NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 226: Chapter 226: Watch Time, Medical Miracle!

Chapter 226: Watch Time, Medical Miracle!

The referee’s whistle cut through the noise.

”Beep!”

Play resumed.

Boris Diaw stood at the sideline, ball in hand. With his height, sharp vision, and pinpoint passing, he was the Suns’ safest inbound option for a final play.

Amar’e Stoudemire looped around the baseline, acting as a decoy. Diaw faked toward him—then whipped the pass to Chen Yan, standing two steps beyond the arc.

The moment Chen caught the ball, the clock began to tick.

Guarding him was Desmond Mason, the Bucks’ high-flying forward and 2001 Slam Dunk Contest champion. Coach Kris Krystkowiak had assigned him specifically to keep Chen from penetrating. Mason’s speed and athleticism made him the perfect stopper for the moment.

But Chen didn’t rush.

He gripped the ball with one hand, calm and steady, eyes locked on the rim. The crowd held its breath. He wasn’t going to give Milwaukee another chance.

Six seconds.

Chen made his move.

He burst forward so fast that Mason stumbled, nearly losing his position. Chen sliced right, then dipped under the defender’s arm, exploding into the lane.

Mo Williams stepped in, cutting him off. The safe play was a drive—tie it up or draw a foul. Anyone else would have gone for two.

But Chen wasn’t anyone else.

He suddenly pulled back, sliding left along the arc. Villanueva rotated over, wary of a pass, and hesitated for half a beat. Chen used that hesitation to bump him lightly and step back behind the line.

Now three defenders converged—Williams, Mason, Villanueva.

1.9 seconds.

Chen rose for a pull-up jumper, fading left.

Three hands in his face. No hesitation. No doubt.

The ball spun through the air in slow motion, tracing a perfect arc toward the rim.

The entire arena went silent.

Then—

”Swish!”

Nothing but net.

The buzzer blared at the exact same instant.

”IT’S GOOD! BUZZER-BEATER!” The TNT booth exploded with excitement.

The Bradley Center roared. Even the home crowd couldn’t contain itself.

”Oh my God, what a shot!”

”He was one-for-ten before that! How did he make that?”

”That’s insane—he can’t hit the easy ones but drills the impossible!”

”He’s clutch! Always clutch!”

”The best closer in the league!”

”Four buzzer-beaters this season!” shouted Kenny Smith. ”He’s the new king of game-winners!”

The camera zoomed in on Chen.

Expressionless. Composed.

He stared down at his wrist.

Then slowly raised a finger and tapped it.

Watch time.

The crowd erupted again.

It was his signature move now—checking his watch after sealing a game. The ultimate display of calm arrogance, the kind of swagger only superstars could pull off.

From the sideline, the Suns’ bench lost all composure.

Grant Hill threw away his crutches and sprinted onto the court.

Steve Nash, bad back and all, ran faster than he had in weeks.

The fans gasped. ”A medical miracle!” someone shouted.

Kenny Smith’s laughter rang through the broadcast. ”What’s a killer? That’s a killer! Cold-blooded! You could be 0-for-10 and still bury the dagger!”

Barkley chuckled beside him. ”And that’s why defenses still fear him. You can play perfect defense, and he’ll still make you pay.”

Kenny turned to him, still buzzing with energy. ”Charles, talk to me about that buzzer-beater!”

Barkley shrugged, almost too calm. ”Nothing to say, man. That’s just who he is.”

Kenny blinked, then laughed. Barkley’s words carried more weight than any shout.

---

After the chaos settled, the Suns’ locker room became a sea of reporters. Cameras flashed, microphones extended from every direction.

”Chen, tonight you tied Michael Jordan’s record—seven straight triple-doubles. How does it feel?”

Chen smiled modestly. ”It feels great. A moment I’ll never forget.”

”Before that last shot, you were one-for-ten from three,” another reporter said. ”Why take a three-pointer instead of driving for two?”

Chen answered without hesitation. ”Because I believed I’d make it.”

The room fell quiet for a second. His voice carried the calm confidence of someone who understood exactly who he was.

Sure, his in-game skills—like Heart of Steel and God-Level Pull-Up—helped, but this one was about mentality.

He trusted himself, even when logic said he shouldn’t.

”Chen, tell us about your celebration after the shot,” a journalist asked.

He grinned. ”It’s simple—it’s the watch-check.”

”What does it mean?”

”It means...” he paused, smirking, ”...it’s time to get off work.”

The room burst into laughter.

Another reporter raised his hand. ”You’ve hit the most buzzer-beaters this season. Do you remember how many?”

Chen thought for a moment, then shook his head. ”I can’t remember the number, but I’ll never forget the look on my opponents’ faces after each one.”

He chuckled. ”Though... I think this one’s my favorite.”

”Because it tied Jordan’s record and won the game?” someone asked.

”No,” Chen said, laughing. ”Because it almost healed my teammates’ injuries.”

The room erupted again.

Even the media couldn’t stop smiling. Chen Yan, calm on the court and charming off it, had once again shown why the entire league couldn’t stop talking about him.

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