, eyes darting to the referee.

The whistle blew.

The referee pointed toward the corner flag.

A collective breath of relief swept through Arsenal’s backline.

Not a goal—just a corner.

The ball grazed the outside of the net.

Arsenal’s players collectively exhaled — a brief moment of relief.

But as Cristiano Ronaldo and the others charged into the box again, that relief quickly turned bitter.

Kai moved toward Ronaldo. He and Mertesacker were going to double up on him.

After several defensive duels, it was clear that Mertesacker couldn’t contain Ronaldo alone — Kai had to step in to plug that gap.

“Stay tight on your marks! Don’t get dragged out of position!” Kai barked out, voice cutting through the noise.

Ronaldo pressed forward, body coiled like a spring. Kai met him head-on, digging in his heels, refusing to give an inch.

After a tense moment of grappling, Ronaldo said, “Nice muscles.”

Kai blinked.

“What?”

Seeing his puzzled expression, Ronaldo quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong — I’m just saying, you’ve trained well.”

Kai raised a brow, half amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Ronaldo shrugged. “No need to thank me.”

And just like that, he burst into a sprint. Kai anticipated it, shadowing him stride for stride toward the near post.

By then, Modrić had already swung the corner in.

Foresight blared.

But it was too late.

Kai tried to move to the back post but was blocked off by Ronald, “Good instincts… but too late!”

As both looked on, Ramos had already peeled off toward the far post, rising high above everyone. His header sent the ball skimming downward, bouncing once before rippling the net.

In the 42nd minute, Real Madrid were level — Ramos with the equalizer!

Kai let out a quiet sigh.

They’d been too focused on Ronaldo.

He had drawn both Kai and Mertesacker toward the near post, while the others crashed in to create chaos. Ramos slipped away unnoticed, timing his run perfectly to the back post.

It was a well-rehearsed Real Madrid set piece — and Arsenal hadn’t adapted in time.

One wrong move, and the whole structure fell apart.

“Ramos! He’s brought Real Madrid back on level terms!” Martin Taylor exclaimed.

Alan Smith chimed in, “Just before the break as well — and suddenly it’s all square again at the Emirates!”

The Spanish fans were ecstatic, with them shouting, “¡Ramos! ¡Golazo! Hala Madrid!”

Chapter 213: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 3

“Kai!!! What a brilliant sliding tackle! Perfectly timed and completely clean!”

Martin Taylor’s voice rang out through the commentary box, excitement cutting through the roar of the crowd.

The Arsenal supporters inside the stadium erupted, their cheers and applause cascading like thunder.

“Outstanding!”

“This takes me back to last season, that match against United!”

“Kai’s slide tackles are always a thing of beauty—his timing is impeccable!”

“Ronaldo didn’t even have time to fall! Hahaha!”

“Well done, Kai!!”

The Arsenal fans kept clapping and chanting his name.

Kai rose to his feet amid the noise, dusting himself off. He ignored Cristiano Ronaldo’s look of disbelief and turned toward the goal instead.

Szczęsny looked uneasy. He knew he’d just made a mistake—one that nearly led to disaster. And when he saw Kai striding toward him, his nerves only grew worse.

“Kai! Listen, I—”

Kai raised his hand high.

Szczęsny froze.

Slap!

Kai’s hand came down gently on his shoulder.

“Forget it. Keep your head up!”

Szczęsny blinked. “You’re… not going to hit me?”

Kai looked at him as if he were crazy. “Why would I hit you, a grown man? You want me to get a red card here?”

“No, no! Of course not, it’s just—”

“Then don’t overthink it. Focus and keep an eye on that Frenchman!”

“Got it! Okay!” Szczęsny nodded quickly.

Kai turned away, muttering under his breath. It was going to be a long night.

.

The match was barely ten minutes old, yet both teams had already traded thrilling attacks.

At the heart of it all were the two conductors—Kai and Modrić—both dictating play and setting the rhythm.

Modrić studied Kai curiously.

Though they’d both played in the Premier League, their paths had never crossed. Modrić had left Tottenham for Madrid in 2012, just before Kai broke into Arsenal’s first team.

He’d only heard bits about the young midfielder from Gareth Bale.

Bale and Kai shared the same agency, but they had never been close. In fact, Bale had little fondness for him—Kai’s relentless marking last season had been a nightmare to deal with.

And now, Bale was here, looking for redemption.

“Hey! Not going to take me on?” Kai called out, smirking as he shadowed him.

Bale rolled his eyes and ignored him.

Kai persisted, “Come on, don’t you want to prove yourself? You’re in Madrid now—show me what’s changed! Dribble past me! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Bale’s jaw tightened. He didn’t respond, just walked off.

Kai exhaled quietly.

He’s learned to keep his cool. No more easy provocation.

Wenger was right—cheap tricks don’t work on a Champions League final stage.

Beep!

The sharp whistle sliced through the air. Kai turned toward the commotion in Madrid’s box.

Suárez was down, clutching his leg. Pepe stood nearby, gesturing angrily.

As the referee arrived, Pepe suddenly shouted, “He bit me!”

The referee hesitated. He hadn’t seen it clearly—but since the player in question was Suárez, he couldn’t just ignore it.

With no VAR to rely on yet, he consulted the linesman. After a brief discussion, the decision was made.

The referee turned to Pepe, raised the yellow card… and then pointed to the spot!

Penalty to Arsenal!

The crowd exploded.

A penalty—in the 13th minute!

If they converted this, it would be the perfect start.

“Penalty for Arsenal!” Martin Taylor announced, his tone half-amused, half-incredulous. “And would you believe it—Pepe’s done it again!”

Alan Smith chuckled beside him. “It’s almost tradition at this point, isn’t it?”

On screen, Pepe was still protesting furiously, waving his arms. But the referee was unmoved.

When it became clear nothing would change, Pepe spun around, ready to go after Suárez again—but Kai was already there, stepping in between them.

Pepe didn’t care who Kai was—when his temper flared, he’d even try to kick Drogba into the stands if he had to.

Fortunately, Casillas sprinted over and grabbed him before things escalated.

As Pepe was dragged away, Kai exhaled deeply.

That guy was pure chaos when he lost his temper. A walking red card.

Kai turned and helped Suarez to his feet. The Uruguayan didn’t look seriously hurt—it was obvious he’d gone down trying to draw a foul.

“Did you really bite him?” Kai asked, half suspicious, half amused.

