145: The Black Eight Miracle and a New Storm

The timeout ended, with only 24 seconds left in the game.

The San Antonio Spurs had the last possession.

Win, or go home.

The whole world held its breath.

Popovich stood on the sidelines, and for the first time, a deep sense of resignation, a feeling of 'acceptance of fate,' appeared on his wise and cunning old face.

He had lost.

The most precise war machine he had built with a lifetime of basketball wisdom.

Today, it was utterly shattered by a monster who possessed both the strength of a beast and a god.

Completely shattered.

But he was still the iron-blooded coach.

He set up one last, perhaps the most classic, Spurs-style play.

The ball was inbounded.

To Tony Parker.

The French Sports Car began his final charge.

However, what awaited him was a frantic, relentless defensive net.

Kobe, like a bloodthirsty black mamba, clung to him tightly!

He used his chest, his arms, and his body, burning with its last energy, to block every inch of Parker's advance!

Parker tried to change direction!

Nash's figure appeared like a ghost on his flank!

The two formed a trap!

Parker was forced to stop!

He could only pass the ball awkwardly to Ginóbili on the perimeter, just before the double-team fully formed!

The Demon Blade caught the ball!

Only five seconds remained!

In front of him was Artest's fierce face!

No time left!

No chance!

Ginóbili could only force a jump, twisting his body in mid-air to shoot the ball!

The entire AT&T Center fell silent at that moment.

Everyone stood, craning their necks, watching the basketball that carried the hopes of San Antonio's entire season.

It arced through the air, drawing a not-so-beautiful trajectory.

Then.

"Bang!"

A dull thud as the basketball hit the front of the rim!

Miss!

"Roar!"

Dwight Howard, like a giant beast, leaped high under the basket, firmly securing this game-deciding rebound with his massive hands!

The game is over!

The final buzzer blared, piercingly, at this moment!

"Beep—!!!"

The silver and black ocean of the AT&T Center completely froze.

On the other side.

The Lakers' bench erupted like a volcano!

They rushed onto the court!

They bumped each other's chests!

They let out meaningless, beast-like roars!

Victory!

A great victory, clawed back from the brink of hell!

As the eighth seed in the Western Conference, they had toppled the regular-season league-leading San Antonio Spurs on their home court in Game 7!

Another great 'Black Eight Miracle,' worthy of being recorded in NBA history, was born!

All the cameras and lights were now frantically focused on these miracle-making victors.

And the man who created all of this.

Lin Feng.

The moment the final whistle blew.

His vision went black.

The power that had sustained him in creating a miracle vanished instantly, like a spine being pulled out.

Every cell in his body cried out in exhaustion.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed straight onto the cold floor.

Completely exhausted.

"Lin!"

Kobe was the first to rush over, trying to pull Lin Feng up.

But the next second, Howard, Nick Young, Gasol... all the Lakers players surged forward like a tide!

They completely engulfed the figure kneeling on the ground!

They piled on top of him, expressing their ecstatic victory in the most crude and primal way!

At the post-game press conference.

Lin Feng barely managed to sit in a chair, supported by the Team Doctor.

He was exhausted, his face pale, but his eyes were astonishingly bright.

He knew.

He had given the strongest, 'final answer' with his performance on the court.

As for the commotion off the court, he temporarily didn't want to deal with it.

At the moment the game ended.

In two corners of the stands, the two women who had attracted the world's attention both chose to leave quietly.

Yoona, protected by her Agent, rushed out of the arena with her head down, not accepting any interviews, but her slightly red eyes said it all.

Taylor Swift, surrounded by bodyguards, turned gracefully and also left without a word.

The two divas, with the same silence, left the world's media with an even bigger suspense, full of endless imagination.

Lin Feng's phone lay quietly in the locker room cabinet.

There were two unread messages on the screen.

He didn't open them.

He knew that although the war on the court was over.

Another war, one that belonged only to him and them, had just begun.

At the press conference, the reporters' questions once again strayed from basketball.

"Lin! Congratulations on creating the Black Eight Miracle! But does this mean you've made a final choice between the two ladies?"

A reporter eagerly extended the microphone.

Lin Feng glanced at him but didn't answer the question.

He just took the microphone and looked at Kobe beside him.

"This victory doesn't belong to me alone."

His voice was hoarse with fatigue but exceptionally firm.

"It belongs to our entire team, to every brother who fought until the last second on the court."

"Especially, it belongs to him."

Lin Feng placed his hand on Kobe's shoulder.

"He told me how to finish the game."

Kobe looked at him, a relieved smile on his face.

The reporters were clearly not satisfied with this answer and wanted to continue asking about Taylor and Yoona.

Lin Feng, however, simply put down the microphone and leaned back in his chair.

He closed his eyes and ended the press conference with a simple sentence.

"I just want to rest now."

...He really needed to rest.

But he knew that he didn't have much time left to rest.

That night, Lin Feng's phone finally turned on.

He eventually opened those two messages.

Yoona: "I'm waiting for you in Los Angeles."

Taylor: "I'm waiting for you in Oklahoma."

Looking at these two messages, Lin Feng didn't reply; he just turned off his phone screen.

He knew he had no retreat.

Victory on the court was the only key to solving all problems.

He turned on the TV; an NBA special program was frantically replaying the thrilling Game 7.

And at the bottom of the screen, a new matchup scrolled.

Western Conference Finals.

Los Angeles Lakers VS Oklahoma Thunder.

Lin Feng looked at those two familiar names, his gaze becoming extremely solemn.

Kevin Durant.

Russell Westbrook.

That explosive duo, at the peak of their careers, overflowing with talent.

One was a four-time Scoring Champion, the unsolvable Grim Reaper.

The other was a physically explosive, aggressive Ninja Turtle.

He knew it would be an even more terrifying storm than the San Antonio Spurs.

And just then.

Lin Feng felt something deep within his body quietly awakening.

It was a third power that had always been dormant within him.

It was not like [Midorimas Full-Court Three-Pointer], which represented ultimate rules and precision.

Nor was it like [Aomine's Unorthodox Shot], which represented ultimate destruction and wildness.

This power symbolized absolute control!