On the court.
Post-game.
ESPN's renowned reporter, Woj, found Su Yan and said excitedly, "Oh, Mr. Su Yan.
You're absolutely incredible.
A steal, a running floater, and a logo three off the glass to win it—my God, I can't believe a human just did that.
I thought last night when black mamba Kobe hit that running jumper to beat Wade and the Heat, it was already spectacular.
Yet just one night later, you've once again redefined what I thought possible for a game-winner.
This is the greatest buzzer-beater I've seen this season—no, in the last ten years!
And he's an Undrafted Player on top of that—shocking and unbelievable!
Amazing.
Mr. Su Yan.
I *…(%(#…(@)))"
Woj grew more agitated the longer he spoke, until he was practically incoherent.
Watching Su Yan's impossible shot seemed to excite him more than rolling in the sheets with his girlfriend!
"No need to get worked up,"
Su Yan consoled him with a smile, then modestly added, "I had no choice but to let it fly—that was the only shot left.
I just got lucky; nothing special."
"No, no, no!"
Woj took several deep breaths, shook his head repeatedly, and went on, "That can't be luck—at least not pure luck.
Let The Big Shark Shaquille O'Neal take that three and I bet he'd miss eleven out of ten tries.
Your three-point shooting is already peerless.
Because you're a top-tier Shooter, you could bury such a legendary shot under pressure!"
O'Neal: Thanks for dragging me into this—I thank your whole family!
Su Yan shook his head, feeling that Woj was practically possessed, hopelessly infatuated.
There was no talking him down.
So… he let Woj keep heaping praise, letting him sing his accolades live across America.
"MVP!"
"Su Yan for MVP!"
"MVP! MVP!!!"
Spurred by Woj's endless praise, the fans spontaneously began chanting "Su Yan MVP".
At first only a few voices.
Then more and more joined, louder and louder, until the arena echoed with the roar.
Tonight belongs to Su Yan!
At the post-game press conference,
Denver Head Coach George Karl couldn't help but marvel: "Tonight Su Yan hit ten threes and dropped forty-three points.
He outplayed Carmelo.
A player of the week putting up something better than a player of the month—already incredible.
He's one of the league's premier three-point marksmen.
So when he buried that running, logo three, I honestly couldn't tell if it was luck or skill.
But one thing's certain:
This undrafted kid is playing at rookie of the year level; his ceiling is limitless.
Lastly, I have to say—if your three-ball is precise enough, as deadly accurate as Su Yan's,
it really can be your regular weapon."
George Karl lavished praise on Su Yan.
It was only a regular-season game, the outcome not critical, yet Su Yan's performance had won him over.
He offered genuine admiration.
On the Knicks' side,
D'Antoni's grin never left his face; he was bursting with pride in Su Yan.
No matter who asked,
he just kept singing his praises.
He bragged about Su Yan's brilliance and his own eye for talent in signing this "vase-like" Top-tier 3&D Player… After the presser ended,
in the Nuggets' locker room,
Anthony called LeBron and sighed, "My man, I just got torched by Su Yan.
He even stole my move for talking to girls."
???
Wait, how are those two things even related?
LeBron bit back the urge to roast him, got the story, and learned Su Yan had just beaten Denver.
At the Small Forward spot,
Su Yan had outplayed Anthony, one of the top three Small Forwards in the league.
"That fierce?"
LeBron was a bit surprised. "If even you can't handle him, I guess I'll have to take him seriously!"
"Yeah."
Anthony agreed. "LeBron, I called to tell you:
Su Yan's better than we thought.
He's no ordinary rookie, and you can't judge him as an Undrafted Player—at least treat him like a star."
"Sheesh…"
LeBron's mouth twitched.
He knew Anthony had a big ego; though his hunger to win might not match Kobe's or Chris Paul's,
still,
when it came to personal clout and skill, Anthony had every right to be proud.
For him to praise an undrafted guy this much,
there was only one reason: Su Yan really was that good.
"Got it, Carmelo."
LeBron said in a low voice, "When I face Su Yan, I'll go all out, give him zero openings,
and blow him up to avenge you."
"Good, I'm counting on you, brother. I'm hurting right now; I need to go hit on some top-tier girls on the New York streets to soothe my soul."
LeBron: ???
You'd better be doing that because you're heartbroken.
In the Knicks' locker room,
"Yahoo~"
"Denver? Second in the West, a team that made the conference finals last year—still got taken down by us!"
"Game-winners feel too damn good!"
"Only Su Yan could do it! Running floater plus logo three—so slick it makes you drool!!!"
"Su Yan is a god!"
"…"
Outsiders already thought Su Yan was amazing; his teammates, of course, hyped him to the heavens.
Champagne flowing, trash talk flying, they soaked in the thrill of the buzzer-beater.
Su Yan enjoyed it too while tallying up how much he'd… earned tonight.
Stats: 43 pts, 5 reb, 4 ast, 4 stl, 5 blk—ten threes, five twos, three free throws.
102.4 + 51.6 + 30.8 + 40.4 + 50.4 + 40.24 + 50.16 = 401.6 k.
Ball-handling + steps, roughly 30 000.
3 × 4 = 120 k.
Total: 401.6 + 120 = 521.6 k.
"Tsk tsk…"
Su Yan sucked in a breath at the figure.
Back in his very first game he'd scraped together barely 30 k; now one game netted him 521.6 k USD.
He'd multiplied his earnings many times over.
And this was only level-four grind speed—what about level five, six, even… ten?
He could hardly imagine.
Tonight's 521 k already put him nearly halfway to his mini-goal: a cool million per game.
If he could hit that, 80 games a season would mean 80 million USD.
Even now,
if he stayed consistent,
a season would still bring 40 million USD—absolutely max money in today's market.
And he was doing it as an Undrafted Player.
If word got out—good Lord—countless people would be drooling with envy.