Suarez looked wounded by the accusation. “No! He swung his arm at me and hit my teeth. What was I supposed to do?”

Kai blinked. “…”

Right. So both of them felt like victims.

Still, the result was all that mattered—Arsenal had a penalty.

Cazorla, Suarez, and Kai gathered to discuss who would take it. They were Arsenal’s top three penalty takers, and after a short exchange, they agreed Suarez should have it—he’d earned it, after all.

Suarez grinned, clearly satisfied. His Champions League goal tally wasn’t nearly as high as in the Premier League, and this was a golden chance to boost it.

He placed the ball carefully on the spot.

Kai and the others stepped back to the edge of the box, ready to follow up if needed.

The Emirates fell silent. The earlier roar of excitement had faded into tense anticipation.

Suarez took a deep breath, jogged up, and struck the ball hard.

It flew low and fast toward the left post.

Casillas guessed right—but he was just an inch short. The ball skimmed past his fingertips, brushed the inside of the post, and hit the net.

1–0 Arsenal.

“Gooooooooooooooaaaal!”

“¡Luis Suarez!!!”

“Arsenal take the lead in just the 13th minute—what a start!”

The Emirates exploded into a wall of noise.

Red and white scarves waved wildly as fans jumped from their seats, shouting and hugging each other.

Suarez sprinted toward the corner flag, shouting in triumph. Kai and the others followed, tackling him to the ground in celebration.

“We’re ahead!”

“We’re actually leading!”

“Hahaha! Real Madrid aren’t that terrifying after all!”

“Victory! Victory! Victory!”

“Well played, Luis!”

They piled on top of each other, laughing, shouting—soaking in the moment.

In the commentary box, Martin Taylor could hardly contain himself.

“Suarez scores! And that came out of nowhere! No one expected the first goal of this final to arrive like this!”

Alan Smith chuckled. “And it’s Pepe again causing chaos—Real Madrid are in trouble now. With a yellow card hanging over him, he’s a walking time bomb!”

The cameras panned to the Madrid bench. Carlo Ancelotti’s expression was tight, his jaw set.

He’d warned his players before kickoff—but Pepe had done it again. And now, Madrid was paying for it.

Meanwhile, the Arsenal dugout was a different world entirely.

“This is it! This is how you do it!” Pat Rice yelled, grabbing Wenger in a jubilant hug. “Look at them—they’re going toe-to-toe with Madrid!”

Wenger’s face broke into a rare, wide smile. He’d come into this match prepared for a tough night. Even he hadn’t expected his side to look this sharp, this fearless.

Sure, the goal had a bit of luck about it, but their buildup had been confident, their rhythm controlled.

They were playing their football—and playing it well.

Fundamentals first.

That’s the secret to greatness. To become Champions League contenders—or even world-beaters—you have to master the basics to perfection.

Arsenal weren’t there yet. But they’d found their direction.

They were on the right path.

Chapter 416: OKC, The Next Prey... Or Not?

Despite all of David Stern’s precautions — as if preparing for another Linquake — nothing could’ve braced him for what came next.

Because this time, it wasn’t an earthquake. It was a flood.

The tidal wave of public reaction to Lin Yi’s 86-point explosion crashed through every barrier — from the U.S. to China, flooding social media platforms within minutes.

For Chinese fans, even crashing Weibo wasn’t enough anymore. VPNs were spinning at full speed as armies of Lin Yi supporters poured into YouTube and Twitter comment sections, leaving scorched earth wherever they went.

And on the internet battlefield that night, the haters never stood a chance.

@BallDontLie23:

Lin Yi’s just stat-padding, man. Empty numbers.

@NYKnicksFaithful:

Bro, my Lin’s got a ring. Try harder.

@SimpleMemphisFan:

Yeah, but his teammates are stacked! CP3 carried half that game.

@LinGodMode86:

He also dropped 86 points. In one night. Against the Grizzlies.

@BasketballNerd:

No free throws stat-padding either. 77 from field goals. Wrap your head around that.

@LinFan_China:

我的林！🔥🔥🔥 86分！谁能做到？ (My Lin! 86 points! Who else could do that?)

@NBA_Insider:

“Lin Yi scored 86 points” — that’s the whole tweet.

It was relentless. Every insult was met with the same devastating counterpunch:
“Eighty. Six. Points.”

At some point, even the haters gave up. What could they possibly say? The Grizzlies were one of the league’s best defensive teams, and Lin Yi torched them with a level of efficiency that defied logic.

Eighty-six points, only nine of them from the free throw line.

Who said jump shots couldn’t kill?

If someone dared to repeat that line around Memphis, Coach Hollins might personally send a couple of grizzly bears to your doorstep.

Normal shooting accuracy couldn’t do this.
This was something else — something supernatural.

Even the Splash Brothers, not yet fully formed, hadn’t reached this level of absurdity.

Kobe Bryant immediately tweeted:

“Congrats @LinYi — the 81-point spirit now has company. 86!”

Kobe had just watched the Lakers get steamrolled by the Heat, and he wasn’t in the best mood. But when he saw Lin Yi’s highlights, the competitor in him couldn’t help but smile.

During a postgame interview, Kobe said, “Right now, LeBron’s the hardest to guard, Curry’s the best to build a team around… but Lin Yi? He’s the one who reminds me the most of myself.”

And he meant it.

Because Kobe had seen that look before — that cold-blooded focus — and it felt eerily familiar.

Meanwhile, LeBron couldn’t catch a break. Just as media praise for the Heat had quieted the criticism, Rudy Gay — bless his honesty — decided to say after the Grizzlies’ loss:

“I’d rather guard LeBron than Lin Yi.”

The internet pounced.

Memes. Headlines. Hot takes.

Suddenly, people were debating whether Rudy Gay had just implied Lin Yi was better than LeBron.

To his credit, LeBron handled it with grace, tweeting:

“Cool! 86 points. That’s epic stuff. Congrats @LinYi.”

King James was gracious like that.

If there’s one thing everyone learned that night, it’s that Lin Yi’s fans didn’t sleep.

Even the 2009 draft class group chat blew up.

“Eighty-six? I need to lie down,” said DeRozan.

“Still think that move we worked on was a travel? Without it, he wouldn’t even have hit 70!”

Harden posted, while trying to fend off Westbrook’s defense in practice.

Curry chimed in, “Where’s Blake? He was calling Lin his rival last month.”

But Griffin didn’t respond.

