Chapter 84: Hand-Rolled Rasengan! Conflict Breaks Out Again!
"29 points in a single quarter! Are you kidding me? This guy only had seven in the first half!" Barkley shouted, shaking his big ol' head as he stared at the scoreboard in disbelief.
Despite providing live commentary all game long, even Sir Charles couldn't hide the shock on his face watching Chen Yan go nuclear in the third quarter.
Kenny Smith cracked up at the sight of him. "Charles, don't tell me you're already regretting our little bet?"
Barkley turned to glare at Kenny. "Man, get outta here with that. The fourth quarter belongs to Kobe. That man's gonna handle business, just wait."
Chen Yan had exploded for 29 in the third and was now sitting on 36 points, but Kobe wasn't far behind. He'd quietly dropped 18 in that same quarter, adding to the 16 he had in the first half—putting him at 34.
The bet between Kenny and Chuck? Still very much up in the air.
Reggie Miller sat nearby, calm and unbothered as the two bickered.
Honestly, he didn't give a damn who won the bet—or who had to pucker up and kiss that donkey on Inside the NBA.
---
The fourth quarter tipped off with both coaches resting their stars.
D'Antoni had no choice but to keep Chen Yan on the bench—he played the entire third quarter, going iso over and over, burning through his stamina like a man on fire. The mustached coach needed his guy to catch his breath.
Phil Jackson, unbothered by Chen's eruption, didn't panic. The Lakers had shot the ball well in the third too, and they'd done a solid job locking down the other Suns. Despite Chen's outburst, L.A. still held a slim 88–85 lead heading into the final frame.
Even though Phoenix had the stronger bench on paper, they couldn't take advantage.
Staples Center was rockin'. In a rivalry like this, with playoff implications and old grudges on the line, the crowd was deafening. Lakers fans were on their feet, screaming for blood—ready to watch their team stomp the Suns into the hardwood and then gloat about it for days.
With 8:12 left, both squads brought their starters back in.
From there, it was a war of attrition. A back-and-forth slugfest. Lead changes. Big plays. No one backing down.
Then Garnett caught fire.
The Big Ticket shook his man with a shoulder fake, turned, and hit a fadeaway. Next trip, he hammered home a dunk off a bounce pass. Then he drilled a mid-range jumper off a jab step.
The man was feeling it.
Kobe recognized it instantly and started feeding KG on repeat.
People always say Kobe was a ball hog—but the truth is, he passed. Just not to everybody. Only to the guys he trusted to deliver.
The Suns stuck to their seven-seconds-or-less offense. Fast breaks. Ball movement. Everyone getting touches.
Chen Yan was still crazy efficient, but he couldn't take every shot. That'd wreck the whole system. What happened in the third quarter was special—lightning in a bottle. His teammates let him cook because he couldn't miss. But now? It was back to team ball.
The scoreboard kept swinging back and forth.
Then, with five minutes left, the Lakers tightened the screws on defense.
And that's when Phoenix's system started to show its cracks.
Their entire style depended on pace and shotmaking. But now, legs were heavy. The shots? Not falling. The run-and-gun rhythm? Slowing down.
Clang!
Clang!
Nash missed. Stoudemire missed. Twice.
The Lakers pushed the pace in transition and converted both times.
110–106. A six-point lead for L.A.
Staples erupted.
Fans could sense it—momentum had flipped. This was the Lakers' moment.
The Suns had seen this movie before. When the defense ramps up and the pressure mounts, their run-and-gun offense gets exposed. That's why they've stumbled in the playoffs year after year.
And yeah—some of that blame lands squarely on Coach D'Antoni's shoulders. The man just wasn't great at in-game adjustments.
But just when the Suns looked like they were spiraling…
Chen Yan stepped up.
One-on-one against Crittenton? Splash—drained a deep three.
Next trip down? He danced into the paint, drew three defenders, hit a phantom stepback, absorbed contact, and converted the and-one!
2+1!
Just like that, the Suns were back in it.
D'Antoni was fired up, clapping and yelling on the sideline like a kid on Christmas.
He'd dreamed of having a guy like this—a closer, a killer. He used to envy the Lakers for having Kobe. But now? Now he had his own Mamba.
Of course, the Lakers weren't gonna just lie down and give this thing away.
Next possession, Kobe got the ball in the low post.
Triangle offense in full effect.
The triangle's real strength wasn't the fancy passes or cuts—it was how it isolated the right man at the right time.
