The gym in Oklahoma City was quiet except for the rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood. Lin Yi sat on the sideline, towel draped over his shoulders, catching his breath after an intense shooting drill. His phone buzzed on the bench beside him.
An unknown number.
He frowned, wiped his hands on his shorts, and picked it up anyway. "Hello? Lin Yi speaking."
There was a brief pause, then a familiar, calm voice came through.
"Hi, Lin… this is Ashley. Ashley Olsen."
Lin straightened a little. "Ashley Olsen? Big Sis Ashley?"
"Yeah," she said softly. "Sorry to bother you — I know you're busy, and you've got a game tomorrow. But this is… kind of urgent."
Something in her tone made Lin's chest tighten. He turned slightly away from his teammates, lowering his voice. "What's going on? Is Elizabeth alright?"
Ashley hesitated. "She's safe, but… there was an incident tonight. Some paparazzi cornered us outside a restaurant downtown. They said some really awful things — about her, about you. It got ugly for a minute."
Lin's expression darkened. "How bad?"
"They were shouting things about her using you for fame, calling her names, saying she was only with you for publicity." Ashley's voice cracked slightly, the anger and frustration breaking through her usual composure. "Mary-Kate and I tried to block the cameras, but… it shook her up. She tried to act calm, but I could tell she was holding it in."
Lin exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. The air around him seemed heavier, and for a moment, the noise of the gym faded out. His face shifted from worry to a deep frown, his eyes narrowing as if he could see those paparazzi right in front of him.
"Alright," he said quietly, steadying his tone. "Thank you for telling me, Ashley. I'll handle this. I'll talk to her when I'm back in New York."
"I didn't want to make it worse by calling," she said. "But I thought you should know. She's trying to keep it together, but… it's not easy being in your spotlight."
Lin nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You did the right thing. I appreciate it."
There was a pause — the kind that said both of them had more to say, but didn't know how. Then Ashley's voice softened. "She really loves you, Lin. She's just trying not to burden you with all this."
Lin's grip on the phone tightened. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know."
They said their goodbyes, and Lin ended the call.
He sat still for a moment, staring at the gym floor. His teammates noticed something off. Chris Paul walked over, tossing a towel at him.
"Everything good, man? You look like you just got bad news."
Lin blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah… just something personal. I'll deal with it."
Paul studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. But don't bottle it up too much, alright? You're carrying enough already."
Lin managed a small nod. "I'm fine."
The practice resumed, the sounds of the gym coming back to life. Lin picked up his ball and started shooting again — each shot sharper, harder, more focused than before.
...
Before the Knicks tipped off against the Thunder, the consensus among analysts was that Oklahoma City could cause real problems for the defending champs.
Now, as the game began, Durant lined up across from him, full of energy, ready to attack. Lin looked him over once and thought, Wrong night to test me, Kevin.
Durant had forgotten something crucial — the Knicks' role players were well-rested after the Grizzlies game. They were fresh, locked in, and ready to feed off Lin's mood.
And Lin… was playing angry.
Thunder coach Scott Brooks went with the usual script: heavy coverage on Lin, crowd him, make him pass. It might've worked on another night. But tonight, Lin Yi wasn't forcing shots — he was controlling everything. Every rebound, every rotation, every touch of the ball carried weight.
Something was simmering under every movement — a sharpness that made his teammates play harder, faster, meaner.
The Thunder's defensive focus on Lin backfired completely.
He didn't chase points — he dismantled them piece by piece. Waited for the right pass. Crashed the glass. Set up teammates. Even intercepted a few of Paul's assists just because he could. It wasn't about numbers tonight — it was about control.
And the Knicks followed his lead.
Shots started falling from everywhere.
Brooks kept calling timeouts, looking more lost each time.
Lin barely reacted.
He just stared at the floor during breaks, hands clasped, jaw still tight.
When Klay Thompson started struggling against James Harden's step-back, Lin finally spoke.
