159: The Mamba's decline! The twilight of an idol!

The Staples Center fell silent.

That orange leather ball passed through the net cleanly and decisively.

Like the sharpest of daggers, it severed the last nerve called hope in this arena.

Time seemed to stop flowing.

The air froze.

The purple and gold ocean that had been roaring just moments ago had now turned into a silent, desperate Dead Sea.

The fans stared blankly at the 15-point deficit on the court.

Their faces were numb.

Their eyes were hollow.

They knew it was all over.

D'Antoni finally called the last timeout.

He didn't set up any tactics.

He only looked at the few players on the court who were still gritting their teeth and persevering with eyes that were exhausted to the extreme.

Then, he raised his hand and made a substitution gesture.

Five in, five out.

All the starters were subbed off.

The game entered garbage time.

Lin Feng dragged his heavy legs, which felt as if they were filled with lead, slowly off the court.

His chest was heaving violently.

Every breath brought a burning pain.

His stamina was completely exhausted.

He couldn't feel the gazes around him.

He couldn't hear any sounds either.

The whole world had turned into a grayscale.

He walked to the bench and didn't sit down, just bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

Sweat dripped from his chin, one drop after another, hitting the floor.

Forming a small, pathetic puddle of water.

A towel was handed to him.

It was Nash.

The veteran's face was likewise filled with fatigue and loss.

Lin Feng took the towel without saying a word, simply throwing it over his head.

Completely isolating himself from this world that reeked of failure.

Garbage time passed quickly.

The piercing final buzzer finally sounded.

122:107.

The Lakers had lost a crucial battle on their home court.

The total series score was 0:3.

They were pushed to the edge of an abyss from which there was no return.

The other end of the court was a different scene entirely.

The Thunder players rushed to the center of the court, excitedly hugging each other.

Westbrook jumped onto Durant's back, shouting at the top of his lungs.

A long-awaited smile appeared on Durant's face as well.

They high-fived, they roared, and they enjoyed the joy of victory.

They were only one step away from the trophy that represented the highest honor in the Western Conference.

The fans at the Staples Center began to leave the arena one after another in silence.

No one cursed.

No one cried.

Only a deep sense of loss that penetrated to the bone enveloped everyone.

Just then.

On the big screen at the scene, the director gave a close-up shot that instantly made all the Lakers fans who hadn't left yet stop in their tracks.

The camera was aimed at the Lakers' bench.

It was aimed at the man in a suit who had never left.

Kobe Bryant.

He didn't look at the celebrating Thunder team on the court.

Nor did he look at his dejected teammates around him.

He just quietly looked up at the huge scoreboard above the arena showing the final score.

His eyes were very calm.

So calm it was unsettling.

There was no anger there.

No unwillingness.

There wasn't even a trace of sadness.

Only a deep sense of powerlessness that could not be described in words.

That was a king who had once conquered this city with paranoia and madness.

The loneliness of a hero in his twilight years, revealed as he watched his empire about to crumble with his own eyes.

This scene.

Spread to thousands of households across America through TNT's national live broadcast.

In a bar in Los Angeles.

A burly man wearing a number 24 jersey looked at this image on the TV and suddenly smashed the wine glass in his hand heavily onto the ground.

Then, he covered his face, his shoulders trembling violently.

In the living rooms of countless families.

Countless Kobe fans, at the moment they saw this image.

Their eyes instantly turned red.

The websites of major sports media changed their headlines immediately after the game ended.

[ESPN: The Empire Collapses! The Oklahoma Youth Army holds the match point at 3:0!]

[Yahoo Sports: The End of an Era? Kobe Bryant's Eyes Break Los Angeles' Heart!]

[Los Angeles Times: Goodbye, black mamba. Goodbye, our youth.]

...In the Lakers' locker room.

The atmosphere was as oppressive as a grave.

No one spoke.

There was only the slight clinking of instruments as the Team Doctor treated wounds.

Lin Feng sat in front of his locker, letting the Team Doctor apply an ice pack to his already cramping calf.

His face was expressionless.

The TV in the locker room was playing post-game news highlights.

When that close-up shot of Kobe appeared on the screen.

Lin Feng's pupils contracted sharply.

He saw it.

He saw Kobe's hollow eyes, which had lost all their light.

In that instant.

An invisible knife, sharper than any physical blade.

Stabbed ruthlessly into his heart!

It hurt!

A pain millions of times more intense than any physical fatigue or soreness!

Being down 0:3 didn't make him feel this bad.

Being defeated by Durant's unstoppable scoring didn't make him this miserable either.

But this look from Kobe.

Made him feel as if his soul was being torn apart.

He suddenly realized.

What on earth was he doing?

He wasn't just losing a series.

He was personally, bit by bit, burying the final dignity of his idol's career!

That pride belonging to the black mamba, which would rather die than surrender!

"I..."

Lin Feng's lips trembled, but he couldn't make a sound.

A massive sense of self-loathing, enough to completely consume him, swept over his entire body.

He pushed the Team Doctor aside, stood up unsteadily, and rushed into the shower room.

Cold water poured down from above.

But he couldn't feel the slightest bit of chill.

Only those lonely, hollow eyes kept reappearing in his mind over and over again.

Late at night.

In a hotel room in Los Angeles.

Lin Feng lay on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He had no desire to sleep.

Kobe's look was like a nightmare, haunting him and making it hard to breathe.

He knew he couldn't go on like this.

Scoring.

He could score a lot of points.

But so what?

That's not how basketball is played.

That's not how victory is won.

There must be something he hadn't figured out.

There must be an ultimate answer about victory that transcends 'scoring' itself.

He sat up abruptly from the bed.

In the darkness, he grabbed his car keys and walked quickly out of the room.

He needed an answer.

An answer that only that man could give him.