43: Signs of a bottleneck

That night, the Lakers team checked into a hotel in downtown Memphis.

The city's temperament, much like its basketball style, was tough, simple, and even a little rough.

In the hotel room, the TV was playing ESPN's pre-game analysis show.

On the screen, a Black player, not handsome but with fierce eyes, was speaking into the camera.

Tony Allen, the core perimeter defender for the Memphis Grizzlies, was widely regarded as one of the league's strongest perimeter defenders, nicknamed “The Grind King.”

"Lin Feng?"

Tony Allen smiled, showing a flash of white teeth into the microphone, but his expression held no warmth.

"I watched his tapes. A kid who can shoot well."

"But this is Memphis."

His tone was decisive.

"I don't care who he is, or which pop star he's dating."

"Once he steps into my defensive zone, he won't get an easy shot."

"I'll make him realize that NBA physicality is completely different from a Hollywood party."

In front of the television, Nick Young whistled.

"Dude, this guy is declaring war on you."

Lin Feng simply looked calmly at the screen and turned off the TV.

"Get some rest."

The next day, FedExForum.

The arena was packed, and the blue ocean of fans was filled with deafening noise.

The fans here were completely different from the audience in Los Angeles.

They didn't watch stars; they watched physicality.

They longed to see thrilling muscle collisions and longed to see opponents wailing under their home team's iron-clad defense.

The opening whistle sounded.

The Lakers' first possession.

Following the strategy, Lin Feng began moving without the ball along the baseline, trying to curl around a teammate's screen to look for a three-point opportunity.

However, the moment he started moving, a huge force pressed against him from behind.

Tony Allen!

He was like a piece of soaking wet taffy, sticking tightly to Lin Feng. His arms, chest, and thighs—every part of his body was applying the maximum legal level of contact.

Lin Feng tried to accelerate and break free, but Allen's footwork was rooted, always anticipating his path and cutting off his position.

Nash's pass couldn't comfortably reach his hands.

The first prerequisite for the All-Range Three-Pointer was that you had to be able to receive the ball and have even a fraction of a second of shooting space.

Currently, he met neither of those prerequisites.

The first possession resulted in a Lakers 24-second violation.

The second possession.

Lin Feng changed his strategy. He no longer insisted on perimeter movement but actively called for the ball and dropped into the low post.

He recalled Kobe's instruction to use post-up moves to create space.

The ball was passed into his hands.

With his back to Tony Allen, he planted his feet and began using his back strength, trying to muscle his way in one step.

"Bang!"

A dull sound of muscle collision.

Lin Feng felt like he had run into a wall.

He exerted all his core strength, but Tony Allen's lower body was rock steady, completely immovable.

The gap was too obvious.

His strength was far from enough against a pure defensive specialist.

Failing the post-up, he could only hurriedly turn around and attempt a fadeaway jumper.

Under the interference of Allen's long arms, the ball hit the front rim and bounced high.

Under the basket, the Grizzlies' “Black and White Bears” had been waiting for a long time.

Zach Randolph used his thick body to box out, and Marc Gasol easily secured the defensive rebound.

The third attempt.

Lin Feng decided to use his speed.

He held the ball at the top of the arc, facing Tony Allen's defense, and performed a quick crossover followed by a hesitation move.

If he were facing Barnes, this move would have been enough to create half a step of driving space.

But Tony Allen didn't fall for his feint at all.

His center of gravity was perfectly maintained, his slide steps kept pace, and he constantly blocked the path between Lin Feng and the basket, like a moving gate forcing him toward the sideline.

Lin Feng forced his way in.

He got half a step past Allen, but immediately fell into the trap set by the Grizzlies.

To his left was the outstretched long arm of Little Gasol, and to his right was the massive body of Randolph.

He seemed to have plunged right into a bear's den.

"Slap!"

A crisp sound.

The basketball in his hands was cleanly stripped from behind by Little Gasol.

The Grizzlies immediately launched a fast break, scoring an easy layup.

Deafening cheers erupted inside the arena.

Lin Feng looked at his empty hands, feeling that kind of helpless confusion for the first time on a basketball court.

The entire first half became Tony Allen's personal defensive showcase.

No matter where Lin Feng ran, he was always right there, like a shadow.

He tried every offensive skill he knew.

Off-ball movement: smothered.

Post-up isolation: couldn't budge him.

Driving with the ball: shut down.

He struggled to even get a single decent shooting opportunity.

Anxiety grew wildly in his heart like weeds.

He started playing impatiently, and several forced shots through tight gaps resulted only in clang after clang off the rim.

When the halftime buzzer sounded, Lin Feng's stats were displayed on the large screen.

1-for-8 shooting.

0-for-4 from three-point range.

Only 3 points, earned from a single free throw.

And a glaring 3 turnovers.

The Lakers were trailing by a large margin of 18 points.

Lin Feng walked back to the locker room with his head down, the unrestrained mockery of the Memphis fans ringing in his ears.

"Softie!"

"Go back to Hollywood and make movies!"

"This is the Lakers' savior? What a joke!"

He could feel the concerned glances from his teammates, but he said nothing.

Kobe sat courtside, his expression grave.

He watched Lin Feng's defeated figure but did not speak a word.

No one could walk this path for him.

He had to overcome this hurdle himself.

During the fifteen-minute halftime, the internet had already exploded.

The voices of doubt, previously suppressed by Lin Feng's miraculous performances, were now returned a hundredfold.

"I told you, as soon as the defense ramps up the intensity, he's useless! He's just a pure shooter!"

"Laughable. 'eastern magician'? More like 'Eastern Softie'!"

"Defended this badly by Tony Allen, and he still has the nerve to be rumored with Taylor? Does he deserve her?"

"Grit and Grind! This is real basketball!"

The atmosphere in the Lakers' locker room was oppressive.

D'Antoni was sketching on the whiteboard, outlining adjustments for the second half.

Lin Feng sat on a stool in the corner, covering his head with a towel, isolating himself from the world.

The coach's voice and the breathing of his teammates seemed distant.

In his mind, every possession of the first half played on repeat.

Tony Allen's iron-wall face.

Little Gasol's massive, sky-covering hands.

Randolph's insurmountable wall of flesh.

Divine skills restrained.

Talent crushed.

This was an unprecedented feeling of powerlessness.

A deep-seated, intense craving for greater power.

He needed a new weapon.

A brutal force that didn't rely on space, didn't fear contact, and could tear open the defense in a one-on-one struggle!

Silently, he took his phone out of his bag.

The screen lit up, displaying the text message from Taylor.

"I want to be the first to sing my new song to you."

Below it were the black metal card and the silver key.

Lin Feng looked at the phone screen. Under the towel covering his head, his eyes changed.

All the anxiety and confusion were, in that moment, replaced by a cold and firm resolve.

The progress bar in his mind representing Aomine Daiki's Unrestricted Shot silently rested at ninety percent.

Only one final step remained.

He knew what he had to do.