NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 94: Chapter 94: Knocked Down the General Twice in a Single Round!

Chapter 94: Knocked Down the General Twice in a Single Round!

Less than two and a half minutes into the game, Chen Yan was already on fire—he’d poured in 11 points like it was nothing.

It felt just like that second half against the Lakers, except this time there was no mysterious ”external force” guiding his shots. It was all him. Pure rhythm. Pure confidence. Pure heat.

”Caron! You’re switching with DeShawn. Don’t let that kid keep lighting us up!” Coach Eddie Jordan barked from the sideline.

”Yes, Coach!” Caron Butler shouted back.

Eddie Jordan was clearly fed up with DeShawn Stevenson’s weak-ass defense. So, he pulled the plug and sent Butler to do the dirty work.

Now, Caron wasn’t as technically sound a defender as Stevenson, but what he lacked in fundamentals, he made up for in grit and aggression. Dude was rough, played physical, and wasn’t afraid to use a hard foul to break someone’s rhythm. Sometimes, a little violence was just what the doctor ordered.

Timeout over. Game back on.

No lineup changes from either team.

The Wizards had the ball, and, of course, Gilbert Arenas went solo again. That was just how he rolled. The rest of the team had been used to his one-man-show routine for ages now.

He muscled his way into Nash’s chest and tried to shoot a fadeaway even with Chen Yan’s help defense closing in.

Clang!

Brick city.

Chen Yan wasn’t stupid. He knew damn well Arenas wasn’t passing that rock, so he timed his jump to mess up Gil’s line of sight. Mission accomplished.

Stoudemire snatched the board, and before his feet even touched the hardwood, he dished it midair to Nash.

These two had been dance partners for years—they knew each other’s moves like second nature.

Nash took off like a rocket, slicing through the half-court.

Hill sprinted up the left wing, ready to catch and go. Nash gave him a quick glance, faking the pass just enough to sell it.

Then—bam!—he flicked his wrist and zipped it cross-court to Chen Yan instead!

Caron Butler was guarding him now, and he kept a whole body-length’s distance, giving Chen Yan just enough space.

Why?

Because Butler had talked to Kobe recently. The two were tight—Kobe’s league bestie, basically. They’d call each other every couple days, swapping stories, tips, and, of course, trash talk. And just a few days back, they’d chatted about one name in particular:

Chen. Freaking. Yan.

Kobe’s advice?

”If you’re gonna guard that rookie, don’t get up in his grill. You’ll end up on a poster or worse.”

So Butler took it to heart.

Chen Yan caught the ball, noticed the space, and didn’t even hesitate. One step forward to bait Butler, and then—screech—he pulled up for the three.

Butler lunged too late. Barely a contest.

Splash!

Buckets.

”He’s on fire! Damn, that’s four threes already today! How’s he shooting like this?!” Zhang Weiping was basically doing backflips in the commentator booth.

Coach Xu chimed in with some tech: ”This kind of transition three-pointer is the easiest way to get an open shot—but also the hardest to nail. You’ve gotta sprint full speed, stop on a dime, get your form up in one smooth motion, and still keep your balance. That takes serious core strength.”

But by the time Chen Yan had released that ball, Nash and Hill were already jogging back downcourt. They didn’t even bother watching it go in.

Stoudemire and Diaw? They were flashing three fingers in the air, celebrating before the net even moved.

The man was so hot, even his teammates stole his moment.

Meanwhile, Chen Yan’s system interface blinked—[Hot Start] was fully activated.

+20% shooting buff online, baby.

Next Wizards possession.

Arenas hit ’em with a smooth series of crossovers and finally found a sliver of daylight. He powered through Nash and exploded into the paint.

That’s when Stoudemire and Diaw collapsed on him, double-team style. No way he was getting a clean look.

Arenas had no choice—he slung the ball out to Jamison, who was chilling in the corner.

Jamison caught it, cut baseline, and wham! threw down a one-handed jam to stop the bleeding.

Score: 14–7.

Stoudemire and Diaw didn’t say a word. Missed rotations were just part of their daily routine on defense. It was what it was.

Diaw scooped up the ball and threw it in from the baseline to Nash.

