NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Kobe Eats a Flagrant Foul, and the Rookie Breaks the Single-Quarter Scoring Record!

Chapter 83: Kobe Eats a Flagrant Foul, and the Rookie Breaks the Single-Quarter Scoring Record!

The broadcast cut to a close-up of Lakers head coach Phil Jackson.

The old Zen Master shook his head, his face unreadable.

After nearly 30 years of coaching in the NBA and mentoring countless legends, Phil had seen a lot. But what he was watching unfold? This was one of the craziest performances he’d ever witnessed from a rookie.

And the scariest part?

It didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.

The Lakers burned another timeout.

Phil knew he had to tweak his defensive game plan. If they let this continue, the Suns’ rookie might actually steal the show from Kobe in front of a packed Staples Center crowd.

As both teams walked to their benches, the broadcast panned to Chen Yan, and a stat line popped up at the bottom of the screen:

Chen Yan – Phoenix Suns SG: 7 points in the first half, 23 points in the third quarter.

”Damn, he’s on fire!”

”Man, I thought he’d be lucky to crack 15 tonight with how quiet he was in the first half, and now he’s dropped 30—and there’s still a whole quarter left!”

”This dude’s fearless. First he takes it to Wade and the Golden Twins, and now he’s going right at Kobe?!”

”He’s torching Kobe out there! Straight cookin’!”

”His jumper’s wet tonight. Once he caught fire, it was over. And the Suns? They know it—everyone’s feeding him.”

”The vibe on the Suns is crazy right now. They see he’s hot, and they’re riding it.”

”Lakers vibe isn’t bad either. They’re just handing Kobe the ball and getting the hell outta the way.”

”Well, he is the boss. Who’s gonna say no when Kobe calls for an iso?”

Back in China, the game was a hot topic. Basketball fans from all over were flooding forums, comment sections, and Weibo threads.

Kobe had long been a beloved figure in China, but Chen Yan was rewriting the script—he was the only Chinese guard in the NBA. The matchup had all eyes glued to the screen.

The timeout ended, and the Lakers made a defensive switch. Phil subbed out Vladimir Radmanović and brought in backup guard Javaris Crittenton.

Phil’s idea was simple: Crittenton had a similar build and size to Chen Yan, and he was fresher.

Kobe had worked hard on both ends all night. If he kept chasing Chen Yan, his gas tank might not make it through the fourth quarter.

So, Phil gave Crittenton one job: shadow Chen Yan. Don’t worry about offense. Just dog him.

It was the same strategy Larry Brown used when he unleashed Tyronn Lue on Allen Iverson back in the 2001 Finals.

But Crittenton?

He might’ve taken that assignment too seriously.

The moment the Lakers got the ball, Crittenton was already chest-to-chest with Chen Yan. Full denial. No space, no freedom, no peace.

Chen Yan glanced over, confused.

”Yo... are you on offense or me?”

Phil, standing near half-court, nodded with approval. At least Crittenton was bringing energy, even if it meant throwing his own offensive game out the window. That level of pressure could wear on Chen Yan during transition plays.

Still, Chen Yan couldn’t help but recall a darker memory.

Crittenton... wasn’t he the guy who pulled a gun on Arenas in the locker room back in his past life?

Wild.

Anyway, back to the game.

Kobe came down, ran a clean pick-and-roll with Garnett, then fired a pass inside to Kwame Brown, who threw down a one-handed jam.

Even a draft bust like Kwame was getting buckets with all the attention on Kobe and KG.

Next play, Suns ball.

Crittenton stuck to Chen Yan like gum on a sneaker.

The rookie didn’t love this kind of defensive work—chasing a guy around screens nonstop—but this was survival. He was fighting for minutes, for trust, for a career.

So he locked in.

Chen Yan ran a counter cut. Crittenton chased.

Then Chen Yan spun back. Another cut.

Crittenton barely kept up.

But Chen Yan hit the jets one more time, and finally shook him off.

He came curling around the top of the arc, caught the ball in rhythm...

Pull-up jumper.

Splash.

No hesitation. Pure confidence.

From the moment the third quarter started, the rim had looked huge to Chen Yan. Like tossing pebbles into the ocean.

He wasn’t just in rhythm—he was possessed.

And anyone who’s hooped before knows—when confidence kicks in and the ball’s falling, everything feels easy. Like the game slows down, and every shot you take feels like it’s going in before you even let it fly.

On the sidelines, Phil Jackson’s expression didn’t budge.

