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墨書 Inktalez
The pause came to an end, and the players returned to the court.
Although the Trick Team had calmed down a bit, exhaustion was still evident on every face. Tatum gritted his teeth, Curry struggled to catch his breath, and LeBron wore a stern expression. Poole attempted to lighten the mood by mimicking Zhang Jianing's earlier tone: "Our defense is a mirror reflecting the fears within..." This only earned him an eye roll from Curry.
In stark contrast, the atmosphere on the Heavenly Kings Team side was entirely different.
Jokic's eyes were clear as morning mist, completely free of the fatigue that had marked the end of the third quarter; he radiated a calm, boundless confidence. Luka Doncic held a tight smile, as if suppressing a very European, very Slovakian emotion that screamed, "I want to show off but I don't want to say it."
The game resumed.
On the first play, Harden passed the ball to Jokic at the high post.
Curry had learned his lesson and immediately shouted, "Double team! Double team! Don't let him pass again!"
Tatum and Wembanyama moved in unison, turning the Restricted Area into a giant claw machine.
But Jokic simply nudged the ball aside—like soap slipping from his hands—and sent it bouncing to Luka Doncic on the weak side!
Luka caught the ball—without hesitation!
He faked a pass, spun around, dribbled behind his back past Poole, and then passed to KD in the corner. KD took the shot—missed.
Luka had already anticipated this and cut to the basket, receiving the ball back from KD and scoring with a layup!
95:82!
The Euro Connection made its debut, breaking through the entire defense of the Trick Team!
The crowd erupted in cheers and screams! The broadcast booth was in chaos!
“Ladies and gentlemen—The Euro Spell has been cast!”
In the next play, Tatum forced a one-on-one, drawing a foul from Bill, but only managed to sink one free throw.
The Heavenly Kings Team launched a counterattack, led this time by Luka Doncic.
After a fake screen, he accelerated straight ahead. Poole dared not commit a foul and could only stay close on defense, but Luka Doncic suddenly made a behind-the-back pass, and the ball slid into Jokic's hands like a snake!
Jokic received the ball and faced Wembanyama, surprisingly opting not to shoot. Instead, he lofted it back to Luka Doncic!
Luka Doncic went for the alley-oop—slam dunk!
97:83!
The European Magician and the Serbian Sage were putting on a magical collaborative concert on the court!
On the sidelines, Jay Chou was hyped beyond belief.
He couldn't contain himself, pulling out a microphone and singing while swinging his nunchaku:
🎵
“Some call me Cowboy~~~ I say I'm busy~~~
I'm flipping the rhythm on the court~ shaking your head~”
The entire audience clapped along, and seeing this, the DJ at the side decided to play some music, turning the scene into a bizarre fusion of a basketball game and a concert.
Curry watched as the players ran their plays while singing, panting and shouting, "What is happening right now!? Is this the NBA or the Taipei Arena!?"
Poole hurriedly tried to defend but was once again shaken off by Luka Doncic, who turned and hit a mid-range jumper!
99:83!
The European duo was fully in their element.
Tatum shouted, "We need to get back! We can't let these two hold a magical wedding on the court!"
Mother Zhang gritted her teeth and yelled, "Curry, start scoring now! Get us back in rhythm!"
But Curry was barely hanging on, gasping as he replied, "I'll... I'll give it a try... but that fat guy and the bad boy's connection is just... too ridiculous!"
Chaos reigned on the court.
The Heavenly Kings Team scored continuously thanks to Jokic and Luka Doncic's European Sorcery connection, stretching the score to 99:83. The Trick Team had completely lost their rhythm and order on the court.
Curry was panting so hard his face turned pale. Tatum desperately shouted for plays, but no one was listening. LeBron held his knees with both hands, saying nothing. Poole was still wandering around the court, his eyes seemingly seeing mirages. "Aren't I the main character...? How did someone else steal the script...?"
Mother Zhang stood at the railing of the VIP room, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her gaze was unfocused, her lips pale. She gripped her rose gold phone tightly, as if about to smash it at any moment, but she knew this was a story beyond her control.
She anxiously glanced back at the bench, the empty seat—still vacant.
"Kyrie... where did you go... you can't just give up like this..."
At that moment, a commotion erupted from the sidelines.
The audience began to murmur, as if a current was flowing against the tide.
The director switched the camera, pulling back—
Outside the court, a familiar figure slowly walked in.
Dressed in a loose black jersey, a hood obscured half of his face. His steps were slow yet steady, tightly gripping a basketball in his hand.
Kyrie Irving.
He emerged from the shadows into the light, slowly lifting his head. His gaze was incredibly deep, like an unfathomable well.
He looked at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Please give me strength... oh heavens..."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood quietly at the sidelines.
Scenes from the past began to unfold in his mind.
