133: A global trial! Lin Feng, the scumbag.

The plane landed at Los Angeles International Airport.

The moment the cabin door opened, a huge wave of sound, mixed with various noises, surged in from outside.

It wasn't the cheers welcoming a triumphant hero.

It was more like the roar of judgment for a sinner.

The Lakers players all looked solemn.

The shadow of the crushing defeat in the pivotal Game 5, coupled with the scandal that ignited public opinion across America, made the journey home feel like a public execution.

“Let's go.”

D'Antoni waved his hand wearily.

The players filed out.

When Lin Feng's figure appeared at the exit of the jet bridge, the atmosphere on site was pushed to its peak!

“Click! Click! Click!”

Countless camera flashes, like a white ocean, threatened to engulf him completely.

“Lin Feng! Look over here!”

“Do you have any explanation for last night's secret meeting?!”

“Are you worthy of Miss Yoona, who traveled all this way to support you?!”

Countless reporters, like sharks smelling blood, frantically pushed forward, thrusting microphones and recording pens desperately into his face.

Airport security personnel, hand in hand, formed a human wall, struggling to resist the surging crowd.

Besides reporters, there were even more fans who had rushed to the scene after hearing the news.

Their emotions were split into two extremes.

“Lin Feng! Go! Beat them in Game 6!”

Some die-hard fans were still cheering for him hoarsely, choosing to believe in the hero they saw on the court.

But more prevalent were shouts of anger and disappointment.

“Scumbag!”

“Get out of the Lakers! We don't need a player like you with no professional ethics!”

“Liar! You've betrayed everyone's trust!”

An emotional fan even threw a drink bottle fiercely in Lin Feng's direction!

“Watch out!”

Howard, standing next to Lin Feng, instinctively reached out to block it.

“Bang!”

The bottle hit his arm, and the cola inside spilled everywhere.

Howard's expression turned extremely grim.

He looked back at Lin Feng.

But he found that Lin Feng's face was devoid of any expression.

No anger.

No panic.

Not even a hint of fluctuation.

He just wore headphones, his hoodie pulled low, isolating himself from the noisy world.

He walked forward steadily, one step at a time.

As if the harsh curses and the frantic camera flashes were just background noise unrelated to him.

His teammates looked at him like this, their eyes filled with complex emotions.

They couldn't understand.

They really couldn't understand.

Was this young man's psychological resilience too strong, or had he completely given up and resigned himself to fate?

Just as security personnel were finally escorting them to the team bus.

A small-framed TMZ reporter, who knows where he came from, slipped through the defense line like a slippery loach!

He practically shoved the microphone into Lin Feng's mouth!

His voice, sharp and biting, cut through all the noise!

“Lin Feng!”

“Regarding your rumored affair with Taylor Swift in San Antonio, do you have anything to say to your fans and Miss Yoona, who has always supported you?!”

This question was too venomous!

It was like a knife, accurately stabbing into the very center of the storm!

Everyone stopped.

All cameras, all eyes, at this moment, focused entirely on Lin Feng.

The whole world was waiting for his answer.

Waiting for his defense, his apology, or his breakdown.

Lin Feng also stopped.

He slowly took off his headphones.

He looked up, his face, previously shrouded in shadow, was for the first time fully exposed to everyone.

He glanced at the reporter whose face screamed “big news”.

His gaze was icy.

Without a trace of warmth.

Yet it carried a chilling, absolute confidence.

Everyone felt that Lin Feng seemed different somehow.

But they couldn't quite pinpoint it.

Lin Feng did not answer the question.

He just reached out his hand.

The TMZ reporter instinctively handed over the microphone.

Lin Feng took the microphone.

He looked around at the frantic, angry, expectant, and complex faces.

Then, he brought the microphone to his lips.

And said only one sentence.

“Game 6, come watch the game.”

His voice was not loud.

It could even be described as calm.

But beneath that calmness, there was an undeniable, almost arrogant aura.

The entire noisy airport hall, like a bustling market.

At the moment this sentence was spoken.

There was a bizarre three-second silence.

Everyone was stunned.

The reporters were stunned.

The fans were stunned.

They had imagined countless possibilities, but they never expected such an answer.

No explanation.

No apology.

No response.

Just a near-commanding invitation to the entire world to watch the game.

What... what does this mean?

Is this a provocation?

Or does he have absolute confidence that he can respond to all of this with his performance in Game 6?!

The TMZ reporter was the first to react; he opened his mouth, wanting to ask something else.

But Lin Feng had already returned the microphone to his hand.

He put his headphones back on.

He turned and boarded the team bus without looking back.

Leaving behind a large group of media and fans, looking at each other, their minds blank.

This absolute composure at the center of the storm.

This almost arrogant swagger.

Made some keen-scented media personnel suddenly feel a strong sense of unease.

This man's reaction was completely beyond their expectations.

A young man embroiled in scandal, with his team facing elimination, shouldn't be like this!

His reaction wasn't like someone who had made a mistake.

It was more like a king about to walk to the execution ground.

No, it was like a beast heading to the battlefield... Game 6, game day.

Staples Center.

Before the game even began, the atmosphere inside and outside the arena was already eerily extreme.

Some die-hard fans still wore Lin Feng's number 24 jersey, firmly believing that the man who saved the team in Game 4 could once again create a miracle.

But another portion of fans expressed their anger through action.

Loud boos had not stopped from the moment Lin Feng stepped onto the court for warm-ups.

They even chanted “scumbag” in an organized manner.

Voices of support and opposition intertwined above the Staples Center, forming an incredibly strange energy field.

In the Lakers' locker room.

The atmosphere was equally heavy.

The players were all preparing themselves, no one spoke.

Lin Feng sat in his spot, wrapping bandages, circle by circle, around his ankle.

His movements were focused and steady.

As if all external disturbances could not affect him.

Just then.

A figure walked up to him, casting a shadow.

It was Kobe.

He wore a black training suit, his face showing no expression.

He said nothing.

Just watched Lin Feng, who was changing clothes.

Then, he threw a black arm sleeve over.

It was the one he himself used most often.

Lin Feng raised his hand and steadily caught the arm sleeve.

He looked up, and his gaze met Kobe's in the air.

Again, not a single word was exchanged.

But both understood the meaning in the other's eyes.

Lin Feng didn't hesitate, slowly putting on the arm sleeve, which still carried Kobe's body warmth, onto his right arm.

The moment the arm sleeve was fully on.

A beast-like glint flashed in his eyes.

The time for judgment had arrived.