126: Shattered pride!

The entire AT&T Center erupted in deafening cheers at that moment!

Lin Feng stood there, completely stunned.

He looked at the Referee who made the call, and then at the gloating, cheering Spurs fans around him.

He felt like he had fallen into a giant, ice-cold trap.

For the first time, a crack appeared in his mentality.

This technical foul was like a ladle of boiling oil poured onto his already raging inferno of anger.

His rationality was rapidly being devoured by impatience and fury.

He stopped thinking about how to break this cage.

He now had only one thought in his mind.

That was to fight back in the toughest way possible!

To shut all those damned people up with made shots!

Parker walked to the free-throw line and calmly sank the technical foul shot.

The Spurs continued their offense.

Lin Feng’s defensive moves became larger than ever before.

He was almost hanging onto Leonard, trying to interfere with the opponent in the same manner.

But Leonard was like an emotionless robot, unmoved.

The Spurs, through a simple pass sequence, saw Danny Green hit a three-pointer from the perimeter.

The lead was stretched further.

It was the Lakers' turn to attack.

After receiving the ball, Lin Feng made no attempt to pass.

His eyes were bloodshot.

He charged toward the cage formed by three people like a maddened wild bull, in a near-suicidal manner!

Faster!

He tried to break free from the entanglement with greater speed!

More complex!

He tried to create space with more intricate changes of direction!

But this was exactly what Popovich wanted.

Every irrational acceleration, every unnecessary change of direction, was wildly and meaninglessly draining the little energy he had left.

"Bang!"

He collided with Leonard once again, and the ball slipped out of his hands.

Splitter reacted quickly and snatched the ball away.

The Spurs scored easily on another fast break.

On the sidelines.

Popovich sat steadily on the bench, not even leaning forward.

This was the result he desired.

What he wanted was to completely overheat Lin Feng, the 'shooting machine' that had been so precise in the previous game.

And then, break it down.

In the audience.

Yoona’s hands were tightly clasped together.

Her knuckles were white from the strain.

She watched the figure on the court, struggling like a trapped beast, charging left and right, only to be knocked down again and again, his efforts repeatedly proving futile.

Her heart felt as if it were being fiercely squeezed by an invisible giant hand.

It hurt so much she could barely breathe.

How she wished she could rush down and tell him to stop fighting.

We're done playing.

But she couldn't.

She could only watch, watch as he was slowly crushed by that massive machine called the 'Spurs'.

The halftime whistle finally blew.

That sound was like heavenly music to the Lakers players.

The score on the scoreboard was 58:38.

The Lakers were trailing by a full twenty points.

The giant electronic screen displayed Lin Feng's first-half statistics.

7 shots taken, only 1 made.

He had scored 6 points thanks to previous free throws.

And 4 turnovers.

He sat on the chair in the Locker Room, completely drenched in sweat.

He gasped for air in big gulps.

Not because he was tired.

More so because of an endless sense of depletion and frustration.

That feeling of being unable to exert strength, the powerlessness of every hopeful charge crashing against a cold, hard wall, was more despairing than any physical fatigue.

The Locker Room was dead silent.

No one spoke.

Howard kept his head down, fiddling with his wrist guards.

Gasol leaned against the cabinet, his eyes vacant.

D'Antoni stood in front of the tactical board, holding a pen but unable to write a single word.

Everyone was stunned.

Completely stunned by the unreasonable, almost brutal tactics of the Spurs.

Lin Feng remained silent.

He just asked the Team Doctor for ice packs to apply to his bruised and battered arms and knees.

Even the coldness of the ice couldn't calm his heart, which felt like it was about to explode.

The second half began after switching sides.

Popovich made no adjustments.

That damned cage tactic intensified.

The Spurs players not only subjected him to endless physical exhaustion.

Their mouths also started becoming foul.

Insulting Trash Talk, like poisoned needles, continuously pricked at Lin Feng's already stretched-to-the-limit nerves.

"Hey, kid, where's your magic?

During a dead ball, Danny Green leaned close to Lin Feng's ear and spoke in a voice that wasn't too loud or too soft.

Did you use up all your luck for the rest of your life on that shot in G4?

Lin Feng ignored him, just gritting his teeth tightly.

"Is this the new hero of Los Angeles?

Leonard's voice still had that unchanging, robotic tone.

But his words were full of mockery.

"Doesn't look like much..."

Lin Feng's breathing became heavy.

During an inbound play from the baseline, Splitter even spoke with malicious intent in his heavily accented English.

"Kid, stop struggling..."

"You might as well go home early and spend time with your pretty girlfriends!"

This sentence acted as a fuse, completely igniting Lin Feng's rage!

"Shut your stinking mouth!"

Lin Feng suddenly turned and fiercely shoved Splitter!

"Beep!"

The Referee's whistle sounded once again.

The players from both sides immediately gathered around.

In the end, after mediation by the Referees, both players were assessed a technical foul.

Lin Feng, carrying two technical fouls, was ejected from the game!

...No, this couldn't be the end.

Lin Feng took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the urge to strike.

The Referee only warned both sides.

The game continued.

But Lin Feng's mind was completely chaotic.

He felt like every breath he took carried the scent of gunpowder.

He had to do something!

He had to!

On the next offensive possession.

Lin Feng poured out all his strength, executing a change of direction so desperate and reckless that he disregarded his body balance.

He finally tore open a corner of the cage!

He charged through!

The paint was empty!

Clutching the ball, he rushed toward the rim like a cannonball!

He wanted to vent all the anger and frustration in his heart with the most violent dunk!

Just as he reached the peak of his jump, his right arm raised high, ready to smash the ball into the hoop.

A figure rose up like a mountain!

It was Tim Duncan!

He had somehow rotated over to help defend the basket!

His face still held that unchanging, stone buddha-like expression.

He extended his long arm.

Precisely predicting all of Lin Feng's shooting angles.

Then, in mid-air.

"Slap!"

The sound of a crisp, loud Block!

Duncan's palm firmly pressed down on the basketball!

A huge, irresistible force transmitted from the ball!

The basketball in Lin Feng's hands was violently slapped away!

He lost his balance in the air and crashed heavily onto the floor!

This Block seemed to be the last straw that crushed Lin Feng's pride.

He fell to the ground, looking at Duncan's eternally impassive stone buddha expression, the light in his eyes dimming for the first time.