And somewhere between the chaos of fans, players, and memes, one truth echoed louder than anything else that night:

The league had just witnessed something historic.

And the name on everyone’s lips was Lin Yi.

...

By the time the Knicks landed in Oklahoma City for their back-to-back against the Thunder, the entire basketball world was buzzing. Former players, coaches, and analysts all chimed in on Lin Yi’s 86-point explosion. Most sent their congratulations, praising not just his numbers but the poise and humility he’d shown afterward.

Of course, not everyone agreed.

On TNT’s postgame show, things got heated—fast.

Barkley and O’Neal were deep into their usual back-and-forth about Lin’s place in history when Scottie Pippen, a guest, suddenly jumped in.

“Let’s not get carried away,” Pippen cut in. “Lin’s good, but he’s not Michael or Kobe. He’s not even LeBron—at least not yet.”

It wasn’t an unfair point. Lin Yi was only in his third season, and Barkley was already pushing him into all-time conversations. For someone like Pippen—who’d spent years proving himself in Jordan’s shadow—it didn’t sit right.

But he picked the wrong show to say it on. TNT practically ran on Lin Yi hype these days.

Barkley smirked, leaned forward, and fired back.
“Michael never dropped 86, Scottie. And LeBron? Still waitin’ on that ring. What are we even talkin’ about?”

O’Neal burst out laughing, slapping the desk. “Tell ‘em, Chuck! You might be crazy, but that’s a fact.”

Pippen went red. “That’s not the point—”

Barkley cut him off. “The point is, kid’s special. You don’t gotta like it, but 86 is 86.”

The debate went nowhere, as usual. But the question was out there now, and fans ran with it: Could Lin Yi actually surpass Jordan one day?

Even being mentioned in that breath said everything about how far he’d come.

...

Back in the Knicks’ hotel, Klay Thompson was watching the glaze from ESPN's First Take and TNT's NBA Insider shows. His face soured when Jordan’s name came up.

He turned to Lin, who was scrolling through highlights on his phone.
“Lin, no matter what they say, you’re the best player in the league this season. Period.”

Lin smiled. “You’re just saying that because I pass you the ball.”

Klay chuckled. “Hey, it helps.”

Chris Paul, sitting across the room, rolled his eyes. “You two done flirting yet? I’m trying to nap before we play OKC.”

Klay laughed. “Go ahead, old man. We’ll handle the Thunder.”

...

Meanwhile, somewhere in Oklahoma City, Kevin Durant was doom-scrolling on one of his burner accounts. Every timeline was filled with Lin Yi highlights, and fans were already drawing comparisons.

“Lin > KD,” one post said.

“Imagine scoring 86 while KD argues with fans on socials,” said another.

Durant’s jaw tightened. He tossed his phone onto the bed and muttered under his breath,
“Eighty-six points... so what? Let’s see how he does tonight.”

The Thunder star cracked his knuckles. If Lin Yi wanted another show, OKC was ready to host it.

Chapter 415: Discussion On The Historic Night

ESPN FIRST TAKE.
(Live from ESPN Studios, New York City — the morning after Lin Yi’s 86-point explosion)

Dana Jacobson (Opening):
Good morning, everyone! What a night in Memphis — what a moment for basketball. Lin Yi of the New York Knicks just dropped 86 points — yes, eighty-six — the second-highest scoring performance in NBA history. Add in Chris Paul’s 22 assists, and you’ve got one of the greatest offensive displays this league has ever seen.
We’ve got Stephen A. Smith — probably still celebrating — and Skip Bayless, who I’m sure will have a lot to say.

Gentlemen… let’s get into it.

Stephen A. Smith (already shaking his head, grinning):
Dana, Dana, Dana! Do you understand what just happened last night?! Do you realize what this young brother did to the Memphis Grizzlies?! 86 POINTS! EIGHTY-SIX! I’ve raised the bar SKY HIGH! for this man, and he still manages to smash it and launch into orbit. I'm lost for words.

The man was surgical. He was majestic. He wasn’t just playing basketball; he was conducting a symphony!

And let me say this loud and clear: The New York Knicks are GOING FOR THE DOUBLE!
MSG better be preparing the red carpet when he's back, because the King of New York is wearing number 44 and dropping buckets like he’s from another planet!

Dana Jacobson (smiling):
Stephen, you sound like you might start campaigning for Lin Yi right now.

Stephen A. Smith:
You damn right I might! Because this brother — this brother has done more for Knicks basketball in three years than some people have done for their teams in a decade!

Skip Bayless (leaning forward, smirking):
I see what you’re doing, Stephen A., and I’ll just say this — you’re right. Lin Yi has done in three years what a certain someone — who loves calling loves crowning himself — still hasn’t done in his entire career: deliver pure, unfiltered, undeniable greatness.

Look — 86 points. Twenty-two assists from Chris Paul. No super team required. No excuses. Just domination.

Stephen A. Smith (eyes wide, shaking head):
Hold up, hold up, Skip! I ain’t gonna let you turn this into a LeBron hit piece!

Skip Bayless:
Stephen, I’m not hitting him. I’m just stating facts. Lin Yi’s done more in his third season than LeBron did in his first three when it comes to individual, jaw-dropping performances. You can look it up!

Stephen A. Smith (laughs):
You’re unbelievable, Skip! You can’t even let the man breathe for one segment! But look, I’ll say this — LeBron is LeBron, but last night wasn’t about him. It was about Lin Yi taking this league by storm.

The man went 33-for-45 from the field! 11-of-13 from deep! 9-of-10 from the line! That’s efficiency, Skip! He wasn’t forcing anything — he was in rhythm, he was locked in!

And let me tell you, I’ve been covering the Knicks.. I’ve seen heartbreak. I’ve seen mediocrity. But last night? A buffet for the fans. If he keeps going like this, which he will, we will be eating for years!

Dana Jacobson:
Stephen, do you think this puts Lin Yi officially in that upper tier — with Kobe, MJ, Magic?

Stephen A. Smith:
Hmmm, I won't say he is there yet; he has to build a body of work over a few more years, but I would say they’re looking over their shoulder!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying he’s going to surpass Kobe or MJ soon. But when you drop 86 on near-perfect shooting? When you make it look effortless? That’s legendary. That’s iconic.

Skip Bayless (interjects):
And let’s not forget, Stephen A., he did it without ducking competition. He’s playing in the most competitive era, against elite defenses and offenses, the perfect mix. No “superteam buffers,” no running to join stars. He built this.

