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With six minutes left on the clock, the Heavenly Kings Team trailed by seven points, and the atmosphere was as cold as if the entire arena had plunged into a psychological freeze. The crowd continued to boo, Poole kept laughing, Mother Zhang's wine swayed in her hand, and Zhang Jianing's "Mind Revolution" spread like wildfire.
But just when it seemed that everything would crush the Heavenly Kings Team, Jay Chou stood up.
He didn’t say a word.
He simply walked over to the microphone at the sidelines, took a deep breath amidst the boos and chaos, and closed his eyes.
Then he softly sang:
“Passion burns on the court, dreams soar in the air—”
The once noisy arena fell silent for half a second, as if a gentle breeze had swept through the frozen air.
He opened his eyes, his voice suddenly rising, echoing throughout the stadium:
“Use the fire of basketball to ignite that light within my heart—!”
The lights in the venue instantly dimmed. As the chorus erupted, a fiery animation lit up on the central screen, showcasing silhouettes of each Heavenly Kings Team player shining amidst the flames like warriors reborn from fire.
The audience was stunned. Some lowered their booing signs, while others instinctively nodded along with the melody. Even Poole quietly hummed along: “Use the fire of basketball—ignite that light within my heart—”
Bill looked up and saw his own image on the screen, with a silhouette of him rushing out from the bench in the background.
Harden closed his eyes, listening to the lyrics, suddenly recalling the silent cheers when he made his first three-pointer at seventeen.
KD stood up and whispered, “Jay Chou, are you some kind of wizard?”
“Give me the ball.”
The game resumed.
In the first play, Harden held the ball, and the audience's boos surged once more. But this time, he didn’t shy away. He lowered his head to dribble, stepped back, and as the double team approached, he made a quick lateral pass. The ball slipped through the gap and landed in KD's hands.
KD no longer hesitated; like a machine fueled by music, he took one step, jumped, turned, and launched a fading three-pointer—swish!
93:89.
Mother Zhang frowned and immediately looked down at her tablet: "Why are there still cheers?"
On the next play, Tatum attempted to drive but Bill quickly closed in on him. He circled around from behind to steal the ball and went straight for a fast break layup. Suddenly, half of the audience stood up, erupting into cheers.
93:91.
Poole got a bit too eager on his next shot, aiming for another three-pointer but was blocked out of bounds by Harden.
Then—Jay Chou began to sing the second verse.
"Slam dunks are not just about scoring; they are the flight of faith—
Burning indifference with dreams, washing away the past with sweat!"
The lights flickered again as each player's name from the Heavenly Kings Team flashed in fiery letters on the LED screen, one after another.
Bill, Harden, KD, Giannis Antetokounmpo, Jokic.
Like a divine summons, the five kings entered battle mode together.
In the next three possessions, they scored eight consecutive points.
KD hit two pull-up threes—one like a dagger and the other like a beheading.
Bill made a baseline cut, holding off Wembanyama, and executed a difficult pull-up reverse layup to take the lead.
93:97, the Heavenly Kings Team turned the game around!
The crowd went wild.
The initial boos were gradually drowned out by applause, and soon, someone started singing:
"The fire of basketball~~~"
Poole looked bewildered. "Wait, am I not the most popular one? Why does it suddenly feel like it's their home court?"
Tatum anxiously turned to the coaching bench. "Coach? Popo, are you still there?"
But Popo was sitting on the bench, hands clasped together, eyes closed as he murmured, "This is a test of our souls. We must accept our inner failures... we must embrace the fear of losing..."
"Damn it!" Tatum exploded in anger.
Meanwhile, Mother Zhang finally lifted her head from her wine glass, her tone cold. "Underestimating Jay Chou was my only mistake."
The Heavenly Kings Team stood amidst the flames, like messengers returning from hell. Only three minutes remained in the game.
They were not just playing; they were reclaiming the very soul of the arena.
With just three minutes left, the scoreboard flashed: Trick Team 93 - Heavenly Kings Team 97.
That four-point difference seemed small, but everyone knew it represented the distance between hell and heaven.
