NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 112: Chapter 112: Teen Idol, Jordan Recruitment!

Chapter 112: Teen Idol, Jordan Recruitment!

”Three quarters with a 50-point triple-double! A new idol is born in basketball!”

”Unprecedented! Triple-double with 50+ and steals!”

”Bloodbath in Phoenix! Suns turn regular season into a glorified scrimmage, win by 58!”

”Future of the league? Book the Rookie of the Year in advance!”

The day after the Madison Square Garden massacre, headlines across sports media erupted with Chen Yan’s name. His jaw-dropping performance wasn’t just the talk of the NBA—it was global.

On outdoor courts across China, the number of kids wearing Chen Yan jerseys exploded. His style, his swagger, his dominance—he was becoming more than a player. He was becoming the idol for a new generation.

”Yo, Kunkun, I thought you wanted to be a pop idol. What’re you doing out here on the court?” one classmate joked.

Kunkun flushed, gripping the ball tighter. ”Singing and dancing’s just a hobby. Basketball? That’s a damn belief.”

It wasn’t just China. Across the ocean at UCLA, Chen Yan fever had spread too.

”Russ, man, take a break,” Kevin Love said, nudging Westbrook in the video room. ”You’ve been watching Chen highlights all day.”

Westbrook didn’t even blink. ”I’m studying, bro. This dude’s game is unreal. I’m tryna learn everything I can.”

Love snorted. ”Yeah right. You just want his girl—Taylor Swift.”

Laughter broke out among the Bruins players.

”Man, shut the hell up,” Westbrook barked, but he was grinning as he grabbed a ball and jogged toward the practice court. ”Those rumors are fake news!”

Teenagers always dreamed big. Whether it was being on stage or on the court—or dating a pop star—Westbrook was no different.

Meanwhile, Chen Yan was back on the road with the Suns. On November 31st, Phoenix played its final game of the month against the struggling Charlotte Bobcats.

Final score: 109-89.

No contest.

The Bobcats—still one of the league’s newest franchises—had tried to turn things around in the offseason. Owner Robert Johnson dropped serious cash to bring in dunk champ Jason Richardson. With Emeka Okafor and Gerald Wallace also on the roster, they swore they’d make a playoff push.

The result? Slightly better than the Knicks. Barely.

They were sitting third-worst in the Eastern Conference.

Building a winning culture doesn’t happen overnight. You can’t just toss in a couple stars and expect magic. It takes time. Sacrifice. Consistency.

Watching from the sidelines that night was the Bobcats’ minority owner—and basketball’s GOAT—Michael Jordan.

After the game, MJ made his way down the tunnel.

Just outside the Suns’ locker room, he spotted Chen Yan.

”Yo,” Jordan said with a smirk, holding out a box.

Chen opened it—inside was a pair of autographed AJ22s.

His eyes lit up.

The AJ22s were the latest in the Jordan line, inspired by the F-22 Raptor jet. Sleek. Deadly. A symbol of dominance in the air—just like MJ had been on the court.

Getting a pair wasn’t just a gift. It was recognition. A passing of the torch.

Jordan had always hand-picked young talent he respected—Kobe, T-Mac, now Chen Yan.

But the shoes weren’t the only reason Jordan was here.

”Join my team,” MJ said casually. ”This is your first step to becoming an All-Star.”

Chen smiled politely. ”Sounds dope. I’d be honored to join AJ. But I gotta talk with my agent first.”

Inside, though? He was already shaking his head.

He didn’t even want to sign with Nike—so why would he rep a sub-brand like Jordan? If he ever wore a sub-brand on the court, it’d be because he ran it. Period.

Still, you don’t just snub the GOAT to his face. Chen kept it classy. Gotta show respect.

Jordan smiled. ”We usually only sign All-Stars, kid. But for you? We’re willing to break the rule.”

It wasn’t just flattery.

Years ago, a rookie Rip Hamilton had begged to be signed by Jordan Brand. MJ shut it down cold—because AJ was for All-Stars only. Rip never forgot that rejection.

But now, Jordan was making an exception. That’s how much he rated Chen Yan.

Of course, there was also a business angle. Since becoming the Bobcats’ owner, Jordan had tried to get all his players signed under the AJ brand. It wasn’t just branding—it was a way to stretch salaries and dodge luxury tax. Classic MJ: always playing the angles.

As their conversation wrapped up, Chen got bold.

”Hey Mike, you think you could teach me some low-post footwork? Maybe a fadeaway jumper?”

Jordan raised an eyebrow, then grinned. ”Trying to steal some of the old man’s tricks, huh?”

According to Chen’s system, asking Hall of Famers for tips could trigger a chance to unlock their signature moves. He wasn’t gonna miss that shot.

”Alright, let’s do it,” MJ said.

In the tunnel, Jordan broke down his legendary fadeaway.

”Look, this shot ain’t something you just drill over and over. It’s all feel and instinct,” MJ began, adjusting his stance. ”You shoot it to create space. But you gotta stay squared to the hoop, even when you’re off-balance. That’s what keeps your percentage up.”

He moved into position.

”You can’t just go left or right—you need both. If a defender knows you only spin one way, they’ll shut you down. But if you can turn either shoulder and still launch it clean? You’re unstoppable.”

Chen absorbed every word.

Then MJ demonstrated, slowly going through the motion while Chen mimicked him on defense. It wasn’t a real game, but the GOAT was teaching—and that alone was gold.

Unfortunately, the system didn’t trigger. No new skill unlocked.

Chen sighed inwardly. They weren’t close enough yet. No trust, no intimacy—no reward.

But it was a start. A foot in the door.

He’d build the relationship. Earn it. One step at a time.

Click-click-click!

A nearby photographer snapped shots of the impromptu session.

Soon, the photos hit the internet—MJ mentoring Chen Yan in the tunnel.

Social media went wild.

”MJ’s disciple?”

”Chen Yan gets lessons from the GOAT!”

”Kid’s out here grinding like a straight-A student after class!”

”He wants to be great. You can see it.”

The Suns didn’t stay long in Charlotte. That same night, they flew back to Phoenix.

The moment the wheels touched down, Chen’s phone rang.

It was his agent—Bill Duffy.

”Chen,” he said, voice sharp. ”The brands are coming in hot. After that triple-double, everybody’s throwing money. Final offers are in. It’s go time.”

The sneaker war was on—and Chen Yan was about to cash in big.

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