I’m just saying — Lin Yi has that killer mentality people keep talking about, but without the drama, without the flopping, without the social media essays.

Stephen A. Smith (pointing):
You know what, Skip? For once, I ain’t even mad at that take. Because Lin Yi is different. He’s disciplined, humble, and he’s got that New York mentality.

And let’s not forget my man Chris Paul — 22 assists! Twenty-two! The man’s distributing like Picasso painting passes. It was poetry in motion.

They’ve got the best pick-and-roll duo in the league, and if Paul keeps feeding Lin like that? You better believe Madison Square Garden’s about to explode next week.

Dana Jacobson:
So, gentlemen — simple question. Is this the greatest single-game performance since Kobe’s 81?

Skip Bayless:
No question. It’s better. Kobe was magnificent, but Lin Yi was flawless.

Stephen A. Smith:
I can’t believe I’m saying this… but Skip Bayless might be right! Lin Yi’s 86 wasn’t rage, it wasn’t revenge — it was purity. It was a clinic in basketball perfection.

Dana Jacobson (closing):
Well, there you have it — Lin Yi drops 86, Chris Paul adds 22 assists, and the Knicks might just have a new chapter in their storied history.

When we come back, we’ll break down how this performance changes the MVP race and if Lin Yi just made it a one-man conversation.

(Music fades in — ESPN theme plays as cameras pan out)

Chapter 212: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg 2

Martin Taylor (commentary): “Casillas! Perfect timing to come off his line! That was a top-class decision from the Spanish keeper—and you have to say, Arsenal’s move was brilliant too. Kai’s switch of play completely caught Real Madrid off guard!”

Alan Smith: “Yes, and you can see what Arsenal are trying to do here. They’re not sitting back; they’re looking to strike early. That ball from Kai was world-class.”

Martin Taylor: “Arsenal’s corner now, and the Emirates crowd are up again!”

Both sets of players packed into the box, jostling for position.

Mertesacker drew the most attention—his height and heading threat were hard to ignore. Kai, meanwhile, found himself tightly marked by Pepe.

The Portuguese defender was all over him, shoving, tugging, using every trick in the book. But Kai held his ground like a wall, barely budging.

The whistle blew. Cazorla approached and whipped in the corner with pace.

Kai darted forward—Pepe followed—but then Kai suddenly stopped dead. Pepe hesitated for a split second.

Then, in one motion, Kai crouched and exploded upward—leaping like a coiled spring released.

Bang!

His header met the ball cleanly, driving it toward the top corner.

But once again, Casillas was there—diving, stretching out both hands to claw it away.

Martin Taylor: “Kaaaiii! With the header—ohhh, Casillas again! What a save!”

Alan Smith: “That’s unbelievable goalkeeping! Two massive stops from Casillas to keep Real Madrid level!”

Kai landed, stomping the turf in frustration. Pepe, beside him, could only stare. He’d just watched Kai rise higher than Ramos himself—off a standing jump.

That kind of leg and core power… Pepe had only seen it before in Ronaldo.

Casillas was already shouting at his defenders. His voice cut through the roar of the crowd.

“Stay switched on! Watch your marks!” he barked, gesturing furiously.

Two lapses in concentration—two near goals. For a man of his standards, it was unacceptable.

“Come on. Focus! Let’s move it forward!”

Real Madrid’s players clapped and shouted, rallying each other. The brief panic was gone in seconds, replaced by that familiar composure of a team that had seen it all.

Kai took it all in, sighing inwardly.

Against most teams, those two attacks would have cracked them open mentally.
But not Madrid. Their ability to reset so quickly—that was what separated the good from the great.

“Come on. Keep it up, we go again!” Kai shouted, motioning to his teammates as Arsenal regrouped.

Communication buzzed across the pitch—calls, gestures, reminders. The energy was high, the tempo relentless.

From the touchline, Pat Rice was urging the team forward beside Wenger, both men nodding approvingly.

On the opposite bench, Carlo Ancelotti stood with arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought.
He hadn’t expected Arsenal to open like this. That early ambush—quick transitions, direct play—it wasn’t typical Wenger football. But it was effective.

They’d clearly drilled it on the training ground, and the level of communication between players was striking. Ancelotti valued that—he wanted his own teams to play with freedom and fluidity, not like robots obeying tactics.

That was why he let his stars—Cristiano Ronaldo, Benzema, Bale—roam into spaces they felt comfortable in. When players enjoyed their football, the results followed.

Now, watching Arsenal, he saw a similar philosophy taking shape.

His gaze settled on the young captain wearing the red armband.

Still just twenty years old—practically a kid in football. But there was nothing childish about his presence.

Ancelotti had studied Kai’s profile before the match. Talented, yes, but technically not the type that usually caught his eye.

Now, though, watching him orchestrate from midfield—commanding, tackling, passing with vision—Ancelotti began to rethink that assessment.

Kai wasn’t just a tactical core. He was the spiritual core of this team.

And that combination—tactical and emotional leadership—was rare in football.

Ancelotti allowed himself a small smile.

“He’s still green but already special,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “But give him time… and he’ll be the...”

Real Madrid launched their attack — the ball was worked out to Bale on the right wing.

Beri dropped back to receive it, but Kai stayed close, pressing him tightly.

However, just as the ball touched his foot, Bale quickly knocked it back.

Kai's Foresight blared, glanced up, and immediately shouted, “Sagna! Watch your back!”

Sagna, who had been about to close in on Cristiano Ronaldo, froze for a split second — just enough to turn and spot the danger.

Sure enough, the ball was being played into the space behind him.

Cristiano Ronaldo burst forward, eyes locked on the pass.

But Sagna reacted just as fast. He cut across Ronaldo’s run, muscling his way into position, reached the ball first, and swept it across to Mertesacker. Crisis averted.

Kai exhaled sharply, a trace of tension easing from his face. But his expression soon hardened again.

Cristiano Ronaldo and Bale — that wing combination had the same devastating edge as Robben and Ribéry at their peak.

Carlo Ancelotti’s plan was clear: attack Arsenal where they were weakest — down the flanks.

“They’re targeting my speed again,” Kai muttered, clenching his jaw. It was a frustrating feeling, being singled out like that. But what could he do? Speed wasn’t something you could fix mid-match.

At least Ramsey was covering beside him — the Welshman’s energy could help ease the pressure. But Kai still had to anchor the midfield, protect the back line, and dictate the defensive shape.

