NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Debut at the Pinnacle! Conquering the Suns Fans!

Chapter 65: Debut at the Pinnacle! Conquering the Suns Fans!

Halftime at the America West Arena was buzzing.

Up on the jumbotron, the arena’s massive screen kept replaying Chen Yan’s highlight plays from the first half—crisp crossovers, slick finishes, and effortless jumpers. Every replay drew loud reactions from the crowd, and fans chatted excitedly, practically reliving his entire performance in real-time.

Beer and popcorn sales? Through the roof.

But it wasn’t just because the Suns were entertaining—it was because they were putting on a show. Their signature run-and-gun offense was already eye candy for fans, but with Chen Yan now in the mix, the entertainment level had gone up another notch.

After the cheerleaders wrapped up a fiery halftime performance, the second half tipped off.

Paul Pierce came out aggressive, driving hard to the rim. He got a bucket on one possession and drew a foul on the next. Clearly, The Truth was warming up.

But the Suns? Completely unfazed.

The Raptors’ problem wasn’t firepower—Bosh and Pierce were both capable of dropping 20+ on any given night. Calderon, Bargnani, Anthony Carter, even T.J. Ford, all solid contributors.

But what they lacked was a connector.

This Raptors squad felt like a jigsaw puzzle where every piece was from a different box. Each guy had talent, but nobody knew how to make the whole thing click.

Pierce boosted their scoring, sure. But he wasn’t a floor general or a playmaker. He was a bucket-getter, not a system guy.

Meanwhile, Phoenix did have a true orchestrator on the court—and unfortunately for Toronto, he wore orange and purple.

Nash dribbled up the court and surveyed the floor like a maestro conducting a symphony.

Suddenly, Chen Yan exploded diagonally across the paint—off the ball—and left Anthony Carter chasing shadows.

Nash didn’t hesitate.

With a smooth one-handed bounce pass, he hit Chen Yan right in stride.

That’s Nash for you—he’ll find you the second you get separation. But you’ve gotta know how to get open first.

Chen Yan caught the pass mid-stride, took one dribble, and soared toward the rim!

Bosh and Bargnani stepped in to trap him from both sides, trying to shut the door in the paint.

Good idea. Bad execution.

They underestimated Chen Yan’s burst.

Just before the gap closed, Chen Yan slipped through like he was bending space and time.

Straight up teleported into the lane—then licked the glass for a slick layup.

And one!

Bosh and Bargnani threw up their hands in frustration, each blaming the other for being a step late.

The Raptors’ body language? Crumbling.

Meanwhile, Chen Yan slapped palms with Nash, the energy between them electric. A stark contrast to Bosh and Bargnani’s arguing.

By the end of the third quarter, the Suns had ballooned the lead to 20 points.

Fourth quarter rolled in, and Toronto got desperate.

The Raptors launched a barrage of threes, trying to shoot their way back into it.

Clank.

Brick.

Airball.

One miss after another.

Charles Barkley couldn’t help himself on commentary.

”What’s this—did the whole Raptors squad take a side gig building new rims for Phoenix? Damn!”

The Raptors were built to shoot—but with no real drivers on the perimeter, and no enforcer in the paint, they were cold and helpless.

At the 6:55 mark in the fourth, the Suns had stretched the lead to 25.

You could see it in the Raptors’ eyes—they were done. Just waiting for the next timeout or whistle to get subbed out.

It felt like queuing up for a ranked game in League of Legends, only to go 0–15 right out the gate.

And then...

One more ISO moment lit up the court.

Chen Yan vs. Pierce.

Clear-out.

Everyone in the arena knew what was coming.

Chen Yan hit him with a lightning-quick crossover that not even the broadcast cameras could fully capture.

Blew past Pierce in a blur.

Pierce tried to recover—hoped for a chase-down block, maybe a LeBron-style highlight—but it was all in his head. His legs? Like cement.

By the time he turned around, Chen Yan was already in the paint.

One big step.

He rose.

Bargnani stepped up weakly, hesitated... then stepped back.

Soft.

Chen Yan finished with a smooth layup, barely breaking a sweat.

He blew past Paul Pierce in the first quarter. Then did it again in the fourth.

That alone was a statement. And for Pierce—getting cooked twice by a rookie, in a blowout no less—was humiliating. The score wasn’t even close, and Chen Yan had him looking like just another washed vet on the wrong side of history.

As Pierce went to the baseline to inbound the ball, frustration finally boiled over. He took the opportunity to shove Chen Yan hard in the chest.

But Chen wasn’t about to let that slide. Not with the whole crowd watching.

