As expected, the final minutes of the fourth quarter turned into a brutal meat grinder. 2014 was hailed as the dawn of the small-ball era, yet the dominance of the inside game still held strong. Both the Kings and the Spurs were battling fiercely, and for the first time, Chen Yilun's boost card failed.
On the perimeter, CJ, Ben, and Casspi were smothered by the defensive tandem of Kawhi and Green, who took turns guarding them, while Parker hounded them relentlessly with guerrilla-style pressure. For an already inconsistent group of shooters, it made scoring nearly impossible.
Everything was heading toward an old-school finish—slugging it out in the paint, grinding on defense, and letting the star player decide the game.
"We can't keep playing like this!" Chen Yilun sat on the bench as if on pins and needles, his legs shaking nonstop in frustration. "Cousins against Tim Duncan? No chance of winning!"
While Chen Yilun searched for answers, the clock kept ticking. As expected, the Spurs thrived with their crisp pass-and-cut offense built around Duncan, and the hard-earned Kings comeback was undone in moments.
Sensing danger, Mike Malone immediately called his second-to-last timeout, hoping to break the Spurs' rhythm. But deep down, he knew—without a real answer, defeat was inevitable.
Just then, Chen Yilun pushed his way through the huddle and grabbed Malone's hand. "Mike, how about we try that? The play we practiced last week."
His voice was loud enough for everyone—coaches and players alike—to hear, and each reacted with their own expression.
Malone's brow furrowed, while Cousins, still catching his breath on the bench, widened his eyes in disbelief, staring at both men.
"Coach, I can—" Cousins began, but Malone cut him off.
"If that play fails, you know exactly what kind of heat we'll be under," Malone said, locking eyes with Chen Yilun.
Chen Yilun met his gaze without hesitation. "Of course I know. But isn't that our job? For the win!"
Malone paused for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Alright, listen up, guys—run Play Four! DeMarcus, I know you want to win this on your own, but right now, we're a team. We'll try it for two possessions. If it doesn't work, we go back to our old set."
The timeout ended quickly.
Back on the court, the Kings shifted gears. Their shooters began cutting hard and running off the ball again.
"They're changing tactics!"
Popovich spotted it instantly.
"What are they trying? Another card to play?" he wondered. Aside from Oden, everything had gone according to plan. Could Malone really be hiding something else?
Suddenly, the formation shifted. CJ, who had been on the weak side, burst toward the top of the arc. Outside the paint, Cousins handed him the ball in a smooth dribble handoff.
Parker sprinted to chase him down, but two bodies suddenly blocked his path—Cousins and Gay—standing shoulder to shoulder like a wall.
CJ reached the arc, eyes locked on the rim, with Diaw still two steps too far to contest.
Swish! The ball dropped clean through.
"Good kid!"
Popovich jumped from the bench. That was the elevator doors play—the very one the Warriors had used on opening night! And they'd adapted it this quickly?
They were using CJ as a Curry stand-in.
But what truly grabbed Popovich's attention wasn't the tactic itself—it was the message behind it.
The Kings had always been Cousins' team, with him dominating the ball. Yet here, in a crucial moment, he was setting screens to free up someone else's shot. Before now, that had been unthinkable.
In the league's eyes, the Kings' hierarchy was clear—Cousins the undisputed leader, Gay the second option, and CJ, who'd only begun to shine this season, barely the third.
And now the team's top two stars were running a play for their third option? That completely upended the usual hierarchy.
Popovich folded his arms on the sideline, glancing at the Kings' bench with a mix of surprise and respect. Malone and Chen Yilun were gutsier than he'd thought.
But that was as far as it went.
With just a glance, Popovich signaled to Parker. After more than a decade together, they hardly needed words—complicated tactical shifts could be communicated with a single look.
The Spurs adjusted again. Duncan was no longer the finisher but the pick-and-roll threat.
And when Duncan wasn't carrying the full load—that's when the Spurs were at their most dangerous.
Sharp ball movement turned them into a flawless unit. The inexperienced Kings floundered on defense, CJ and Ben getting toyed with like helpless pups.
Worse still, after hitting two straight threes, CJ's shooting form began to unravel under fatigue and the suffocating Spurs defense, buff or not.
Clang! The shot hit the front rim and bounced away.
Duncan, already positioned, stretched his long arm and hauled in the rebound.
Was there really no way out? Malone searched desperately for a solution, but when the Spurs played like this, even last season's star-studded Heat couldn't beat them.
The final minutes fizzled out. After battling all night, the Kings collapsed just short of the finish line. The Spurs never gave them another opening.
Final score: 135–122.
The Spurs won the high-scoring duel.
CJ stood frozen on the court, eyes locked on the clock as it hit zero, the red digits cutting deep.
Since the start of the season, it had felt like a dream—going from an unknown to the team's point guard and brain. He had embraced the opportunity, repaying the trust with one strong performance after another.
But tonight, he had lost—on the biggest stage so far.
He had let the coach and GM down. Shame and regret swelled inside him until his vision blurred.
Then, a hand landed on his shoulder.
Chen Yilun, still wearing his trademark cocky grin, spoke in a light, almost teasing tone. "What's wrong? Relax, kid."
"This isn't the end of the world. It's not even the playoffs. Just another regular season game."
"But Chen—"
Chen Yilun waved him off. "Don't let Coach Malone's words get to you. How long have we been building this team? Just pushing the defending champs this far is reason enough to pop champagne. Remember—don't get hung up on one loss. We're young. Keep that hunger, keep competing. Every year brings a new season."
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