This tactic was designed to keep the team's offensive core from being easily double-teamed in the closing minutes. It relied heavily on elite individual ability to create one-on-one opportunities.
If the Princeton offense is like Tai Chi—flowing, fluid, and continuous—then the Triangle Offense is the Dugu Nine Swords, built for those rare, gifted warriors. And for a team like the Lakers with two superstars? It fits like a glove.
Facing Barnes' defense, Kobe gave that signature shoulder shimmy—then rose for the turnaround fadeaway.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
112 to 110. The Lakers retook the lead.
Barnes was a solid perimeter defender, no doubt. But great defense only goes so far against a truly unstoppable scorer.
Back the other way—Chen Yan caught the ball, gave a slick jab step, then pulled up on a dime.
Splash! Right in rhythm.
Answer ball.
One man faded like a brushstroke, smooth and graceful. The other rose like a poem in motion—elegant and effortless.
The fans in the arena and watching on TV went wild. Screams echoed across both coasts.
In the commentary booth, Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith had long forgotten about their earlier bet. They were locked in, fully immersed in this nail-biter.
Chen Yan's relentless burst lit a fire under the whole Suns squad. On the very next possession, the Suns clamped down on defense and forced the Lakers into a 24-second shot clock violation!
Players high-fived all around. The energy was electric.
Re-inbounding the ball, Chen Yan came off a Borista Diaw screen and shed Crittenton with ease.
Kwame Brown switched onto him—but Chen Yan blew by him too. Now it was just him and Garnett.
It was the first true face-off between them all game.
Both leapt.
Garnett extended everything he had, going all-out for the block.
Mid-air collision.
Chen Yan twisted, spun 180 degrees, and went up with a reverse, backhand layup!
[Juggling Layup (Passive)] activated!
The ball kissed the rim, danced twice, and finally dropped in!
A magic trick disguised as a layup.
Difficulty rating: Five stars.
114 to 112. 3 minutes and 7 seconds left.
Chen Yan had just put the Suns back in front—and notched his 48th point of the night.
On the sideline, Phil Jackson's expression tightened. If this kept up, the Lakers might actually lose this one… to a rookie.
"He just threw that thing in like it was nothing?"
"Goddamn! That layup was cold!"
"Layup? Bro, that was a Rasengan in mid-air!"
Even fans back home couldn't sit still. The tension had hit full boil. Living rooms turned into arenas. Everyone was standing.
And of course, Garnett's mouth was never far behind.
"Rookie, try that circus shit on me again, and I'll have you laid out on the floor."
Chen Yan didn't blink.
"Nah, no need to do that again. Next time I'm just dunking straight on your head."
Off the court, Chen Yan kept it respectful. On the court? Different story. He wasn't bowing to anybody.
That's when the Staples Center crowd erupted.
Chen Yan and Garnett were now face to face, heads nearly butting. The tension was thick—gunpowder in the air.
"Let's gooo! Fight! Fight!"
"KG, knock that rookie down a peg!"
"Mop the floor with him!"
The Lakers faithful were in full riot mode, egging it on.
But before anything escalated, the familiar scene from the third quarter played out again. Teammates rushed in to separate the two.
Play was paused for a few minutes. The refs huddled, then gave both Chen Yan and Garnett a technical foul.
Nash stepped to the line for the Suns. Kobe did the honors for the Lakers.
The skirmish was over—for now. But the beef between Chen Yan and the Lakers' fanbase? That had just kicked off.
As Chen Yan waited at the line, a man and woman courtside wouldn't stop heckling him. Loud. Vicious. Unrelenting.
"Hey! You two father and daughter—shut the hell up. Nobody wants to hear you spit garbage."
Chen Yan snapped back without missing a beat.
The woman jumped to her feet.
"We're husband and wife, asshole!"
Chen Yan just laughed and turned away.
Sixty-year-old man. Thirty-year-old woman. Yeah, that checks out.
His smirk broke both of them. They lost it, flipping him off, screaming.
Soon enough, Staples Center security swooped in and tossed them both.
The couple went home together—with an ejection notice.
---
The game resumed.
Chen Yan and Kobe each missed their next shot—almost as if nodding to each other in mutual respect.
Fatigue started showing. Both superstars had cooled off, and neither team could find an edge.
Two and a half minutes dragged by. The score held steady—115 to 113.
No one was pulling away. It had come down to sheer willpower now.
This wasn't about talent anymore.
It was about grit.
The war had entered its final chapter—not about who could deliver a knockout blow, but who could survive the last round standing.
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