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墨書 Inktalez
The next afternoon, the most anticipated sports commentary show, "Basketball Explosion," suddenly cut to a live broadcast. As the screen lit up, it revealed the familiar luxurious living room of the Zhang family.
Mother Zhang was dressed in a sharply tailored black and red blazer, her makeup strikingly aggressive, with lips the color of freshly spilled blood. Beside her, Zhang Jianing wore a cream-colored shawl, her complexion still pale, with red-rimmed eyes that clearly showed she had been crying since last night.
As soon as Mother Zhang appeared on camera, she was like a fierce nuclear storm—there was no escaping her presence.
Holding a microphone, she didn’t wait for the host to introduce her and launched into a fiery opening:
"We did not lose! I’ll say it again: we! did! not! lose!"
The camera shook slightly as the host, startled, accidentally knocked over a cup of water, instantly tightening the atmosphere in the studio.
Mother Zhang's eyebrows shot up in anger, as if she were about to pierce her own forehead.
"I really need to say this—how did the referees make those calls? Our Restricted Area was hit like that, and we were bleeding from our noses!"
She suddenly turned to the camera, her gaze sharp as a knife: "Look! Wembanyama had three nosebleeds during the game, each one worse than the last. Our LeBron was literally knocked into the stands in the third quarter, and when he came back, he was holding popcorn! Did the referees call anything? Did they?"
Zhang Jianing quietly chimed in: "We’re Not A Step Back… Not A Step Back… really… Not A Step Back…"
Mother Zhang echoed loudly: "Yes! We stood firmer than anyone else on that court! Just look at how many times our Restricted Area was attacked! We took so many shots while their Jokic seemed to be hiding above us grabbing rebounds. Harden was just retreating and retreating—where was he even going?"
Her emotions escalated as she leaned forward: "And yet the referees didn’t call any fouls? Those cheaters won? Hello? Won? Is that something you can accept?"
She began frantically flipping through documents, pulling out a stack of printed statistics from under the table: "Look here! We took 17 more shots in the Restricted Area than they did! We grabbed 12 more offensive rebounds than they did! And what did the referees say? No calls."
"So I ask you: do the referees have any logic? Tell me! Do they have any logic?"
At this point, the comment section exploded:
[Mother Zhang is so mad she might eat the table]
[She’s got such a rhythm when she talks XD Not A Step Back~]
Harden must be laughing to the point of tears right now.
Everyone is asking her to release an album: "Not A Step Back EP." Wembanyama really had a nosebleed; I went back to watch the replay and couldn't help but laugh.
Mother Zhang was so furious that her hands were shaking, yet she spoke clearly and rapidly, like a machine gun: "You ask me who won this game? I say, it's not just about who has the higher score! This game isn't a numbers game; it's a Divine War. Did we lose but still hold our heads high? Wrong! We didn't lose at all!"
Zhang Jianing wiped her tears and added, "Yes... we were just misunderstood... Everyone... was just momentarily confused... Basketball relies on trust..."
Mother Zhang nodded immediately, "Exactly! We lost due to the referee's illusion, not because of our strength."
She looked into the camera as if challenging referees worldwide, "If you dare to blow your whistles like that again next time, I'll make sure your whistles can be heard in court."
The entire program had spiraled out of control; the host could only nod vigorously from the side, "Alright, thank you, Mother Zhang, for your... very powerful statement. We'll take a break here for today..."
As the screen cut off, a final comment floated up in the barrage:
"She doesn't mind losing; she truly believes she hasn't lost."
The winds have indeed started to change.
Mother Zhang's remarks during the national broadcast spread like wildfire. Initially, they dominated trending searches, but just overnight, waves of Trick Team fans began to "stand up." These individuals had previously been silent, only posting in corners to criticize Harden, mock Bill, and hint at KD's alliances. Now, they seemed collectively unleashed, starting to gather, rally, and riot.
Outside New York's MSG, someone wearing a Curry jersey held a sign for the "Anti-Referee Alliance," shouting, "We're all bleeding out here! Not taking a step back!" Outside Los Angeles' Crypto.com Arena, fans tore down posters of the Heavenly Kings Team and spray-painted in red: "This is a miscall, not a victory." At Chicago's United Center, someone even broke into the venue and attempted to press the technical foul buzzer.
Even more outrageous was a fan standing outside ESPN headquarters yelling, "I got hit three times in the Restricted Area, and the police said I fell on my own! Are the referees here or what?!"
On social media platforms overnight, thousands of short videos imitating Mother Zhang's tone appeared: "We're all bleeding out here!" and "Not taking a step back!" became a new meme language among basketball fans. Some even remixed Mother Zhang's speech into electronic music, turning it into a TikTok hit dance track titled "Not Taking A Step Back (No Calls Remix)," with dance moves mimicking covering their noses while stepping back.
And at the center of this chaos stood NBA's most notorious commentator—Stephen A. Smith—appearing on his show as usual, pounding his desk and shouting with the ferocity of a battlefield commander.
"I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—this is all LeBron James’s fault!"
The host was taken aback and asked, "Wait, isn't this a referee issue? Why is it again about LeBron?"
Smith continued to rant without hesitation, "Listen to me! If it weren't for LeBron bringing Wembanyama, Poole, and Tatum into this terrible strategy, Mind Course, talking about 'seeing the game with a third eye,' how could the Trick Team perform like this? Tell me, who started all this soul energy nonsense? Wasn't it LeBron!? Wasn't it!?"
