NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 69: Chapter 69: What Does It Feel Like to Act Cool in Front of the King of Cool?

Chapter 69: What Does It Feel Like to Act Cool in Front of the King of Cool?

”This dribble into the pass? Damn, that was nasty! I’m calling it now—top five play of the night, easy!”

”That bucket was way tougher than it looked. After making such a huge move with his footwork, most guys lose all their lift. But Chen Yan? Dude bounced up like a spring and threw down the hammer!”

”Chen Yan’s the real deal!”

”Two moves? That ain’t two brushes—that’s two machetes slicing through the defense!”

”Compared to Wade’s famous phantom step, Chen Yan’s moves were bigger, more violent. It just hits different!”

Back home, fans watching on TV were fired up after seeing Chen Yan’s highlight.

Wade, naturally, wasn’t thrilled seeing his signature move basically stolen and upgraded right in front of him. But unlike Pierce, Wade had a different status—he knew how to keep his composure.

Jogging back on defense, Wade gave Chen Yan a light slap on the butt and said with a cool smile, ”Nice footwork, young blood.”

Chen Yan flashed a respectful nod. ”Appreciate it.”

No extra words, no drama—the game moved on.

On the next play, O’Neal sealed his man in the paint and called for the rock. Jason ”White Chocolate” Williams got the ball to him on time.

Stoudemire was a step late, and once the Diesel had the ball that deep? It was already over.

”BOOM!!”

O’Neal detonated at the rim with a thunderous slam. Still dominant. Still the big fella.

Even past his prime, the old Shark was still a Shark. If he got that kind of position, you might as well put two points on the board.

Suns’ turn.

Nash accelerated into the paint but didn’t find a clean look. He circled back out to reset.

The play slowed into a half-court set. Nash kicked it to Chen Yan, who now had the keys to the offense.

Chen Yan stood outside the arc, cradling the ball one-handed. Stoudemire popped up to set a screen.

Using it, Chen Yan burst past Ricky Davis in a single stride and crossed into the midrange.

O’Neal didn’t step up—defending pick-and-rolls was never his strong suit. Even back in the day, teams hunted him with it. The Jazz used that same tactic to shred him, and in the 2002 West Finals, Mike Bibby feasted because of it—his playoff scoring jumped from 13.7 to 22.7 per game. Big reason? O’Neal’s slow feet.

Prime Shaq had holes in his pick-and-roll defense. Now? It was worse.

Seeing the big man camped in the paint, Chen Yan didn’t bother forcing the drive. He calmly rose up from the free-throw line and let it fly.

”Swish!”

Clean. Net barely moved.

Even if O’Neal wasn’t what he used to be, that size could still alter shots. But Chen Yan played it smart—no reason to crash into a wall when you can just shoot over it.

Next trip down, Stoudemire pulled up from the free-throw line and knocked it down right in O’Neal’s face.

The big guy just couldn’t defend out there anymore. He was stuck guarding like a chess piece, limited to the box around the rim.

With 5:14 left in the first, Pat Riley took advantage of a dead ball to sub O’Neal out.

And it was obvious—Riley wasn’t happy.

Besides that dunk, Shaq had mostly been lumbering up and down the court like a moving roadblock.

As O’Neal headed to the bench, Riley didn’t even look at him. No words. No eye contact. That tension? You could feel it.

Rumors had already been swirling—Riley allegedly called O’Neal lazy, and Shaq clapped back, accusing Riley of spying in the locker room and running the team like a boot camp, no regard for the players’ bodies.

They even had a shouting match during practice, with both trading motherly insults. If Haslem hadn’t stepped in, O’Neal might’ve swung on the old coach.

It was clear—their relationship was toast. Barring a miracle, O’Neal was out after this season.

With Shaq off the floor, Miami’s defense moved better, but the offense? Still rough. Outside of Wade, no one could really get buckets.

Meanwhile, Phoenix was clicking. Points were coming from everywhere.

At 6:39 in the first, Chen Yan subbed out with a quiet but efficient line: 6 points, 2 boards, 1 steal.

Only took three shots—and hit all three.

Just his second career game, but he was playing it smart. No forcing. Just clean, high-percentage plays.

Nash and Stoudemire stayed in to keep the pressure on. The Heat were reeling.

D’Antoni didn’t keep Chen Yan out long. With 1:15 left in the quarter, he was back.

Score: Suns 29, Heat 21. Phoenix up 8.

Now on the floor for Phoenix: Barea, Chen Yan, Grant Hill, Matt Barnes, and Boris Diaw.

Miami rolled with Wade and the bench mob. Wade had played nearly the entire quarter—still hungry, still driven. Even played through injury last season when the team was spiraling.

Heat ball.

Wade danced at the top of the arc against Barnes, flashing his classic crossovers. Suddenly, he exploded, splitting a double-team and kicking it to Haslem waiting in the corner.

”Splash!”

Haslem might be known for doing the dirty work, but he had that 15-footer on lock.

29–23.

