86: The bell tolls for the life-or-death battle

Lin Feng stood rooted to the spot, holding his phone, Kobe's final words echoing in his ears.

The only thing that can save you is basketball.

He glanced at Yoona, who was sleeping on the bed, her brows tightly furrowed, filled with unease even in her dreams.

Lin Feng walked over and tucked the corner of the blanket around her.

Then, he turned around and walked out of the presidential suite without the slightest hesitation.

In the dead of night in Los Angeles, vehicles still moved along the streets.

Lin Feng drove the black escalade, his mind a blank slate.

He didn't think about TMZ, Taylor, or Scarlett.

In his world, only Kobe's words and the address at the navigation destination remained.

Staples Center.

When he used his staff card to swipe open the arena door, he was greeted by profound darkness and silence.

There were no reporters, no fans, and no noise here.

Only the basketball hoop stood in the center of the court, like a silent behemoth.

"Thump."

"Thump."

"Thump."

The sound of a basketball hitting the floor came from deep within the court, echoing throughout the empty arena.

Lin Feng followed the sound.

In the center of the court, only one overhead light was on.

Under the dim, yellow halo of light, a figure was dribbling alone.

Kobe Bryant.

He was wearing simple training gear, and sweat was already beading on his forehead.

Seeing Lin Feng approach, he stopped his movements, the basketball casually tucked under his arm.

He didn't ask anything about the scandal; he didn't mention a single word.

It was as if the storm raging outside, which had swept across the entire North American media landscape, simply didn't exist.

He merely pointed his chin toward a piece of paper on the coaches' bench nearby.

"Look at this."

Lin Feng walked over and picked up the paper.

It was a printed Western Conference standings table and the schedule for the final game.

Next to the Lakers' name, the record was 44 wins and 37 losses.

On the line below them, the Utah Jazz Team also had a record of 44 wins and 37 losses.

At the bottom of the schedule, the opponent for the final regular season game was heavily circled with a glaring red marker.

An away challenge against the Utah Jazz Team.

Lin Feng's heart skipped a beat.

"We have the same record as the Jazz Team right now."

Kobe's voice was like the clash of cold metal.

"The last game is in Salt Lake City."

He walked up to Lin Feng, extended a finger, and sharply poked the standings table.

"Winner goes to the playoffs."

"Loser goes home fishing."

The room was terrifyingly quiet.

Kobe turned around, his eyes like an eagle's in the night, sharp as knives, piercing directly into Lin Feng's heart.

"The whole world wants to laugh at you."

His voice was not loud, but every word was heartbreaking.

"TMZ reporters are drowning in bonuses this month thanks to your news."

"ESPN commentators have launched three special programs discussing how you, the 'Locker Room Bomb,' are going to destroy the Los Angeles Lakers."

"Players on other teams in the league are currently using your situation as the biggest joke in their group chats."

"They are all waiting for you to be crushed by this storm. The media, the opponents, even some of our own fans."

Kobe took a step forward, closing in on Lin Feng.

"They think you're finished."

"They think you're just a lucky kid relying on good looks and talent, and that you'll collapse like a clown the moment you face real pressure."

"They have already written the script for you. That you'll lose your mental balance due to a scandal, suffer a performance collapse, mess everything up in the most critical game, and become Los Angeles's biggest culprit."

Kobe's words landed like heavy punches, slamming hard into Lin Feng's chest.

All his annoyance, guilt, and unease were replaced at this moment by a more primal and powerful emotion.

That was anger.

The towering rage of being looked down upon and treated as a joke.

"Now, tell me."

Kobe's voice suddenly rose, like a war drum beating on the battlefield.

"What are you going to do?"

"Are you going to hide in the hotel like a coward and drown in their spit?"

"Or are you going to walk into that arena like a warrior and, under the gaze of everyone, smash their mouths shut?!"

Boom!

That last sentence exploded in Lin Feng's mind.

He clenched the paper tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force.

He raised his head, meeting Kobe's gaze.

Those eyes, which had been somewhat lost and confused, became incredibly clear and utterly manic at this moment.

All the negative emotions were purified and forged in this instant, finally transforming into an extreme hunger for victory.

He tossed the paper aside, bent down, and picked up the basketball from the floor.

The familiar feel of leather came from his palm, like an electric current instantly shooting through his body.

This was his world.

This was his weapon.

"Boss."

Lin Feng spoke, his voice hoarse but conveying an unprecedented firmness.

"I know what I need to do."

Kobe watched the flame in his eyes—that familiar, maniacally obsessive flame for victory—and finally, a cold, hard curve appeared on his face.

He said nothing, merely tossing the ball he was holding to Lin Feng.

"Then practice."

For the next few days, Lin Feng completely cut himself off from the outside world.

He turned off his phone and refused contact with all management and public relations teams.

He rejected all interview requests from the media.

He didn't even return to the hotel.

He slept in the arena's lounge.

When he woke up, it was time to train.

When he was exhausted, he collapsed and slept.

The whole world seemed to consist only of basketball, sweat, and Kobe's devilish demands.

The rest of the Los Angeles Lakers also felt this suffocating atmosphere.

No one mentioned the scandal that had rocked the entire US, and no one dared to discuss anything unrelated to basketball in front of Lin Feng and Kobe.

Nick Young simply and silently handed Lin Feng a bottle of water during a training break.

"Those bastards in Salt Lake City aren't easy to deal with."

Lin Feng took the water without looking at him.

"I know."

"They'll use every trick they can to provoke you."

"Mm."

Nick Young looked at his expressionless profile and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Go kill them."

Lin Feng paused his motion of drinking water.

He turned his head and saw the seriousness in Nick Young's eyes.

"Okay."

The day of the final regular season game arrived.

The entire Lakers team took a charter flight and arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Because of the Jazz Team, this city was known throughout the league as the most terrifying "Devil's Home Court."

As the Lakers' bus slowly drove toward the Energy Solutions Arena, thousands of Jazz Team fans had already gathered on both sides of the road.

They wore the home team's jerseys, holding up various provocative and insulting signs.

"Welcome to hell, playboy!"

"Taylor's troublemaker, today is your doomsday!"

"Go back to your K-Pop world!"

All kinds of foul language, accompanied by tremendous jeering, slammed against the bus windows like a tsunami.

Inside the bus, there was dead silence.

All the Lakers players had incredibly serious expressions.

Only Lin Feng leaned by the window, calmly looking at the frantic and distorted faces outside.

There was no emotional fluctuation on his face.

The bus stopped, and the players got off in sequence, walking into the players' tunnel.

When Lin Feng's figure appeared at the tunnel entrance, the noise in the arena instantly reached its peak.

Boos, curses, and screams mixed together, nearly blowing the roof off the arena.

Lin Feng stepped onto the court.

He stopped and stood in the center of the court.

He was greeted by overwhelming boos and countless signs covered in insulting language.

The entire world was against him.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the hostile eyes in the stands.

Eye of the Heavenly Emperor!

In an instant, the entire noisy world became incredibly clear in his eyes.

Those angry faces, those waving signs, those grating noises... everything transformed into cold data streams, flashing through his mind.

He saw their anger, but also the fear beneath that anger.

They were afraid.

Afraid that this young man from the East would once again use an incredible performance to crush their playoff dreams.

The corner of Lin Feng's mouth slowly curled into a cold smile.

There was no warmth in that smile, only the chilling intensity of a hunter locking onto prey.

This battle for redemption had begun!