“Arsenal reacted really well there,” said Martin Taylor in the commentary box. “Sagna read that situation perfectly. If that ball had slipped past him—”

Alan Smith let out a breath. “Once Ronaldo gets into the box, it’s chaos — like dropping a bomb in the defense.”

On the pitch, Kai’s focus sharpened again. His eyes flicked between Bale and Modrić.

Modrić — that man was something else.

Kai had anticipated several of his passes already, yet the Croatian always found a way to disguise his intentions, to shift the rhythm just enough to make defenders hesitate.

Every faint twist of his ankle, every body swerve — it could spark danger in an instant.

“The Croatian maestro at work again,” Alan Smith remarked. “You can see why he’s become such a complete midfielder since joining Real Madrid.”

Kai’s gaze shifted toward Benzema, lurking near the edge of the box. Another problem waiting to happen.

Then, from the crowd, came a sudden collective gasp.

Kai spun his head just in time to see Modrić glide past Cazorla, then split the defense with a perfectly weighted ball — right into the space behind Mertesacker.

A clever one — exploiting Mertesacker’s slow turn.

Benzema was already sprinting through.

Both Mertesacker and Sagna chased him, but the Frenchman reached it first, stretching to hook the ball on the volley.

He got a touch — but as he landed, his standing foot gave way. He stumbled, falling awkwardly.

Mertesacker tumbled too, the pair crashing to the turf.

Kai’s instincts screamed danger. He charged back toward the goal.

From the ground, Benzema scrambled up and swung his leg at the ball.

It wasn’t clean — but it was on target.

Szczęsny crouched, one leg tucked, and gathered the ball — but it slipped through his arms!

“Szczęsny spills it! Arsenal in trouble here!” Martin Taylor’s voice spiked with alarm.

The ball rolled out into the box — straight to Cristiano Ronaldo, who was ready to pounce.

He wound up his right leg for the strike—

But before his foot could connect, a red-and-white blur tore across his vision.

Kai came flying in from the side, sliding with perfect timing.

With a powerful sweep of his leg, he cleared the ball away.

Ronaldo froze mid-swing, staring in disbelief.

For a heartbeat, he even forgot to throw himself down for a penalty.

Chapter 211: Champions League Semifinals, First Leg

April 22nd, 2014

London was the center of European football. For two consecutive nights, both Stamford Bridge and the Emirates would host the biggest games of the season.

Chelsea went first, facing Atlético Madrid.

Kai stayed home to watch. It was the perfect chance to scout a few future international teammates—and, more importantly, a warm-up before Arsenal’s own clash with Real Madrid.

Both sides, Chelsea and Atlético, were cut from the same cloth—compact, disciplined, and built on rock-solid defenses.

Terry and Cahill formed Chelsea’s wall at the back—commanding, great in the air, but heavy-footed when forced to turn. Luckily, their full-backs bailed them out with pace and positioning.

Atlético, on the other hand, had Godín and Fernando Kairui at the heart of defense.

Kai’s quick assessment: “Two complete defenders—strong, disciplined, and good with the ball at their feet.”

Godín was already a mainstay for Uruguay—rugged, unbreakable, and calm under pressure. Fernando, a product of Atlético’s youth system, was the same—sharp, fearless, and aggressive.

Together, they made Atlético’s backline look like a moving fortress.

If Chelsea were a tank, Atlético were knights in steel armor—faster, but just as hard to break.

But when two iron walls clash, goals are rare. Ninety minutes later, the scoreboard still read 0–0.

Chelsea couldn’t be too happy about it. A draw at home meant the pressure shifted to Arsenal the next night.

...

April 23rd — Champions League Semi-Finals.

Real Madrid. The Galácticos. A team that didn’t just play football—they embodied dominance.

Real Madrid arrived in London some time ago. Fans gathered outside their hotel, chanting names, waving flags. Inside, the players looked relaxed—smiling, confident, accustomed to nights like these.

For Arsenal, though, it was uncharted territory.

Most of their players had never reached this stage before. The tension was palpable—but so was the excitement. North London had been painted red and white. Streets were closed, fans lined the roads to the Emirates, and chants of “Come on, you Gunners!” echoed into the night.

By the time the Arsenal team buses pulled up, cameras flashed like lightning. Reporters shouted questions no one answered. The players just walked, silent and focused.

Inside, Real Madrid’s stars looked calm and casual—this was familiar ground for them. Nine UEFA Champions League trophies tended to do that to a team.

...

In the Arsenal dressing room, Wenger raised his voice over the chatter.

“Everyone, sit down and listen!”

The players froze, eyes locked on the boss.

“I know how you feel,” Wenger began. “You’re excited… and a little scared. And that’s okay. Our opponents have nine trophies in this competition—we have none. Those trophies can weigh heavily on the mind. But that’s not what defines tonight.”

He looked around the room, his voice steady.
“Some told me to give up on this competition. I refused. Because the moment you start giving up, it becomes a habit—and habits shape who you are. So, here’s your first lesson: we never give in.”

A murmur rippled through the players.

“I don’t know what will happen out there,” Wenger continued. “Whether it’s brilliant or terrible, I won’t criticize you. Because just being here—right here—means you’ve already made us proud.”

Pat Rice stepped forward. “Lads, football isn’t just about winning. It’s about moments—playing a game you can be proud of. Leave it all out there. No regrets, no fear. Enjoy every second.”

The other coaches joined in.

Tony Colbert slapped his clipboard. “You’re strong, you’re ready—now go and show it!”

Gerry Peyton nodded. “This is your stage—make it count.”

Lehmann, ever intense, added, “Don’t play safe. Play free.”

Wenger smiled and stretched out a hand. “Go on then, show Europe who you are.”

Kai stood, tightened his captain’s armband, and took a deep breath.

Then he roared, “Let’s go, boys—time to make some noise!”

“Come on!”

“Beat them!”

“What are we afraid of!”

“Let’s go!”

One by one, the players high-fived the coaches lining the tunnel and marched toward the pitch, their boots echoing against the floor.

The noise inside the Emirates swelled like a tidal wave.

Then, as the players emerged into the floodlights—

🎵 “The Champions!” 🎵

The anthem of Europe’s greatest stage thundered through the stadium.
The crowd rose to their feet, scarves aloft, voices joining in unison with the majestic chorus.

For a moment, even the stars on the pitch seemed to stand still—Ronaldo, Bale, Benzema, Suarez, Kai—all framed by the shimmering light of camera flashes.