He shoved right back, no hesitation. Instantly, the arena erupted. The decibel level shot through the roof as the jumbotron flashed the live scuffle. Chen and Pierce were jawing and pushing each other, caught in a full-blown trash-talk battle mid-court.

”Boy!” Pierce barked, chest puffed up. ”You don’t back down and apologize right now, me and my crew gonna tear you to pieces!”

Chen smirked. ”You mean your mom’s crew? Or your grandma’s?”

Pierce had picked the wrong guy to intimidate. Chen already knew the truth. Pierce liked to bark like a street dog, but he wasn’t built like that. He read all about the dude in his past life. The real tough guys? They were out in Denver now, not in Boston or Toronto.

”I’ll kill you, boy!”

”With what? Your podcast mic? Or your Twitter fingers? Don’t hit me with that radio gang nonsense. Say something real.”

The crowd went wild.

”Radio gang” was Chen’s dig at those fake tough guys in hip-hop—rappers who sold the image but weren’t actually in the streets. Back in ’80s L.A., half the guys claiming gang ties were just trying to boost record sales. And Pierce? He was their NBA equivalent.

Chen wasn’t usually the trash-talking type. But when he went in, he went surgical. Straight for the soul.

Pierce stood there stunned, mouth half open. The mask had slipped, and he knew it. No comebacks. No threats. Just exposed.

Before it got worse, teammates from both sides came over to break it up. Pierce backed off, mumbling, saving face. He walked away, but Chen wasn’t done.

”Go back, old man!” Chen shouted loud enough for the crowd to catch it. ”Boston doesn’t want you! Toronto doesn’t either, judging from tonight!”

And then, with a smirk: ”Go run back to mommy’s house. If she still wants you.”

The fans loved it. That’s the beauty of a home court—you don’t just have teammates, you’ve got 20,000 people riding with you, ready to drag Pierce’s whole family tree if needed.

After the scuffle, Raptors head coach Sam Mitchell had seen enough. He called timeout and pulled all his starters. It wasn’t worth it anymore. Everyone wants to make a statement in the season opener, but the Raptors were getting blown out. No point dragging it on.

”The Raptors have officially waved the white flag!” the announcer shouted. ”The starters are done. It’s garbage time here in Phoenix!”

”The Suns follow suit, pulling their main guys as well,” another broadcaster chimed in. ”But listen to that crowd—fans are still chanting Chen Yan’s name!”

”He’s won them over in just one night!”

”31 points, 5 rebounds, 5 steals,” Kenny Smith said in the TNT studio. ”I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the kind of debut you dream of.”

”Yeah, Kenny, that’s not hype. That’s just facts,” Barkley added. ”This kid didn’t just show up—he owned the moment. This might be the best rookie debut I’ve seen in years.”

On the Suns bench, the mood was chill. Chen laughed with his teammates. Stoudemire was already recommending his favorite Phoenix nightclub. Nash showed off a photo of his twin daughters. Time flew by.

Final score: 117–98. Phoenix Suns locked down their season opener at home with authority.

The whole team celebrated on court. Six players scored in double digits. Stoudemire went for 25 and 11. Hill added 11. Raja Bell and Boris Diaw chipped in 10 each. Nash? Vintage performance: 16 points and a ridiculous 17 assists. He couldn’t stop smiling.

After the buzzer, Chen made his way to T.J. Ford. The man hadn’t had a stellar NBA run, but he was a Texas Longhorn legend and someone Chen genuinely respected. He gave him a quick hug out of courtesy.

The camera cut to the other side of the court—Pierce, sulking, walking toward the tunnel without saying a word.

”You can tell Pierce is heated,” Barkley chuckled from the studio. ”But hey, today he got served.”

”Haha! Think he knows who Chen Yan is now?” Kenny Smith laughed. ”I kind of want to see his post-game interview.”

So did a lot of people. Reporters were ready. Questions were stacked:

”Do you know who Chen Yan is now?”

”What did you think of his performance tonight?”

”Still think being compared to Chen is an insult?”

”Was that crossover the reason for the conflict?”

They all rushed into the visiting locker room. But when they looked around... Pierce’s seat was empty.

”Hey Chris,” one reporter asked Bosh, ”Where’s Paul?”

Bosh shrugged. ”Already on the team bus.”

Silence. Then confusion.

He left without showering?

Just to dodge an interview?

Damn, Pierce. That’s one way to take an L.

[TL: All I ask is for your daily Power Stones. Please help this fanfic climb the rankings! As for my promise of two Chapters per day. I’ll do my best to make that a reality starting Monday.]

Check my Pâtreon for Advanced Chapters

Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03

Change (â) to (a)

https://discord