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墨書 Inktalez
As the third quarter came to an end, the brief halftime break transformed the entire Oracle Arena into a battleship that had just emerged from a thunderstorm, still rumbling, shaking, and gasping for breath.
82:82, with three quarters completed, both teams returned to square one.
The bench of the Trick Team clearly showed signs of fatigue.
Curry sat on the sidelines, breathing heavily and wiping sweat off his brow with a towel. Tatum leaned forward with his hands on his knees, silently staring at the floor, while Poole lounged in his chair, muttering to himself:
"It's not that I don't want to guard Harden... it's just that his rhythm is like a hypnotic trance... when he steps back, I just... I become a billboard..."
But the most critical issue was Kyrie Irving, who remained unaccounted for.
There was no news, no way to reach him; even the assistant sent by Mother Zhang reported back: "His phone shows he's in meditation mode—read but not responding."
Without Kyrie, the Trick Team lacked a rhythm changer and space creator, leaving the entire squad trapped in a disconnect between stamina and tempo.
At that moment, a deep yet penetrating voice echoed from a corner of the stands:
"What does it mean to be tired?"
The camera panned over—
Tom Thibodeau, head coach of the New York Knicks, sat in the observation area, watching coldly.
Dressed in a gray suit with his arms crossed over his stomach, he looked as if he were watching an under-12 baseball game.
"You all are here panting and lounging around, acting like 48 minutes is some kind of hellish training..." He shook his head. "Players should play all 48 minutes."
Beside him, Brunson, Josh Hart, Quentin Grimes, and others nodded in unison, like a group of ascetics preparing for two overtimes without even taking a sip of water.
"Even our Knicks players warm up for 48 minutes," Brunson added.
Hart, chewing on a protein bar, remarked, "When Poole was gasping like that, I thought he had just climbed the Himalayas."
Curry seemed to overhear the conversation and couldn't help but shout back, "Are you even human?!"
Tatum chimed in, "Their team's stamina is practically cursed."
---
On the other hand, the situation for the Heavenly Kings Team wasn't much easier.
Although they had just leveled the score thanks to Harden's nine consecutive points, boosting the team's morale, at this moment—
Harden was slumped in his chair like he had just finished an intense weightlifting session, his eyes vacant and only breaths escaping his lips.
He fanned himself while murmuring, "I don't want to be a hero anymore... I just want to soak in a hot bath..."
Jay Chou approached him, attempting to hand him some water. "You were incredible, really incredible. That one minute... it was like the entire Husky basketball spirit entered your body."
Harden took the water and gulped it down before lowering his head to catch his breath. "Right now, all I have left is my gaze on the court."
Just as he was about to be dragged down to the floor, a strong hand caught his drooping wrist.
It was Jokic.
The expressionless "Joker Face" revealed a smile as he said softly, "That's enough, brother. You've already cooked."
He gently tugged, pulling Harden up and patting his back.
“From now on, leave the fire to me.”
On the sidelines, Bill nodded silently, Luka Doncic's eyes sparkled, and Giannis Antetokounmpo clenched his fists. KD looked at the court and whispered,
“This quarter isn’t about basketball IQ; it’s about—heart thickness.”
Jay Chou spun his nunchaku again, pointing to the sky:
“The main course is coming, gods! In the fourth quarter—let me see who can still hold on!”
The fourth quarter began.
The lights hadn’t dimmed, the drums hadn’t sounded, but the war drums had already echoed in everyone’s hearts. The score was 82:82 as both sides returned to battle.
But just seconds before the tip-off, the air in the center of the court suddenly changed.
It wasn’t the wind; it was an aura, calm and unshakeable.
The camera slowly zoomed in, focusing on the man who had just brought Harden back from hell—Nikola Jokić, Jokic.
There were no special effects, no grand gestures, not even an excess of expression. He simply lifted his head slightly, glanced at the positioning of the Heavenly Kings Team on the court, then looked at the visibly fatigued lineup of the Trick Team.
Then he straightened his body.
In that moment, it was as if a king had truly descended.
In the first play, Luka Doncic dribbled past half court and passed the ball to Jokic at the top of the key. The Trick Team sent two players to apply pressure, with Tatum and Poole attempting to trap this "overweight player who shouldn't have such passing vision."
But he didn’t even lift his head. With a flick of his right hand, the ball was precisely guided around the two defenders as if pulled by an invisible force, landing perfectly in the hands of Bill in the corner.
Swish! Three points scored!
85:82, the Heavenly Kings Team took the lead again!
The Trick Team aimed to counterattack. Curry made a quick cut and passed to Poole, but as soon as Poole received the ball, he was double-teamed by Luka Doncic and Giannis Antetokounmpo, resulting in a turnover!
Harden grabbed the loose ball and immediately initiated a fast break, but instead of taking it himself—
He passed to Jokic, who was trailing down the middle.
This time, three players from the Trick Team rushed back on defense, ready for action.
But Jokic only took two steps before making an unexpected behind-the-back pass that slipped through his armpit and flew into the right side of the Restricted Area!
KD made a backdoor cut! Caught it! Dunked it with both hands!
87:82!
The crowd erupted; someone shouted, "How could he possibly see that pass!? Does he have radar growing out of his back!?"
