NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 337: Chapter 337: The Grim Reaper’s Scythe Is Smoking [Bonus Chapter]

TL: 200PS

Chapter 337: The Grim Reaper’s Scythe Is Smoking

”A 3 to tie it off a steal, again. Chen Yan really does get the hero script.”

”That right foot was on the line, then he slid it back half a step before he rose up. That is insane awareness.”

”And the scary part, he looked calm doing it. That’s a killer.”

The building buzzed with disbelief. Phoenix swarmed Chen Yan at midcourt, and Raja Bell might have been the happiest man alive. He jumped right onto Chen Yan’s back like a kid who just dodged detention.

But nobody stayed in celebration mode for long.

It was a tie, not a win.

Overtime was waiting.

...

OT started with both teams rolling out their best lineups, no saving bullets now.

Stoudemire outjumped Garnett for the tip. Garnett was half a generation older, and by overtime his legs simply did not pop the same way. Stoudemire sensed it immediately and demanded the first touch, he wanted Garnett on an island.

He faced up, leaned into contact, then floated a short runner.

Clang.

Good look, a little too much juice. It kissed the glass and caromed out.

The Lakers ran.

Kobe did not waste a second. He caught and pushed it up, chopped his steps to find his rhythm, then pulled up at the elbow.

Bell was still backpedaling, still reaching, still late.

Swish.

First bucket of overtime.

Kobe did not celebrate. He just met Garnett for a firm high five and turned right back to defense.

In the booth, Kenny Smith nodded. ”That’s Kobe right there. Fast break pull up from the elbow, that’s one of his comfort shots.”

Charles Barkley leaned in, voice low and sharp. ”And in overtime, first score matters. You feel it. You get that little psychological edge and the other team starts pressing.”

Suns ball.

Nash walked it up, and for the first time all night you could see the miles on his legs. After half court, he hunted the pick and roll.

Stoudemire came up, but the screen was not clean. Nash’s defender slid through, and Nash had to settle.

He took 1 lateral step and fired a cross court pass to Raja Bell on the arc.

Bell had range there, but he did not force it. Every possession in overtime was gold, and he needed a high percentage look.

He held the ball out with both hands, calling Chen Yan into a handoff.

Kobe was glued to Chen Yan. Chen Yan had to back cut twice just to touch it.

The moment he caught, James Posey shaded hard toward him.

No dribble. No space. No air.

Kobe and Posey were veteran defenders, big movements, perfect timing, physical without being obvious.

Chen Yan had to give it back.

Bell took the open jumper and missed.

Garnett ripped the rebound and outlet to Fisher. With Garnett on the floor, the Lakers were a lock to win the glass more often than not.

Fisher brought it up, swung to Kobe, then immediately sprinted baseline. Fresh legs, bench stamina, Old Fish still had fuel.

Kobe caught, turned, and flicked it right back to Fisher without thinking. Their chemistry had been built for years.

Fisher rose in rhythm.

Nash was a step slow and could only watch.

Swish.

105 to 110.

Staples detonated.

Garnett clenched his fist and screamed for defense, feeding the crowd even more.

”Defense!”

”Defense!”

The chant rolled down from the rafters like thunder.

Phoenix needed an answer.

Nash crossed half court under pressure, saw Chen Yan slicing inside from the right wing, and hit him on time.

The double arrived immediately, Kobe and Posey again, chest to chest, hands active, refusing to let him breathe.

It looked like the previous possession all over again.

This time Chen Yan refused to give the ball up.

In a moment like this, he wanted the outcome in his own hands.

He slammed on the brakes, stepped toward the arc, and used their footwork against them, pulling them forward and backward, inch by inch.

Then he snapped into a back spin pullback.

A feint.

It fooled them, and it nearly fooled him too.

His legs were heavy, the move was big, and for a split second he lost his balance so badly it looked like he was about to go down.

Most players would have been praying just to keep the dribble alive.

Chen Yan did something else.

He planted 1 hand on the floor to stabilize, exploded off that base, and stumbled straight into the lane.

Kwame Brown was waiting.

Chen Yan rose anyway and hammered a 1 handed tomahawk right through the airspace.

Boom.

107 to 110.

The Suns bench erupted, towels whipping, coaches screaming.

That dunk was not just points. It was a declaration.

Lakers possession.

Garnett went to his isolation and spun into a turnaround jumper.

Miss.

In crunch time, teams lean on stars. Both teams were doing it now.

Chen Yan sprinted in and snatched the defensive rebound.

This time he did not give it to Nash.

If he passed it, he might not get it back. Not with Kobe and Posey ready to deny him like it was personal.

He dribbled across half court himself.

The floor spread. Everyone cleared a side. Suns players stayed wide, trusting him to carry the weight.

Kobe waved his teammates off too.

No help.

1 on 1.

Both men were bent at the waist, breathing hard, staring like they had been fighting for hours, because they had.

Chen Yan dribbled in place, simple, efficient, conserving what little he had left. Kobe did not reach. A reckless steal attempt would be a gift, and nobody was gifting anything in overtime.

Chen Yan jabbed, then snapped into a hard stepback.

Kobe read it early and stepped into the space, hands high, chest forward, suffocating the shot window.

From nearly 2 meters beyond the arc, Chen Yan was dead in the water.

For most players, that possession was over.

Chen Yan was not most players.

He used his forearm to create a sliver, faked once, then rose into a shot that made no sense on paper, out of rhythm, contested, from deep.

The kind of shot stars take when they decide the moment belongs to them.

Kobe understood it instantly, because he lived on shots like that.

The ball climbed into the air, rainbow high.

Swish.

110 to 110.

Tie again.

In the booth, Kenny exhaled through a laugh. ”That is ridiculous. You play perfect defense and he still makes you pay.”

Charles Barkley shook his head, almost smiling. ”That’s his 60th point. Fellas, the Grim Reaper’s scythe is smoking tonight.”

Ever since Barkley first called Chen Yan the Grim Reaper on national TV, the nickname had stuck.

And after that shot, it sounded less like hype.

It sounded like a warning.