Steph Curry's back.
11:37 left in the second half. The crowd saw him step back on the floor—and you could feel the energy shift.
Four fouls deep, on a tightrope, but Coach McKillop didn't have a choice. Win or lose, it was ride or die with Steph.
Sun Devils acting coach Pera? No hesitation either. The second Curry hit the hardwood, he yelled out:
"GO AT HIM! MAKE HIM FOUL OUT!"
Hit 'em when they're down.
That was the plan.
....
Johnson, the Sun Devils' PG, saw blood. He cleared out, went one-on-one, drove right at Steph.
Bad idea.
Yeah, Steph's not known for D. He's not built like a tank. But he's clever. He reads angles like a chessboard.
He baited Johnson just enough, then nudged him inside—right into Lin Yi's help zone.
CRASH.
Lin Yi t Johnson at the summit like a tidal wave. Ball popped loose. Wildcats sprinted.
Steph trailed, caught the ball off the break—pull-up three.
Splash.
Steph jogged back, eyes locked on Lin Yi. "We got you and I. They only have Harden."
Lin wiped sweat from his brow, smiled, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Back in it. One shot."
Harden just stared across the court. No emotion. Just thinking.
Must be nice, he thought. To have soone to lean on.
But maybe he was always ant to be the lone wolf.
Harden took the ball up, slow and steady. The gym was buzzing. Nobody blinked.
Up in the stands:
"Xiao Lei," Qi Jun whispered, "these dudes are insane."
Wu Xiaolei nodded. "All heart. No contracts. Just pride."
Every possession felt like life or death. These weren't NBA stars—these were students. Legends in the making.
The cheerleaders roared Harden's na.
He was dialed in. Locked in.
...
2:21 left.
Shot clock ticking down—4 seconds—he caught it, turned, fired from way downtown.
WHISTLE.
Foul. McMillan clipped him.
And-one.
The crowd exploded.
JAS HARDEN! JAS HARDEN!
"That's 38 for the kid," Reggie Miller nearly shouted. "He's on fire. Every year these guys remind why I love this damn ga."
Free throw—good.
70–73. Sun Devils up three.
The crowd noise was like thunder.
DEFENSE! DEFENSE!
Lin Yi and Steph? Running on fus. But they weren't stopping.
Curry didn't touch the ball until 13 seconds left on the shot clock. And as soon as he did—BOOM—Johnson was on him like a rash.
"Not this ti!" Johnson snapped, breathing hard.
Steph held strong, nowhere to go.
Six seconds.
Johnson pressed closer. No space.
Steph panicked—almost—until he heard Lin's voice.
"STEPH!"
He fired a risky pass. Lin caught it like a wide receiver.
Four seconds.
No ti for fakes. Lin drove hard left. Grant jumped in his way.
Three.
Lin yanked the ball back—shifted his weight—transferred it to his right hand.
Two.
And then—Harden. Right there.
Perfect rotation.
"OH MY GOD," Javier Stanford muttered.
What happened next?
Unreal.
Lin hit the cleanest, fastest Eurostep the court had ever seen.
Three lightning-quick steps—left, right, left—and he slipped right through Harden and Grant like smoke.
Up off the glass.
72–73.
Wildcats still alive.
Lin landed, fists clenched. He let out a scream that echoed across the arena.
The place went silent.
Steph jogged over, wide-eyed."Dude. That was ridiculous."
Lin patted his back. "Don't foul out. If I can't take the shot, It's coming to you."
Steph blinked.
"You sure? You're the hot hand."
Lin grinned."Yeah. But you're Steph. If there's a ga-winner, take it. Halfcourt. Fadeaway. Doesn't matter. Just shoot it."
Steph paused. Rembered Kansas. Rembered passing it up.
Not again.
This ti? He'd take the shot.
.....
Reggie Miller finally spoke.
"…That footwork. From a seven-footer? That's... different."
Scouts stopped writing.
What were they even supposed to say?
You could put it on paper. But no one in the league would believe it until they saw it.
"I GOT IT!" Qi Jun yelled, lifting his cara. "I fild the whole thing!"
Wu Xiaolei stopped writing. "Yeah… let the editor watch the tape. I'm not touching this. It's... beyond words."
Javier Stanford just nodded.
"If the world sees Lin Yi in a few more gas?"
He smiled.
"He's going lottery. Guaranteed."
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