"Don't let him get in your head," he said quietly, patting Klay's shoulder. "Play your game. Don't give him what he wants."
Klay nodded. He could feel that same edge in Lin's tone — calm, but burning.
By the second quarter, the Thunder clawed back, but the Knicks' momentum returned just as quickly. Danny Green picked up the slack, knocking down threes like he was in a shooting drill. The bench was hyped. The Knicks' sideline felt alive.
Brooks, meanwhile, couldn't figure it out. He had all that young talent — Durant, Westbrook, Harden — but they weren't in sync. They were individuals fighting battles, not a team.
Lin Yi knew that feeling well, but tonight, he wasn't in the mood for empathy.
He was running on anger — not the kind that made you lose control, but the kind that sharpened every instinct. He was angry at how the world treated people close to him. Angry that he couldn't be there. Angry that someone like Elizabeth — kind, private, grounded — had to deal with that circus because of him.
Every assist, every rebound, every screen — it was his way of letting it out.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read: Knicks 130, Thunder 101.
Another road win.
Another message sent.
Lin Yi's stat line was hot even with all his facilitation — 34 points, 15 rebounds, 13 assists.
A triple-double.
Everyone who watched him play could feel the difference. The composure, the intensity — it wasn't the same as usual. It was colder, heavier.
Durant had dropped 30-plus again, but it didn't matter. It was his fifth straight loss to Lin Yi. He'd expected headlines comparing their games, maybe questioning his leadership. But this time, nobody even mentioned his name.
Everyone was still talking about Lin's 86-point masterpiece from the last game.
Durant could only mutter under his breath as he left the court,
"Yeah, of course… Lin again."
Lin didn't even notice. He was already in the tunnel, chatting briefly with Harden about their offseason workouts. Harden joked, Lin smiled faintly, and that was that.
...
After taking down the Thunder, the Knicks finally flew back to New York.
The 2011–12 NBA season felt like a blur — rushed, cramped, and exhausting.
Injuries had started piling up across the league. The tight schedule was punishing, and the Knicks were incredibly fortunate to have avoided disaster so far. Even Tracy McGrady, who hadn't played a minute this season, was still in one piece. For now, anyway.
Returning to New York with a 12-game winning streak, the Knicks were flying high — comfortably sitting atop the standings and making the rest of the league look like it was scrambling to catch up. But take the Knicks out of the picture, and the season was nothing short of chaos.
The Heat and Bulls were the only other teams in the East that looked remotely stable. The Pacers, though… they were starting to look dangerous. Paul George was quietly evolving — longer, smoother, sharper — already giving off the aura of a future superstar. Would PG still suffer that injury this time around? Maybe this time, things would be different.
Meanwhile, north of the border, the Raptors were starting to show signs of life. A rejuvenated DeMar DeRozan was averaging nearly 23 a game, his jumper smoother than ever. Lin couldn't help but feel a bit proud — DeMar had listened when Lin and the guys told him to fix his shooting mechanics. Gone was the predictable mid-range obsession; his game now fit the modern league better, more fluid, more confident.
In the East, the strong were strong, and the weak were… well, invisible.
But out West? That was a different story.
The Hornets — of all teams — had started the season 7–5. Led by Danilo Gallinari and Lou Williams, they looked way too competent for a franchise that was supposed to be tanking.
If the Hornets accidentally played themselves out of the number-one pick, the entire league's future could shift.
The Mavericks were another headache. Kyrie Irving had Dallas fans falling in love in his rookie season. A confident Kyrie could become — smooth handles, fearless drives, impossible layups. If Dallas figures out their defensive issues, they could become the biggest threat in the West.
And then there were the Spurs. Always lurking, always silent, always waiting to remind everyone that they never really go away. Jimmy Butler was fitting in perfectly, bringing his relentless energy and work ethic to San Antonio's system. People said Thibodeau made him. Nah, Butler made himself.
The league was ramping up, and everyone was coming for the head of the king in the East.
...
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