This was the Champions League.

This was the night every player dreamed of.

Martin Taylor (commentary): “Both teams are now stepping out of the tunnel, and here come the starting lineups under that famous anthem!”

Real Madrid (4-3-3):

Goalkeeper: Casillas.

Defenders: Carvajal, Pepe, Ramos, Coentrão.

Midfielders: Modrić, Xabi Alonso, Isco.

Forwards: Bale, Benzema, Cristiano Ronaldo.

Arsenal (4-3-2-1):

Goalkeeper: Szczęsny.

Defenders: Sagna, Mertesacker, Koscielny, Gibbs.

Def. Midfielders: Kai, Ramsey, Rosický.

Att. Midfielders: Walcott, Cazorla.

Forward: Suarez.

..

The players then lined up, shaking hands one by one before moving to their respective halves.

Kai and Casillas were called over by referee Pedro Proença for the coin toss.

Kai’s coin landed in his favor. He chose to start with the ball, while Casillas opted for the left side of the pitch.

After exchanging pennants and handshakes with the officials, both captains returned to their teams.

The first leg of the Champions League Semi-Final was about to begin.

Inside the Emirates, the atmosphere was booming. The Arsenal fans were roaring, their chants echoing through the stands like rolling thunder.

Suarez stood over the ball in the center circle, taking a deep breath, steadying himself.

The referee took one last look at both goalkeepers, raised his whistle, and—

Beep!!!

The 2013–14 UEFA Champions League Semi-Final, Arsenal versus Real Madrid, was underway.

Suarez nudged the ball to kick off, and immediately, Cristiano Ronaldo, Benzema, and Bale burst forward, pressing high and fast.

Koscielny calmly sent the ball to Kai, who had dropped deep to support.

Bale charged straight at him—but Kai was ready. He absorbed the impact, steadied himself, and turned his body, scanning the field.

Walcott was already looking his way.

Kai took a couple of controlled touches, then suddenly whipped a long diagonal pass behind Coentrão.

The ball flew like a dart—quick, sharp, and unexpected.

Coentrão, caught off guard, scrambled backward. He jumped, managing only the slightest graze off his scalp as the ball flew over him.

At the same moment, Walcott had burst past him, sprinting at full speed to chase it down.

Martin Taylor (commentary): “Oh, what a pass from Kai! Coentrao’s mistimed it completely!”

Alan Smith: “Arsenal could be in here!”

Martin Taylor: “Walcott’s through! Into the box! Ramos can’t get there—this could be it!”

Walcott’s pace was blistering, but Casillas reacted quicker than anyone.

Seeing Coentrao beaten, the Real Madrid keeper sprinted off his line.

Walcott entered the penalty area, lifted his head—and saw Casillas closing in fast.

Startled, he took the shot early.

It came off rushed and lacked both power and placement.

Casillas, to be sure, still went down to block it. The ball struck his leg and spun behind for a corner.

Real Madrid had survived—barely.

Walcott clutched his head in frustration, kneeling on the grass. That had been the perfect chance for an early lead.

But Casillas’s quick reaction left him with almost no time to think. By the time Walcott looked up, the keeper was barely five meters away, closing off nearly every angle.

The hurried finish was all he could manage.

Walcott sighed, stood up, and gave Kai a thumbs-up across the pitch—acknowledging the brilliance of the pass.

It had been an exquisite ball: perfectly weighted, timed to split the defense, and just tricky enough to catch Coentrao off balance.

Even without the goal, Arsenal’s intent was clear. They were here to fight.

Chapter 414: The Night The League Stood Still

On this unforgettable night, when Coach D’Antoni finally subbed Lin Yi out, the entire arena rose to its feet.
A thunderous standing ovation swept through the building — fans shouting, clapping, chanting his name.

Even the Grizzlies players, frustrated and protesting, couldn’t change anything. Nights like this don’t happen often — not in a season, not even in a generation.

In the old black-and-white era, Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game felt like something from a different universe — a man towering above everyone else, bullying history itself.
Decades later, Kobe’s 81-point masterpiece showed the modern world what it looked like when a mortal flipped the switch to God Mode.

And now, in Memphis, 2012, Lin Yi had just joined that conversation.

When Chris Paul delivered his 22nd assist of the night — a crisp bounce pass that led to Lin’s final fadeaway jumper — the scoreboard locked in his final tally:

86 points.

The second-highest single-game scoring total in NBA history.

Lin Yi sat on the bench afterward, breathing heavily, a towel draped over his shoulders. His legs trembled, his jersey drenched. He didn’t even know exactly how many points he’d scored until someone told him. Everything after the third quarter had been a blur — a trance fueled by rhythm, instinct, and fire.

It felt unreal.

He’d had big nights before — 61 points in three quarters, a 60-point triple-double, even a couple of quad-doubles — but this? This was something else entirely.

An 80+ point game doesn’t just happen because you take a lot of shots. You need near-perfect rhythm, trust, and efficiency that borders on supernatural.

Lin Yi had played 41 minutes, shooting 33 of 45 from the field, 11 of 13 from three, and 9 of 10 from the line, finishing with 86 points, 7 rebounds, 1 assist, and 3 blocks.

It wasn’t just dominant — it was surgical.
He’d dissected the best defense in the league like a surgeon with a basketball in his hands.

Chris Paul’s 22 assists also marked a career high, but tonight wasn’t about numbers anymore. It was a statement.

The Knicks’ 404 duo of Lin and Paul had just announced to the entire league: We’re here — and we’re not playing around.

The final score — Knicks 119, Grizzlies 98 — would be forgotten by morning. What everyone would remember was Lin Yi’s 86, Paul’s 22, and the stunned silence that hung in the arena before the applause broke.

After the game, the Knicks locker room was chaos.

Veterans who’d seen Lin Yi’s past heroics just smiled knowingly — they’d run out of adjectives a long time ago. But for the younger guys, it was something else.

Klay Thompson looked like a kid on Christmas morning, eyes wide. Markieff Morris was yelling stats to anyone who’d listen. And Motiejūnas — who’d been compared to Lin all summer back home in Lithuania — just stared at the scoreboard, speechless.

“He and I… we’re not from the same planet,” Motiejūnas muttered finally, shaking his head. “I’m good at shooting and pick-and-rolls, but that…” He looked up toward the ceiling, as if seeking divine explanation. “Man, Memphis weather’s really nice tonight.”

