NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 139: Chapter 139: Chen Yan Becomes Harder to Guard, Curry’s Obsession!

Chapter 139: Chen Yan Becomes Harder to Guard, Curry’s Obsession!

”Wooooow! Chen comes back with a dunk! That was incredible!” Barkley roared from the TNT commentary booth.

”Hahaha! Looks like someone had too much energy saved up during suspension!” Kenny Smith laughed, shaking his head.

Fans back home were just as fired up.

”Chen Yan is back to exploding rims!”

”Transitions are his playground—it’s just too fun to watch!”

”Anthony Parker gave him two meters of space and still got cooked? That’s trauma right there.”

”Chen Yan looks hungry tonight, he wants every bucket!”

”Well, duh. If you were suspended for a week, wouldn’t you go all out when you finally got back?”

---

Raptors’ First Answer

Calderon brought the ball up, setting up the Raptors’ offense.

Pierce curled out from the baseline, demanding the ball, but Calderon ignored him and lobbed it inside to Chris Bosh.

It was telling. Pierce might have been a veteran All-Star with nearly a decade in the league, but here in Toronto he was still the new guy—unpopular in the locker room, known for his grating personality, and nowhere near the beloved icon he had been in Boston.

Bosh, meanwhile, was the Raptors. He had the respect, the skill, and the role as centerpiece.

Facing up against Stoudemire, Bosh showcased his footwork—quick, deliberate, almost guard-like. With a shoulder fake and spin, he glided past Stoudemire and finished a smooth layup.

2–2.

---

Stoudemire quickly inbounded. The Raptors hustled back, all five men collapsing into their halfcourt defense.

Nash saw no lane for a fast break, so he pulled up, orchestrating a set. Calderon picked him up—two point guards with the same profile: strong offense, suspect defense. But Nash wasn’t looking to iso. He wanted to run the system.

At the top of the arc, Nash swung the ball across to Chen Yan.

Chen Yan caught it with one hand, holding a textbook triple-threat stance.

”Clear out! Clear out!” Coach D’Antoni shouted from the sideline, making it obvious who the possession was designed for.

Anthony Parker locked in defensively, standing closer than he had in transition. In halfcourt play, his only job was to cut off Chen Yan’s first step.

Chen Yan dribbled casually, rocking the ball side to side. Then—snap!—he let go with his left hand and leaned into a drive.

Parker slid to cut him off, staying with him step for step. For a second, it looked like he had succeeded.

Then Chen Yan hit him with a sharp crossover. Stop. Shift. Burst.

Parker’s footing slipped—he nearly fell. By the time he recovered, all he could do was watch Chen Yan’s back as he blazed into the lane.

Damn it... he’s even harder to guard than last time.

And it made sense. Their last matchup had been opening night, when Chen Yan was still more of a raw rookie, adjusting to NBA rhythm. Now, after over a month of games, he was stronger, sharper, and far more comfortable.

Bargnani rotated over to help, but immediately regretted it.

Chen Yan was already airborne, rocketing upward like a missile.

One-handed slam. Boom!

Bargnani ducked instinctively, arms raised in surrender. The ball nearly grazed his head as Chen Yan crushed it through the rim.

”Andrea, be tough! Show some defensive pride!” Raptors coach Sam Mitchell barked furiously from the sideline.

Bargnani sheepishly raised a hand as if to admit fault, but in his mind he was already plotting his next dodge. What’s the point? Why throw myself under that highlight reel? No thanks.

---

”Two monster dunks already?!”

”He’s trying to tear the basket off in the first quarter!”

”Forget the dunks, that crossover was pure filth!”

”Suspension didn’t slow him down at all. If anything, he’s sharper.”

”Of course. He’s been ’training’ at home with Taylor Swift every day.”

”...Wait, training what exactly? Be specific, bro.”

The internet lit up with jokes and debates as Chen Yan’s opening storm rattled the Raptors.

---

Meanwhile in Ohio...

In a quiet luxury villa, a young Stephen Curry sat glued to the TV with his father, Dell Curry.

When Chen Yan’s second dunk slammed through the rim, Stephen leapt off the couch, eyes shining.

”Dad! That’s it! That’s how I want to play—just like him!”

Dell Curry, ever the calm veteran, leaned back with a lazy smile. He had spent over a decade in the NBA and wasn’t going to lose composure over a highlight dunk.

”Haha, Stephen... listen. You’re a different type of player. That’s not your game.”

He’d told his son this countless times before, but Stephen’s obsession was stubborn.

From the time he was three, little Steph had been trying to dunk on his younger brother Seth in the backyard. In college, he once tried an alley-oop to impress the crowd, only to embarrass himself by clanging it three times in a row while hanging on the rim.

Dell could only shake his head. His boy wasn’t letting this dream go anytime soon.

If nothing unexpected happened, this obsession with dunking would follow Stephen Curry his whole life.

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