In 2016, during Game Seven of the Finals, he sank that game-winning three-pointer in front of the Warriors. The arena fell silent, save for his roar and the embrace with LeBron.
In 2018, he raised his middle finger to the crowd while facing the Celtics. It wasn’t arrogance; it was a shattered response after heartbreak.
In 2021, during the Game Seven clash between the Brooklyn Nets and the Bucks, he couldn’t participate. Sitting on the sidelines, he watched as his unfulfilled dreams drifted away like smoke.
His brow furrowed, emotions surging within him.
But in that profound silence, a familiar voice whispered softly.
“Hey, kid…”
He turned around to find Kobe Bryant—his mentor—standing right behind him.
It wasn’t an illusion, nor a memory.
It was the deepest imprint of his soul, ignited in this moment.
Kobe didn’t say much; he simply stepped forward and patted Kyrie’s shoulder.
“You’re ready now. This isn’t about reclaiming the past; it’s about proving you never left.”
Kyrie lifted his head, his eyes slightly red but his gaze clearer than ever.
He pulled down his hood and unzipped his jacket, revealing the jersey underneath—number 11, black with white trim.
He slowly walked toward the bench of the Trick Team. Curry's eyes widened, Tatum's mouth hung open, and LeBron gradually stood up. The two exchanged a glance, no words were spoken, just a nod.
Kyrie whispered, "I'm back."
Poole's eyes nearly popped out. "Wait, wait a minute! Am I not the sixth man? I just started heating up..."
Kyrie approached the coach's seat, his gaze sharp. "This isn't the main character's storyline; this is the legacy storyline."
A faint smile finally appeared on Mother Zhang's face.
She watched Kyrie step into the center of the court, his silhouette reminiscent of the Black Mamba returning.
Poole had just stood up to speak, his jersey still not properly adjusted, when the coach pressed him back down into his seat with one hand.
"Sit down, clown," Mother Zhang said, her tone calm yet biting.
Poole sat down in disbelief, mumbling to himself, "Huh... what? Didn't I just start heating up... I had a dunk... I was performing..."
No one paid him any mind.
At this moment, all eyes were focused on one person.
—Kyrie Irving, Super Mode activated.
As he stepped onto the court, it felt as if the very density of the air had changed; time slowed down just a bit, and gravity felt a little lighter.
This was no longer the Kyrie who had vanished, lost and adrift. This was—Super Kyrie, a basketball specter empowered by the will of the Black Mamba.
The ball was passed to him. He said nothing, merely glanced down at the ball in his hands before looking up—
The first shot, a one-on-one against Luka Doncic.
Luka Doncic instinctively tried to use his body to block him, but with just a shift in rhythm, Kyrie completely threw off Luka Doncic's balance.
With his right hand under his legs and his left hand behind his back, he dribbled the ball eight times in less than half a second.
Luka Doncic felt as if he were stepping on soap, nearly slipping.
Kyrie stepped back—shot! Three-pointer—swish!
99:86!
On the next play, the Heavenly Kings Team was on offense, but Kyrie anticipated Luka Doncic's passing route. He darted in from an angle and intercepted the ball!
Before it even hit the ground, Kyrie leaped into the air, spun around to catch it, and with one foot crossed over half court—
Kyrie pulled up for a three-pointer!
It went in!
99:89! Six points in a row!
"This isn't Kyrie..." the commentator exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. "This is Kobe's basketball spirit, written into his DNA!"
Jay Chou stood on the sidelines, going wild: "This... this isn't just a cowboy anymore; this is the Sword Saint! This guy is unleashing his E Skill! Spinning, spinning, slashing!"
Poole leaned back on the bench, staring gloomily at Kyrie: "Where on earth did he learn this? Wasn't he just meditating outside? Did he meditate all the way to Zion Church or something?"
In the next play, Kyrie got the ball again, and this time Luka Doncic stepped up to defend.
Kyrie glanced at him, silent.
Then—
With a fluid behind-the-back dribble, he stopped abruptly, turned and stepped back, then spun again, pulling to the left—
Luka Doncic was completely shaken off!
Kyrie launched a shot from beyond the three-point line, the ball soaring through the sky like a love letter sent to Mamba Planet—
Swish! It's in!
99:92! A super Kyrie Irving solo 9-0 run!
The crowd erupted, chanting:
"Kyrie! Kyrie! Kyrie!"
At this moment, Mother Zhang sat in her seat, her eyes filled with fervor and pride.
"This is my piece on the chessboard... no, this is the final trump card I prepared for this game."
Tatum and LeBron approached Kyrie, giving him high-fives. All past grievances melted away in that moment, replaced by respect and trust.
Kyrie took a deep breath and looked up at the electronic scoreboard.
Five minutes remaining.
Score: 99:92.
The battle was not over yet. But now, it was no longer just ordinary players on the court—it was faith clashing against faith, legacy against legacy.
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