As Poole stepped onto the court, the confidence on his face showed clear cracks. Normally, he would enter the game as if he were about to shoot a music video, but now his gaze was unfocused, and someone in the stands shouted, "Poole! Why don’t you sit down and listen to Jay Chou sing a bit?"
That remark hit harder than any defense. Gritting his teeth, he caught the ball and launched a desperate three-pointer—
Bang! He missed.
The rebound was securely grabbed by Jokic, who made no unnecessary movements and quietly passed the ball to Harden.
Harden seemed to have unlocked some hidden rhythm, his footwork perfectly in sync with the music. With an indescribable calmness, he dribbled past half court, executed a behind-the-back move, spun past Curry, and then turned to pass the ball to Bill on the left.
Bill caught the ball, but before he could shoot, Mother Zhang was already standing up, shouting, "Double team! Quick, double team!"
But it was too late.
Bill seemed to aim with his soul; his eyes were as calm as still water. At the moment of release, he even closed his eyes.
Swish!
The three-pointer was good!
93:100. The Heavenly Kings Team led by seven points. The entire audience rose to their feet!
Even Zhang Jianing fell silent for a moment, gazing at the electronic screen where the fiery letters spelling "Bill" dazzled her eyes. For the first time, she felt—spirit; it was impossible to resist a genuine counterattack.
"Did we… really get something wrong?" she whispered.
Popo was still lost in meditation.
Tatum shook his head and shouted, "Enough!"
He forcefully caught the ball, breaking through Bill and Harden's defense, soaring for a layup that echoed through the arena with his roar.
But in the next moment, KD received the ball, driving down the court like a freight train. He passed Curry, pulled up, spun around, and with a smooth fadeaway, released the ball like a knife slicing through water, silently swishing through the net.
95:102.
The shot was so calm that the entire arena fell silent for three seconds.
Then a row of spectators erupted, "KD!!! You're f***ing amazing!!"
Even Poole couldn't help but applaud.
Mother Zhang stared at KD on the court, finally sitting down with a soft sigh, "A person like that can't be bought."
Next, the Trick Team attempted to counterattack. Wembanyama pushed into the paint, but Jokic stood there like an impenetrable wall, blocking even the air from passing through. LeBron tried to cut in but was thwarted by Giannis Antetokounmpo's incredible lateral speed. The Heavenly Kings Team's defense was like an iron-woven net, bouncing back every trick thrown their way.
With only one minute left on the clock, the score remained: Trick Team 95 - Heavenly Kings Team 102.
Harden once again controlled the ball. He no longer rushed to attack but stood outside the three-point line, quietly watching Curry.
He spoke up, his voice not loud but clear:
"Do you know where you lost?"
Curry breathed heavily but said nothing.
Harden smiled, "You all want to be liked too much, while we... just want to win."
With that, he took a step back.
The classic move, repeated a million times, was back in action.
Step back, three-pointer—release—the moment felt suspended—
Swish!!!
95:105.
The crowd erupted like an explosion.
Some in the audience cried, some jumped, and others even tried to leap over the barriers to rush onto the court.
Meanwhile, in the high-up VIP Box, Mother Zhang closed her laptop, drained her glass of red wine, and whispered, "Tonight's outcome can't be measured by mere numbers."
Zhang Jianing stood up in a daze, murmuring, "That light... I think... I really saw it..."
Seeing the score, Zhang Jianing smiled faintly, "In this soul game, I guess I’ll have to pay tuition next time."
With just 15 seconds left in the game, the Trick Team had no intention of attacking.
KD held the ball at midcourt, gazing at the audience before raising his hand—without shooting.
He simply wanted everyone to look at him.
The arena fell silent.
Until the buzzing sound rang out.
The match was over.
Heavenly Kings Team 105: Trick Team 95.
The outcome was clear.
But it wasn't just the score of the victors that was written on the board; it was their belief, etched into the very walls of the stadium.
The audience went from silence to thunderous applause, from doubt to cheers. They witnessed what it meant to persevere in adversity, what it meant to choose to burn with passion even when unloved.
That flame came from a song:
"With the fire of basketball, ignite the light within my heart."
—
The arena was silent again as Jay Chou stepped into the center of the court, raising the microphone:
"We don’t need tricks."
"We have passion."
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