He slammed his hand on the table, "You let players take the court with crystals? Do you think this is an astrology class?"
Switching to another channel, Paul George's podcast, "Podcast P," was also airing hot. He had invited the legendary tough guy—Gilbert Arenas. Right from the start, the atmosphere was explosive.
PG laughed while wearing headphones and said, "Bro, when I finished watching the game yesterday, I was about to lose my mind. Do you know what I couldn't accept the most?"
Arenas, wearing sunglasses and lounging casually, replied, "Was it Harden's step-back? Or Bill's fake sixth man dunk?"
"No, it was those people meditating on the sidelines." PG rolled his eyes. "When did the NBA turn into a meditation competition? I thought it was Tibetan Buddhism three-on-three."
Arenas burst into laughter and slapped the table. "I'm telling you, the current style of play is too soft! They jump in the Restricted Area like butterflies flapping their wings. Back in our day, we elbowed people straight to the hospital; now they just touch each other and fall back while asking the referee to 'respect my emotions.' What kind of nonsense is that?"
PG nodded vigorously in agreement. "Exactly! You hit the nail on the head! Back when I played for the Clippers, games ended with me covered in bruises. Now players can even livestream makeup tutorials!"
The two began a series of mockeries aimed at contemporary stars while also taking jabs at the Heavenly Kings Team's "cultural counterattack," bluntly stating that Jay Chou was hypnotizing referees with his singing.
The comments section exploded immediately:
【It's not that you're soft; it's that you're old】
【Smith goes overboard but it's super funny】
【Arenas really said what our generation dares not say】
【The basketball world is really divided… is this the eve of war?】
At NBA headquarters on the 37th floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, lights were bright and the atmosphere was heavy as if the ceiling might collapse at any moment.
Silver sat at the head of the conference table, holding a stack of reports whose edges were already crumpled as if they had gone through four rounds of playoffs. His glasses slid down to his nose tip, and his face bore all the signs of an elite under pressure.
The data jumping out from the reports made his scalp tingle:
The protest heat surged by 850%, while the fan division index reached a red alert. Brand favorability plummeted by 32.7%. The most frequently used audio clip on TikTok was the remix of "Not A Step Back."
He slammed his hand on the table, exclaiming, "How is that possible? That song is now more popular than our official playoff theme?! Are they here to play basketball or to debut as a group?"
Beside him, his secretary looked pale and flustered as she scrambled to organize the data. "Xiao Zong… our legal department has already received twelve notifications of liability for damage at the arena. The social media team is still dealing with comments from netizens saying they want to 'burn the referee's whistle'..."
"The data analysis department hasn't slept all night. Their simulations predict that if the Heavenly Kings Team wins another game, the fan division index will approach the level of the 2010 Knight Curse, and it will—"
"Enough!" Silver shouted, his voice echoing like thunder in the empty conference room, even causing the computer to automatically shut off its screensaver.
At that moment, a low voice drifted from a corner of the room, reminiscent of raindrops falling on piano keys in the dead of night:
"What brings me to tears is not just the retreat of the Heavenly Kings... That three-pointer tore apart my former league..."
It was Xiao Jingteng.
He sat on the conference room sofa, dressed in all black, radiating an aura like that of a rain god. He held a microphone without sound but sang as if the whole world was listening.
Everyone fell silent.
In another corner, Xiao Fu wore a tank top and baggy pants, gliding across the smooth floor while dribbling, spinning, and performing crossovers.
"Hey, I talked to The Professor yesterday. He said he couldn't tell if that was a travel violation either, but let me tell you, I saw Poole's footwork... there's something off about it. You know when I'm at the night market, I can spot that kind of footwork in an instant; it won't fool me."
His mouth moved like a machine gun while his hands continued to dribble. Nearby staff had already been hit by balls he bounced four times, completely unable to intervene.
"If Poole lets me guard him, I would absolutely block him! And then I'd say: 'I’m in Tianmu!'"
Silver was so furious that veins bulged on his forehead. "Xiao Fu, you are not a player right now; you are an advisor! Can you please stop practicing your crossover under my desk?!"
"Hey, this is a visual tactical simulation, okay?"
From the corner of the couch, a weak and ethereal voice floated out, like a cold latte with too much ice:
"You... know... this is how it is over here in America... yeah... American style..."
Lin Shu-Wei, the youngest brother in Taiwan, curled up in his hoodie, his gaze fixed on a light bulb in the corner, his tone filled with a profound understanding of fate and complete helplessness.
"It's really chaotic here... I used to be... just like that... sometimes you make a move, and if the referee doesn't call it, then... you just go home, you know..."
Silver slumped in his chair, covering his face with his hands.
"What I wanted was a competition, but what you gave me was an epic drama mixed with a reality show all-star rap disaster."
Outside, the media was already knocking on the door, headlines ready to go:
"League in Turmoil! The Zhang Family Joins the Trash Talk Hall of Fame—One Song Topples NBA Order!" "Xiao Jingteng Makes Executives Cry, Xiao Fu Dribbles Under the Table During Meetings, Lin Shu-Wei Crumbles as American Philosophy Sweeps Social Media."
Silver closed his eyes, three words echoing in his mind—
We are finished.
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