Suns came back down. Barea brought it up and handed it off to Chen Yan.

With Nash and Amare resting, the spotlight was on the rookie.

Chen Yan was now the go-to guy on the court.

Daequan Cook was the one defending Chen Yan.

Chen recognized him immediately—he wasn’t just any defender. The two had gone head-to-head in the NCAA Championship months ago. It was Chen’s breakout performance in that final that had sent Ohio State packing, crushing Cook’s title hopes.

But even now, Cook held no grudge. He knew the truth—Chen Yan was just on another level.

Chen took the ball in his right hand and gave Cook a quick hesitation, rocking it twice in front of him. Then—boom—he exploded to his right!

First step. Gone.

In that instant, Cook was hit with déjà vu. That same helpless feeling from months ago came rushing back. He was frozen, watching the blur of No. 0 burn past him like a ghost from his worst basketball nightmare.

Chen blew by him and darted straight into the paint—right at the veteran, Alonzo Mourning.

Mourning, a two-time Defensive Player of the Year, was no joke. Even at 37, even after a kidney transplant and a comeback that would make Rocky proud, he still patrolled the paint with pride.

But tonight, he was facing something else entirely.

Chen Yan launched off his left foot and took flight.

Alonzo responded like clockwork—his instinct to challenge never faded. He rose to meet the kid, knowing full well that in this league, you block or you get posterized. There was no in-between.

Alonzo Mourning had lived by that rule his whole career.

That’s why he was in every highlight reel—either swatting someone into next week or getting dunked on by a young Vince Carter.

But Chen wasn’t looking to posterize.

As they met midair, Chen twisted his body mid-glide, slipping just past Alonzo in the air like a jet on afterburners. He switched hands at the peak, cradling the rock with his left and flicking it off the glass—

Soft. Clean. Money.

Swish.

31–23, Suns.

”Oh my God!” the crowd erupted.

”He glided past Alonzo like Jordan in ’88!”

”Alonzo came down—Chen was still in the damn air!”

The crowd inside American West Arena was going nuts. Fans were on their feet, jaws dropped. Mourning looked up at the jumbotron, replay looping in high-def above him. He shook his head with a soft smile.

Didn’t even graze him.

Not a damn hair on Chen’s body.

He felt it now—he really was getting old.

On the next possession, the Heat brought it up.

Wade isolated against Matt Barnes, then hit him with a hesitation, crossover, and a slick step-back jumper from just inside the arc.

Buckets.

31–25.

Barnes had played it well—tight defense, no foul—but D-Wade was just that guy. Sometimes, great offense beats great defense.

26 seconds remained in the first quarter.

The Suns inbounded to Chen Yan. He walked it up, calm as ever, letting the clock wind down.

With 7 seconds on the shot clock, he made his move.

The Heat were ready—Wade and Haslem both positioned to help.

But Chen didn’t force it.

Instead, he kicked it out to Grant Hill, spotting up on the wing.

Chen then darted toward the baseline, disappearing from the top of the arc.

Hill held the ball. He could’ve taken the shot. The defense thought he would.

Then—boom—Chen Yan cut back up, doubling back on his route and shaking off Cook with a nasty misdirection.

He popped back up to the top of the key—wide open.

Hill hit him in rhythm with a perfect horizontal pass.

Chen didn’t hesitate.

Pull-up three.

Splash.

34–25.

That jumper looked smooth as butter. With his upgraded three-point rating, his confidence was through the roof—and so was his efficiency.

He left just 3 seconds on the clock.

Wade nodded at Haslem. One look said it all—long pass, last shot.

But Chen Yan? He’d been watching them the whole time.

As Haslem stepped out to inbound and Wade broke into a sprint toward halfcourt, Chen was already moving.

White lightning.

He read the play, intercepted the pass mid-flight like a free safety, and took two strides past the logo.

Two meters outside the three-point line.

He didn’t even set his feet.

He just launched.

Horseback archery. No time to think. Just pure instinct.

The ball arced high above the court—a meteor cutting through the Arizona sky.

The entire arena went dead silent.

Clang—board—bounce—net.

BOOM.

37–25.

The red light lit up as the ball dropped through. The crowd exploded like a volcano. Stoudemire and Raja Bell leapt off the bench, towels flying.

Chen landed awkwardly and staggered a step—but instead of popping right back up, he dropped to one knee, hand under his chin.

The Thinker pose.

Cold as ice. Smooth as hell.

Everything from the steal to the pull-up three to the celebration was so slick, it looked rehearsed.

Cameras went crazy.

”Kakakakakaka!”

Flashes lit up the arena like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

And at center court, watching it all unfold—Dwyane Wade stood frozen.

He was the background now.

Wade, the league’s king of highlight moments, the one who always delivered the flash—had just been turned into a prop.

By a damn rookie.

A rookie with two NBA games under his belt.

Wade clenched his jaw and stared at Chen’s back as he jogged back to the bench.

His blood pressure?

Yeah... it was rising.

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