The Canadian general didn’t slow down for a second—he darted straight through the still-scattered Wizards defense.

Then he pulled a little twist: a stop-turn-back pass, straight to Hill.

But Butler was already closing the gap hard, smothering Hill’s shooting window.

No problem.

Hill, always calm, faked the shot and zipped the ball horizontally to a wide-open Chen Yan on the other side of the arc.

The moment Chen Yan caught the ball, Arenas was already scrambling to recover.

The Wizards made a quick switch, adjusting their defense just in time. The Suns’ transition came to a halt, and the offense settled into a half-court set.

Stoudemire hustled up from the backcourt to set a screen for Chen Yan, but the rookie waved him off.

He wasn’t looking for a pick.

Chen Yan had one thing in mind—he wanted Arenas to witness just how deadly the system players could get in isolation.

With the ball palmed in one hand, Chen Yan held his stance at the top of the key. Around him, the Suns instinctively spaced out, clearing the floor.

This wasn’t just any possession—it was a one-on-one showdown between two No. 0s.

Whenever Phoenix found itself stuck in the half court, they typically leaned on Nash and Stoudemire for the pick-and-roll. But tonight, Chen Yan was the go-to guy.

Arenas locked in. He pressed up tight, bodying Chen Yan with his strength, not giving an inch.

He knew the kid was cooking tonight. Giving him space? That was asking for trouble.

Arenas was no slouch. He had the build and the instincts. But Chen Yan knew that, too.

Bang!

Chen Yan dropped a between-the-legs dribble. Then came the lightning-quick crossover.

Wide angle. Blazing fast.

It left Arenas completely fooled.

His feet stuttered, body shifted the wrong way. Chen Yan had him.

Arenas might’ve had Kobe’s hunger to win, but defensively? He wasn’t built like Bean. His game was all offense, all buckets.

As he scrambled to recover, Chen Yan suddenly yanked the ball back with a slick hesitation move.

Arenas’s balance was shot. His momentum betrayed him.

He stumbled. Then—he fell.

”OHHH! HE FELL!”

”HERE COMES THE ANKLE KILLER!!”

Gasps and screams echoed through the arena.

But Arenas wasn’t going out like that. That fire in him refused to let this be the highlight.

As he hit the floor, he planted one hand down hard and forced himself upright with sheer core strength.

If Chen had pulled the trigger then, Arenas might’ve recovered just enough to get a contest.

But he didn’t.

Instead, just as Arenas got back to his feet, Chen Yan crossed him again—front-body, clean as hell.

And just like that... Arenas dropped AGAIN.

Twice. In under a second.

The crowd lost it.

Chen Yan blew by the stunned defender, glided into the paint, and floated a slick, one-handed scoop layup off the glass—just before Haywood could rotate over to contest.

Bucket.

But no one cared about the finish.

All eyes were still stuck on what just happened to Arenas.

---

Social media and forums exploded.

”A legendary moment just dropped—Arenas got humiliated!”

”That move made me wet...no cap.”

”Chen Yan: Did I tell you to get back up?”

”Arenas has that dawg in him, he’s tough. If it were any other player, they’d still be laid out after the first one.

”My roommate asked why I’m kneeling watching the game!”

”My mom asked why I was lying face down—it’s because Chen Yan crossed me through the damn screen!”

GIFs flooded the forums. Replays were everywhere. The clip looped endlessly. Two falls. One possession. An instant classic.

You see crossovers all the time in the NBA. But dropping a guy once is rare.

Twice? In the same play? Damn near unheard of.

Even seasoned fans weren’t ready for that kind of visual shock.

At home, people were screaming. At the arena? It was pure chaos.

”O-M-G! What just happened?!”

”Chen hit Arenas with that wizardry!”

”Bro’s ankles just entered the transfer portal.”

---

Meanwhile, on the Wizards’ bench...

Nick Young shot up out of instinct, waving his towel like a hype man.

Then it hit him.

He wasn’t a fan—he played for the Wizards.

And the guy who just got cooked wasn’t some random.

That was Gilbert Arenas. His own captain.

Realizing his mistake, Swaggy P sat down in a hurry and hid the towel behind his back.

Before Arenas noticed.

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