Klay, meanwhile, refused to let go of Lin Yi’s arm.
“Eighty-six points! Bro, that’s insane!” he shouted, gripping Lin’s sleeve. “Let me hold onto this hand, maybe I can absorb some of your power!”

Lin laughed weakly, covering his face with his free hand. “Klay, relax. You’ll have your turn.”

Klay grinned, eyes gleaming. “You think I’ll ever hit that many?”

Lin looked at him, then smirked. “You ever heard the story of the tortoise and the hare?”

Klay nodded quickly. “Yeah — you’re telling me to keep grinding, right?”

Lin shook his head. “No. I’m telling you the tortoise really can’t beat the hare, so become one.”

Before Klay could respond, Lin gave him a playful kick. “So maybe stop spending so much time dating and start spending more time on the court — unless you want Steph to leave you in the dust.”

The locker room burst into laughter.

Klay pouted but couldn’t hide his smile. “Alright, alright. Challenge accepted.”

As Lin walked away toward the reporters waiting near the tunnel, Klay watched him go, eyes burning with quiet determination. He clenched his fists.

He wasn’t going to let that hare named Stephen Curry run too far ahead.

In a few years, they’d be known as the Splash Brothers — brothers forged in rivalry, sharpened by pride, and inspired by the man who dropped 86 on the Grizzlies.

...

The Knicks’ locker room in Memphis was chaos.

Reporters flooded the small space like a stampede. Cameras flashed, microphones clashed, and the air — thick with sweat, shoe polish, and too many energy drinks — was almost unbreathable.

Lin Yi sat at his locker, towel over his head, hoping someone would open a window. He wasn’t trying to be rude; he just wanted to finish the interview and escape this suffocating mess.

But there was no chance of that tonight.
After dropping 86 points, no one was letting him go anywhere.

He could only thank the heavens the game hadn’t been nationally televised — otherwise, there would’ve been double the reporters, and probably someone from The Tonight Show trying to get a sound bite.

In the middle of the frenzy, one reporter squeezed through the crowd and raised his voice, “Lin! You scored 86 points tonight, breaking Kobe’s mark. We all know Kobe’s your idol. What’s going through your mind right now?”

Lin glanced up. A loaded question — the kind meant to spark headlines.

He smiled faintly and answered in a steady voice, “Honestly, it’s all thanks to my teammates. Everyone was looking for me tonight. Chris gave me so many good looks — it made scoring a lot easier. So, really, this one’s on all of us.”

The reporter frowned slightly — no drama, no ego, no bite.

Lin could almost read their thoughts: Boring answer, next question.

But he wasn’t taking the bait.
He knew how this worked. Say one emotional thing — just one — about passing Kobe, and tomorrow every headline would twist it into a rivalry.

So, he stayed cool.

He was thrilled, of course — 86 points don’t just happen. But Lin understood something most players didn’t: hype fades, reputation lasts.

That’s why when Devin Booker dropped 70 in a losing game years later, people rolled their eyes. It wasn’t about the points — it was the showboating.

Lin’s performance, on the other hand, came against the league’s best defense — and he made it look easy. He didn’t need to boast. The numbers spoke for themselves.

The reporters shuffled again, switching tactics.

A female reporter — clearly uncomfortable with the chaos behind her — leaned forward and asked, “Lin, with this kind of performance, do you feel like you’re the best player in the league right now?”

Lin blinked, caught off guard for a split second. He could almost hear the tension in the room — everyone waiting for the sound bite.

He looked up, straight-faced. “Yes.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Then, after a perfectly timed pause, Lin grinned.
“Every morning, I look in the mirror and ask, ‘Mirror, mirror, who’s the best player in the league?’ And every time — surprise, surprise — it’s me staring back.”

The locker room went dead silent for half a beat… then burst into laughter.

A few reporters groaned. “Damn it, Lin!” one muttered, shaking his head.

Lin just shrugged. “Hey, if the mirror ever shows someone else, I’ll let you know.”

With that, he stood up, slung his towel around his neck, and made his escape — weaving past the flood of cameras toward the hallway.

..

Minutes later, he was bathed and dressed beside Coach D’Antoni at the post-game presser, still wearing that same half-smirk. After another round of teasing back-and-forth with the media, Lin finally boarded the team plane to Oklahoma City.

His teammates swarmed him on board — asking for autographs, joking about keeping the game ball, even demanding he sign their sneakers.

Lin just leaned back in his seat, smiling tiredly.

He didn’t know it yet, but his 86-point night was already sending shockwaves through the league — and by the time they landed in Oklahoma, the entire basketball world would be talking about him.

Chapter 413: Interlude: The Woman Who Never Doubted Him

Some hours before the Knicks vs Memphis match...

The TV hummed softly in the background of Lin Yi’s villa, filling the bright, airy living room with the sound of basketball chatter. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the couch, wearing a white crop top and denim shorts, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

On screen, a morning show of basketball analysts was in full swing. They were breaking down the upcoming matchup — New York Knicks versus the Memphis Grizzlies — with their usual brand of cautious skepticism.

“The Grizzlies’ defense has been outstanding this season,” one of the commentators said. “If the Knicks want to pull off a win in Memphis, Lin Yi, Chris Paul, and the crew will have to be absolutely flawless.”

Elizabeth frowned, her lips forming a small pout.
“Flawless?” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “Please. The Knicks are the champions; is the Grizzlies who should be fearful.”

She leaned back against the couch, eyes still glued to the screen, a mix of irritation and pride swirling inside her. It always bugged her when analysts doubted him a little — as if they hadn’t seen how much work he put in, the hours, the effort, the drive to accomplish all accolades last season.

The most frustrating was that her darling's team was unbeaten, so where from the doubt?

Then her phone rang.

She picked it up, and before she could say hello, a cheerful voice came through the speaker.
“Liz! We’re outside — open up!”

Elizabeth’s face lit up instantly. “You’re here already?!”

She jumped off the couch, tossed her phone onto a cushion, and hurried to the front door. When she opened it, her twin sisters, Ashley and Mary-Kate, were standing there — both in sunglasses, smiling widely.

“Finally!” Elizabeth laughed, pulling them into a hug. “I thought you two forgot where I lived.”

Mary-Kate chuckled as she stepped inside. “Blame The Row. We’ve been drowning in work lately — new line, new suppliers, same old chaos.”

