140: A gaze of ice and fire! A battle for the throne!

The camera didn't focus on those boring scenes on the court.

It understood the audience's heart very well.

Once again, the camera was aimed at those two special female spectators who had attracted the world's attention since the start of the game.

The final buzzer sounded amidst the clamor.

Staples Center turned completely into an ocean of joy.

The Lakers' bench players rushed onto the court like a herd of crazed bison.

They bumped chests and let out roars of indeterminate meaning.

Victory!

A hearty, overwhelming victory!

They had forced the series into a Game 7!

All cameras and lights should have been focused on these victors at this moment.

But the live director didn't do that.

His camera was steadily locked onto the Lakers' bench.

Locked onto the man who hadn't stood up from start to finish.

Lin Feng.

He didn't participate in his teammates' revelry.

He just sat there quietly.

The towel on his head was completely soaked with sweat; he could feel the warm steam rising.

His body was like a shell drained of all energy.

Every muscle fiber was screaming in sore protest.

The aftereffects of the [ZONE] mode swept over him like a tide.

But his spirit was in an unprecedented state of excitement.

He could hear it.

Those twenty thousand spectators were chanting his name in unison.

"MVP!"

"MVP!"

That sound was like streams of warmth pouring into his exhausted body.

He won.

He responded to the world's judgment in the most violent and unreasonable way.

Kobe walked past him, without a hug or a high-five.

He just lightly punched his chest with his fist once more.

On his face was the gratified smile of a veteran seeing a rookie finally grow up.

"Good job, rookie."

Lin Feng looked up, grinned, and smiled too.

He knew this was the highest praise.

He took off the towel, breathing deeply the hot air of the arena, savoring the afterglow of victory.

And just then.

The live director captured this moment that everyone was waiting for with bated breath.

He provided a classic shot destined to go down in the history of television broadcasting.

The camera slowly moved away from Lin Feng's face, which was full of exhaustion and satisfaction.

It passed through the wildly celebrating players and the arm-waving spectators.

Precisely, it landed on the first row of the audience.

Yoona.

She stood there.

Amidst the landslide-like cheers, she was like a quiet, fragile statue.

Tears were silently falling from her slightly red and swollen eyes.

Drip by drip, they hit the back of her hand, which was tightly clutching the corner of her clothes.

The camera zoomed in.

On that face, like a pear blossom bathed in rain, the emotions were complex to the extreme.

There was pride.

Pride that the man had performed such great individual heroism in the face of the world's judgment.

There was heartache.

Heartache for the heavy pressure he bore alone, and for him being knocked over on the court.

More so, there was a bone-deep confusion and sadness.

He won against the whole world.

But what about me?

What about us?

That decisive figure from the morning in San Antonio, closing the door, surfaced in her mind once again.

He was the king on high.

And she was just an insignificant footnote in the background of his triumph.

The moment this face, full of grievance, pride, and heartbreak, appeared on the big screen.

Many male fans in the arena, who were just screaming wildly for Lin Feng, suddenly went quiet.

An inexplicable trace of guilt rose in their hearts.

However.

The director didn't give them much time to let their emotions brew.

The camera began to slowly pan in another direction.

The movement was very slow.

Slow enough for everyone's heart to leap into their throats.

Everyone knew what scene was going to appear next.

The camera passed several celebrities who were dancing with excitement.

Finally, it fixed on another face that was equally captivating.

Taylor Swift.

She was also standing.

Unlike Yoona's quietness, her entire being radiated a queenly aura that blended with the surrounding fanatical atmosphere.

She slowly took off the sunglasses that covered most of her face.

Revealing those eyes that were as bright and startling as sapphires.

She didn't cry.

The corners of her mouth curled up slightly into a smile full of satisfaction, appreciation, and a strong sense of possessiveness.

That smile seemed to say:

Look.

This is the man I chose.

This is the beast I ignited with my own hands.

This is my masterpiece.

Then.

As if by telepathy.

Or perhaps it was a deliberate arrangement by the invisible hand of fate.

In the trajectory of the camera's pan.

Across the noisy crowd and the crazed flashbulbs.

The eyes of the two women met from afar.

In that instant.

The air seemed to freeze.

Yoona's gaze was complex.

Inside was the instinctive defensiveness of seeing a love rival.

There was a trace of inferiority and sadness from being a "loser."

But more than that, there was a refusal to admit defeat that she hadn't even noticed herself.

She looked at Taylor with eyes like a wounded kitten protecting its food.

Although her whole body was trembling, she still tried to show her claws, even if they weren't sharp.

While Taylor's gaze.

Was direct.

Naked.

Full of aggression.

Her eyes swept over Yoona's pale and haggard face, not lingering for more than a tenth of a second.

In those eyes, there was no anger, no disdain.

Only a faint scrutiny from a superior to an inferior.

Like looking at a display piece that was fairly pretty but had nothing to do with her.

The winner's smile at the corner of her mouth didn't even change in the slightest.

That look seemed to say:

You're very cute.

But, the game is over.

This man is mine.

This eye contact lasted for less than a second.

Yet it was filled with silent, lightning-fast clashes.

Yoona seemed stung by that gaze; she subconsciously looked away and lowered her head somewhat dejectedly.

Meanwhile, Taylor slowly put her sunglasses back on.

She turned and, surrounded by bodyguards, walked toward the other end of the player tunnel without looking back.

What she left behind was the cool, elegant back of a victor.

This scene.

Was completely captured by the cameras on site.

And then, it spread all over the world.

At the commentary desk.

Charles Barkley had completely given up on discussing the game itself.

He pointed at the one-second eye contact on the monitor, his spit flying with excitement.

"Did you see that! Did you see that!"

"Oh my god! That look! That's a queen declaring her sovereignty to the whole world!"

"I take back what I said before; this isn't a Hollywood blockbuster! This is reality! A reality a hundred times more exciting than any movie!"

His partner, Kenny Smith, let out a long sigh.

"Poor Yoona, she lost."

"In terms of aura, she was completely crushed."

"This war seems to have been decided before it even began."

The game was over.

But another, even more eye-catching war, had just begun.

That night.

Social networks across America were completely ignited by this less-than-a-second eye contact!

Major sports media and entertainment gossip headlines all used the most sensational titles to report on the matter.

[TMZ: The Queen's Gaze! Taylor Swift Ends the War with a Single Look!]

[Yahoo Sports: A Duel of Ice and Fire! G6 Arena Witnesses the First Clash of Two Divas!]

And among them, the most retweeted and widely circulated was a headline from ESPN.

"The War of Ice and Fire: Battle for the Queen—Who Does Lin Feng Ultimately Belong To?"