"It really isn't easy."
Lin Yi held the stat sheet a little longer than usual before exhaling, slow and steady.
This season had a different weight to it. Every possession demanded something. By the final buzzer, there was no sense of flow left, just fatigue. It felt closer to survival than basketball, like he had spent the night trading blows and walking out on willpower alone.
Before he could sink further into that thought, he reached over and pulled Elizabeth into him. She let out a small yelp, her phone nearly slipping from her hand as she was drawn into the couch.
"It looks like I have a problem, Liz," Lin said, voice heavy with mock seriousness as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.
Elizabeth glanced at him, already catching the tone. He covered his face with both hands, playing it up as if he had just received terrible news.
She sighed, though there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. "Alright. What's the problem?"
Lin lowered his hands slowly, then turned the screen toward her.
"I'm suffering from success, Liz. It's getting out of hand. Just look at these."
She leaned in, eyes scanning the numbers for a second.
"Impressive," she said simply.
Then she kissed him, slow and certain, before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again.
"Nothing less for the Reaper."
Lin's expression softened for a moment, the act slipping just a little.
Elizabeth shifted, easing herself out of his arms with some reluctance. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need snacks. My cravings are starting again.
She had barely stood up when Lin gave a generous squeeze of her ass, followed by a slap that made her stop mid-step.
"I want some too," he said, leaning back into the couch. "I'm your big baby as well."
Elizabeth shot him a look over her shoulder, a mock glare that didn't quite hide the amusement in her eyes.
"Stay right there," she said. "You'll get your share."
Lin grinned, watching her head toward the kitchen.
"Life is good."
. . .
At the start of the season, his base abilities had already taken another step forward. He had not fully absorbed everything yet. There was no real time during the regular season to slow down and train properly like in the offseason.
The grind had been brutal, but the mission was complete.
But the foundation was there.
Two Diamond-level badges. Amethyst-level fundamentals.
82 games. No absences.
35.8 minutes per night.
37.8 points per game.
He read that last number again, slower this time.
37.8.
That meant one thing.
Michael Jordan's 37.1 points per game from the 1986 to 1987 season was no longer the benchmark.
Lin Yi had passed it.
Cleanly.
And that was just the start.
59.2 percent from the field. 43.8 percent from three. 97.5 percent from the line.
Another 180 Club season.
Fourth in a row.
Even Steve Nash had never done that consecutively.
Lin Yi leaned back, eyes still on the numbers.
77.9 percent at the rim.
69.7 true shooting.
There was no weak spot to point at. No obvious flaw to exploit.
And finally, his second scoring title.
Total points for the season. 3,100.
Career total. 9,630.
Ten thousand was right there.
Next season, easily.
He paused, then shook his head slightly.
With his recovery ability, barring surprises, it did not even need to be said.
If anything, the more interesting part would be how fast he got there. Not just reaching 10,000 points, but doing it in fewer games than anyone expected.
"Future rookies are going to have a hard time," he muttered.
Hope guys like chasing records because there are going to be a lot of them. All with my name on it.
Scoring was just one part.
12.3 rebounds.
6.1 assists.
2.6 blocks.
1.7 steals.
He ran through the totals again.
1004 rebounds.
501 assists.
213 blocks.
140 steals.
Over 3000 points, 1000 rebounds, 500 assists, 200 blocks, 100 steals.
That stat line did not look real.
Second in rebounds.
Top twenty in assists.
Third in blocks.
Top fifteen in steals.
Anyone seeing that for the first time had the same reaction.
What is this?
Around the league, reactions were not much different.
In the 2009 draft circle, a screenshot of Lin Yi's stats quietly ended the conversation.
Stephen Curry logged off.
James Harden said nothing and left.
DeMar DeRozan followed.
There was nothing to argue about.
You do not compare numbers like that.
You just accept them.
At some point, the label changed.
Not a player.
Not even a superstar.
Something else.
An outlier.
Harden, half-amused, half-annoyed, sent a message to Russell Westbrook.
"Where does Kevin even get the confidence to compete for MVP?"
He did not bother to hide the tone.
To him, there was no debate.
75 wins on top of those numbers?
Unless the league wanted to invite chaos, the MVP race was already over.
Three in a row.
That should be the outcome.
Then again, the league had its history.
Tim Duncan never winning Defensive Player of the Year still made no sense.
And somehow Marcus Camby had one.
So nothing was ever completely guaranteed.
Even so, the numbers spoke loudly enough.
ESPN had already given him a new nickname.
The Bank.
Scoring, for Lin Yi, looked as routine as a withdrawal.
Just money
He looked at the stat sheet one more time, a faint smile forming.
"Yeah… this never gets old."
Elizabeth returned to the living room, carrying a large bowl, with Sakazuki padding along beside her and Mr. Wiggles perched on the dog's head like he owned the place.
Lin's eyes immediately caught the contents of the bowl: Doritos Flamin' Hot Nacho and Cheetos Flamin' Hot Puffs, piled high.
She slid onto the couch beside him, scooping his arm around her shoulders. "Finish admiring the stats," she said, leaning in.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, reaching for a chip.
Lin tilted his head, playful. "Where did you even get a taste for spicy stuff? I remember my Sichuan chef nearly burned your ass off last time. When did you adapt?"
Liz rolled her eyes, settling into him more comfortably. "That was different. That was food from hell."
"As for this," Elizabeth shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "I don't know. Last time I had a craving, it just had to be something spicy. No reason. I tried it, and it actually tasted good. Not even that hot. Since then, I guess I just added it to the list of things I like."
She grabbed a few chips and popped them into her mouth like she had something to prove.
"So I just… kept going."
Lin watched her for a second, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. "Unbelievable."
They settled into the couch together, watching TV, sharing the bowl. Lin grabbed a handful, crunching as Elizabeth leaned against him.
Sakazuki, however, had other plans. The dog sat in front of them, eyes wide, tail wagging, clearly interested in the spicy snacks. Mr. Wiggles, perched on his head, looked just as expectant.
Lin couldn't resist. He dropped a Dorito onto the floor. Sakazuki snatched it instantly, completely unbothered by the heat.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Wait… that's spicy!"
Sakazuki looked up again, completely normal, if not more interested now.
Lin gestured toward him. "See? Handles it."
Lane gave him a look. "That's not how that works."
Lin straightened slightly, clearly about to commit to the bit. "Of course it is. His name's Sakazuki. Handles magma. Heat. It's only natural."
Liz stared at him for a second, unimpressed.
Then she slowly shook her head.
"…That wasn't funny."
"Tough crowd," Lin muttered.
He set the bowl down beside him, popped another chip in his mouth, and laughed as Sakazuki nudged closer to the bowl.
Lin reached over, grabbed the bowl, and pulled it closer, casually shielding it from Sakazuki.
"My guy's getting greedy. I've seen this before."
Sakazuki whined softly in protest, shifting his weight forward, while Mr. Wiggles adjusted his position like a tiny supervisor overseeing the situation.
Olsen let out a small laugh, settling back against Lin.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to 30+ advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a