Ashley nodded, slipping off her sunglasses. “But we’re here now, and we’re not leaving until we’ve had some fun.”

Elizabeth grinned and closed the door behind them. “You'd better. Lin permitted me to invite you guys over, and this is literally the first time you’ve shown up!”

The three of them made their way into the living room, where the game discussion still played quietly in the background. They sat down, kicked off their shoes, and soon enough, the air was filled with laughter and chatter.

They talked about everything — the business, new projects, fashion trends, mutual friends — and, of course, Elizabeth’s relationship with Lin Yi.

“So…” Ashley started with a teasing smile, “how’s life with the superstar of New York?”

Elizabeth blushed but smiled anyway. “It’s normal, you know. He’s actually really chill at home.”

Mary-Kate raised an eyebrow. “Normal? Liz, the guy’s face is literally on billboards.”

“Yeah, he is the nicest boyfriend, and that face is for Mama alone,” Elizabeth shot back, laughing.

The teasing went on until the afternoon sun started dipping lower through the villa’s tall windows. Eventually, Elizabeth stood and clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough gossip. You two are starving, right? Let’s go get something to eat.”

They headed out to a cozy restaurant downtown — nothing too flashy, just a spot Elizabeth liked because the food was good and the staff were discreet. But discretion wasn’t the same as invisibility.

The moment they stepped out of the car, a few paparazzi lenses turned their way.

“Elizabeth! Over here!”

“Liz! What are your thoughts on the game tonight?”

“Is it true Lin Yi has another girlfriend?”

“Rumors say you’re only with him for fame — that you’re sleeping with him to boost your acting career! Wait— hey! Answer the question!”

The barrage of voices came from every direction, flashing cameras turning the street into a strobe-lit blur. Elizabeth flinched as one of the paparazzi pushed closer, the sharp clicks of shutters echoing in her ears.

Ashley instinctively moved in front of her, arm out as if to block the line of sight. Mary-Kate followed, both sisters shielding Elizabeth as they hurried toward the restaurant’s entrance.

Ashley leaned close and whispered, “Doesn’t it get exhausting? We had fame during our acting days, but… this is next level.”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Perks of dating the Knicks’ star, I guess,” she said lightly, though her tone carried a tired edge.

Inside, the restaurant’s warm lighting felt like a relief after the chaos outside. The sisters exchanged a few uneasy glances as they guided Elizabeth toward their reserved booth.

“You really should get some bodyguards,” Ashley said as they sat down. “I’m sure Lin would agree.”

Elizabeth shook her head, staring briefly at the table before replying. “He’s already offered — a driver, security, even private transport. But I said no. I didn’t want it to look like I was… taking advantage of him.”

There was a faint trace of guilt in her voice, and she forced a small smile. “Anyway, can we not talk about that? Tonight was supposed to be fun.”

Mary-Kate opened her mouth to respond — but before she could, there was a polite knock-knock at the booth divider.

A man in a tailored suit stood there, bowing slightly. “I’m terribly sorry for the disturbance outside, Ms. Olsen. Please accept our apologies — dinner will be on the house today.”

The sisters exchanged surprised looks. Elizabeth gave a gracious nod. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The man smiled briefly before excusing himself.

For a few moments, the air was still tense, but eventually, the mood softened again. Their conversation drifted back to lighter topics — stories about work, memories from their childhood, teasing laughter that helped the evening find its warmth again.

By the time they finished their meal, the earlier tension had faded into background noise. They laughed as they walked back to the car, heels clicking against the pavement, and the city lights painted soft glows across their faces.

...

The car rolled up the long driveway of Lin Yi’s villa, its headlights washing over the quiet marble steps. The city lights were far behind them now, replaced by the calm hum of crickets and the soft rustle of the evening breeze.

Inside the car, laughter had faded into a comfortable silence. Ashley was the first to break it.
“Well,” she said softly, glancing out the window, “this place still feels like something out of a movie.”

Mary-Kate smiled, turning to Elizabeth. “You’ve really made a life here, Liz. It suits you.”

Elizabeth nodded, her smile tender but wistful. “Yeah… it’s peaceful. Just wish he was home more often.”

The car came to a stop. She turned to face her sisters, eyes shining under the porch lights. “Thanks for coming, you two. I really needed this.”

Ashley leaned over, pulling her into a hug. “Don’t get all sentimental now,” she said, laughing softly, but her grip lingered.

Mary-Kate joined in, wrapping her arms around both of them. “We’ll come by again soon. Promise.”

Elizabeth held them close, reluctant to let go. “You’d better. No excuses this time.”

They laughed, kissed each other’s cheeks, and for a few seconds, the world outside the car seemed to slow down — three sisters, bound by love and memory, finding comfort in each other’s warmth.

As they got back into their car, Elizabeth waved them off, watching until the taillights disappeared beyond the gate. The night fell quiet again.

She turned and walked back inside the villa.

The living room was dim, the faint glow of the TV still flickering from when she’d left. She slipped off her jacket, padded upstairs, and drew herself a warm bath. The steam curled softly around her face as she sank into the water, eyes half closed, letting the tension of the day melt away.

Afterward, she wrapped herself in one of Lin’s oversized hoodies — the one that still faintly smelled like his cologne — and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of soda, tossed some popcorn in the microwave, and returned to the couch just as the Knicks–Grizzlies game tipped off.

The analysts were still talking — about how “difficult” it would be, about how “Lin Yi needed to be MVP Lin,” about Memphis’ “elite defense.” Elizabeth smiled faintly, shaking her head as she curled her legs beneath her.

“Just watch,” she murmured.

And then — the show began.

From the first quarter, Lin Yi was unstoppable. Three-pointers, mid-range fades, slashing drives — the Grizzlies tried everything, but nothing worked. He scored in every way imaginable, orchestrating the offense with Chris Paul like a symphony.

By halftime, the commentators’ tone had changed. By the fourth quarter, they were out of superlatives.

“Unbelievable performance! Lin Yi now has eighty-six points — eighty-six! This is beyond historic!”

Elizabeth’s popcorn bowl had long since gone untouched. Her eyes were glued to the screen, a wide, proud smile spreading across her face.

When the final buzzer sounded and the arena erupted, she leaned back against the couch, her chest swelling with quiet pride.

She pointed at the screen, grinning. “Yeah,” she said softly, almost to herself, “I told you so.”

Her voice was calm, certain — filled with that deep, unwavering faith only love could carry.

Because she never doubted her man. Not for a second.