Poole was furious, "What’s up with this guy? It’s like playing against an AI!"
The Trick Team tried to regroup. Wembanyama and Tatum attempted to re-establish their rhythm, but Tatum was tightly guarded by Harden. His passing attempt was disrupted—
Another steal!
Luka Doncic received the ball and pushed forward, but as he was blocked by LeBron, he chose to stop abruptly and passed it back—right to Jokic!
Jokic caught the ball, his eyes scanning the court, and noticed Bill breaking free. The angle of his pass was as precise as a mathematician drawing a perfect tangent line—
Smack!
Bill received the ball and immediately took a three-pointer!
Swish! It went in!
90:82, the Heavenly Kings Team opened the quarter with an 8-0 run!
On the sidelines, Jay Chou was so excited that he started spinning his nunchaku and drumming along, shouting, "This is the main theme I want to write!"
Jokic remained expressionless, simply wiping the sweat from his palms and murmuring:
"There's no rush; there are plenty of dishes to serve. I'm just getting started."
The Trick Team looked exhausted; LeBron was bent over, supporting himself on his knees, while Curry leaned on his elbow. Poole kept glancing at the bench:
"Where's Kyrie? Where's that soul orchestrator? Get him back in here!"
Tatum shouted, "No one’s left! We have to hold our ground ourselves!"
But it was too late.
On the next play, Harden advanced again and passed it back to Jokic. This time, the Trick Team opted for a tight defense, trying to intercept the pass.
Jokic responded with a high lob pass that soared over the Restricted Area and landed in the left corner.
KD was there!
Beyond the three-point line, he took the shot with unwavering confidence—
Swish! Another one in!
93:82!
Three consecutive assists, two fast breaks initiated, and one steal followed by a quick pass.
Jokic, a man whose expression was as calm as the morning mist, controlled the entire game with his gaze, awareness, and breath.
This was not just a center; this was the Eye of All Things.
Mother Zhang gritted her teeth and shouted, "Call a timeout! This can't go on any longer!"
Poole yelled in frustration, "It's not just a timeout issue! That Jokic is playing like a god in 2K!"
"Timeout! I need a timeout!"
Mother Zhang abruptly stood up from her VIP seat, nearly smashing her wine glass on the floor. Her voice was louder than the arena's speakers.
When the referee blew the whistle, the entire crowd fell into stunned silence.
The Trick Team called for a crucial timeout.
On the bench, an eerie heaviness filled the air; the players looked as if they had just returned from a disaster scene, sweat on their foreheads and confusion on their faces.
Poole sat down and shouted, "That fat guy is literally playing with map hacks! He passes without even looking! I can’t predict where the ball will go at all!"
Curry leaned forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily like a bull, while Tatum shook his head wearily.
But just then, a soft yet striking voice came from beside the tactical board:
"Actually... this rhythm we are experiencing is a reflection of the universe urging us to confront our inner wounds."
Zhang Jianing stood up, holding a copy of "Transform Your Life Frequency in 21 Days," her gaze gentle as if she were guiding the players into an emotional healing circle.
She took a deep breath and began her spiritual guidance:
"I know you’re tired, and I understand the anxiety in your hearts, but all of this—it's not pressure; it's an opportunity for dialogue from the universe. The game is a projection, reflecting the scars of your inner child..."
LeBron sat nearby, wiping sweat from his brow. He slowly lifted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that was anything but polite.
"Heh heh heh... I've been hearing this kind of talk for ten years when listening to Doc Rivers. You’re not planning to make me meditate in the next meeting, are you?"
"Or do you want to help me clear my chakras? Right now, I want to clear my rebound count, not my third eye."
The atmosphere in the room froze for a moment.
Poole glanced around awkwardly and whispered, "Um... I actually bought her book... but I only read the preface."
Tatum yanked off his towel, gasping for air. "Enough already! This isn't a spiritual seminar! This is the fourth quarter of the Finals!"
Curry couldn't help but chime in, "If the universe is responding, then why are we getting blown out right now?"
Zhang Jianing wanted to speak again, but Mother Zhang shot her a fierce glare. "You be quiet for now."
In an instant, the tension within the Trick Team reached a boiling point.
The players were filled with exhaustion and complaints, and Zhang Jianing's motivational speech had only added fuel to the pressure cooker.
Mother Zhang's eyes shifted quickly as she realized—this timeout could not allow things to spiral further out of control.
She took a deep breath and said coldly,
"Listen carefully to me."
"You are not losing because of tactics; you are losing because everyone is thinking and speaking for themselves."
"From now on, shut your mouths and open your ears. The ball goes to James, and all you need to do is execute—do you understand what I mean?"
James gritted his teeth and nodded. "I hear you, but if anyone starts talking about inner children again, I'm going to demand a trade to the Heat."
On the sidelines, Poole quietly whispered to Curry, "That 'heh heh heh' he just did was so old-school."
—
The camera pulled back, revealing the Heavenly Kings Team seated calmly.
Jokic was talking to Bill, Luka Doncic was lying on the bench drawing passing routes, and Jay Chou was softly humming "Ceasefire Wound," as if preparing for a duet in the second half.
There were eight minutes left in the fourth quarter.
But from this moment on, every point and every second would be a trial of spirit and teamwork.
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