He hadn’t expected Crittenton to actually shut down Chen Yan—just wanted him to make the kid work for every bucket, wear him down, and chip away at his stamina. So far, it looked like Crittenton was doing a solid job in that department.

The possession flipped to the Lakers.

Fans held their breath, thinking Kobe was about to cook again—but then bam! Raja Bell jumped the passing lane and stole the spotlight.

Bell had been getting cooked by Kobe all night.

Mamba was venting all his frustration from not being able to go one-on-one with Chen Yan by taking it out on Bell, treating him like a personal ATM. Every iso possession was another withdrawal.

But Bell had pride. He was supposed to be one of the so-called ”Kobe Stoppers,” one of the few guys in the league with a reputation for making life hell for No. 24. Not that it ever really worked—nobody could stop Kobe in his prime.

This was the era of peak Black Mamba. Dude had dropped 81 just two seasons ago. To defensive players, holding Kobe to under 30 felt like an accomplishment. Bell wasn’t trying to be another name on Kobe’s highlight reel.

Problem was, the more frustrated he got, the more physical his defense became. In the last few possessions, he’d started getting downright reckless.

Kobe didn’t complain, though. He liked the physicality. That’s what made him tick.

But on this play, Bell snapped.

Kobe blew past him again, and Bell lost it—grabbed Kobe from behind by the shoulder and yanked him down.

Kobe hit the floor hard, skidding sideways.

The entire Staples Center exploded—first in stunned silence, then in a chorus of boos. That wasn’t defense. That was a straight-up dirty move.

And it wasn’t Bell’s first time crossing the line. Just last postseason, he’d literally put Kobe in a chokehold.

”Is this dude trying out for the UFC or something?”

”This man out here doing martial arts, not basketball!”

”Last season it was a rear-naked choke, now it’s the dragon claw? Man must’ve trained at Shaolin Temple!”

”Get this clown off the court!”

”Hope Kobe’s alright!”

Chinese fans were just as fired up online, calling out Bell’s dirty tactics.

Kobe, still on the hardwood, was clutching his shoulder but gritted through it. He’d taken harder hits. Garnett, on the other hand, saw red. He was the first to charge toward Bell, all bark and—well, he usually stopped at bark, but the energy was real.

On the Suns’ side, Chen Yan didn’t even hesitate. He sprinted toward Bell too. Right or wrong didn’t matter—you ride for your teammate. That’s the code.

Trash talk flew instantly.

Garnett got in Chen Yan’s face, dropping a mother-based insult like it was second nature.

Chen Yan didn’t back down—fired right back, and then some. ”Keep talking, I’ll greet your whole family tree.”

This wasn’t some tea party. This was the NBA. It’s kill-or-be-killed out here, and nobody gives a damn about being polite when you’re going to war.

Players from both sides quickly surrounded the scene, tension crackling in the air.

”Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!”

The refs blew their whistles like mad, and arena staff rushed in to separate everyone before things got out of hand.

Fortunately, it was all talk and no punches. The situation stayed just barely under control.

Kobe got back up with a smirk and patted his shoulder. He wasn’t the hot-headed No. 8 anymore. He was 24 now—mature, cold-blooded, composed. He’d been through wars.

After the dust settled, the refs didn’t hesitate—Bell got hit with a flagrant 2 and was ejected on the spot.

Bell didn’t argue. He knew what he did. Pulled his jersey over his head and headed straight to the tunnel, booed the entire way out.

---

But all that chaos? Didn’t rattle Chen Yan at all.

He came right back and kept torching Crittenton like nothing happened.

He pulled off a nasty pump fake, left Crittenton jumping into the popcorn stand, then drew contact and earned two at the line—money.

Next trip down, he ran the break, glided through the lane, and laid it in like a damn ballerina.

Then came the final five seconds of the third quarter.

Chen Yan snagged the defensive board, sprinted up the court solo. Two steps beyond the arc. Crittenton and Kobe both closed out—hands flying up in desperation.

But Chen Yan launched it anyway.

Ridiculously deep. Stupid angle. Defender in his grill.

”Bang!”

The ball clanked off the rim and bounced out.

The entire Staples crowd exhaled hard. If that shot had gone in, folks would’ve swore Chen Yan had a built-in aimbot.

Still, even with the miss, he had 29 points in the quarter.

Twenty-nine. In one quarter.

A rookie single-quarter scoring record—shattered.

Chen Yan wasn’t just hot—he was on fire. And the Lakers? They were feeling the heat.

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