Lin Yi, who gave the New York Knicks the first basket of the Finals, lit up Madison Square Garden from the opening possession.
Madison Square Garden did the rest.
The roar ca in waves, rolling down from every level, louder with each replay on the big screen.
Lin Yi let the noise settle into him as he ran back on defense. For a brief second, he allowed himself a thought.
Worth it.
All of it.
On the Spurs' first possession, Tony Parker answered.
Using Tim Duncan's screen, Parker turned the corner and drove straight into the paint. Tyson Chandler stepped up, but Parker's speed still held. He slipped through the gap and finished clean at the rim.
2–2.
As he backpedaled, Parker's expression stayed calm.
Level.
Back on the sideline, Elizabeth leaned forward slightly as the Knicks inbounded, her eyes following Lin Yi again. There was no tension in her expression, just focus.
She had seen him respond too many tis.
.
The Knicks ca right back.
Lin Yi moved up without the ball, setting a solid screen at the high post.
Chris Paul read it instantly, accelerated, and cut into the lane. Parker trailed, Duncan hesitated for half a step, and that was enough.
Paul slipped under the rim and finished a reverse layup.
2–4.
Paul turned imdiately, a grin already forming as he looked at Parker.
A few words were exchanged.
Nothing friendly.
Next possession, Parker pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
Short.
The ball bounced off the rim.
As they ran back, Duncan reached over and tapped Parker's head lightly.
"Patience. Don't let his words get to you."
Paul, anwhile, glanced toward Lin Yi with a grin that said everything.
Lin Yi raised a hand to his face for a second.
Chris was enjoying this a little too much.
The Knicks pushed again.
This ti, the Spurs adjusted.
Gregg Popovich had seen enough.
On the next defensive set, Jimmy Butler switched onto Paul.
Lin Yi noticed imdiately.
They're targeting him.
Butler pressed up, cutting off angles, forcing Paul to work for every step.
Lin Yi shifted his approach.
No forced pick-and-roll.
He drifted toward the top, then cut across to set a hard screen for Danny Green.
Parker ran straight into it.
Clean contact.
Green slipped out to the periter.
Paul delivered the pass.
Green rose.
Release.
Whoosh.
2–7.
The first three of the Finals.
Madison Square Garden erupted again.
On the sideline, Elizabeth Olsen rose slightly from her seat, clapping as her eyes followed the play.
Sharon leaned in, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You're calr than I expected."
Elizabeth let out a slow breath, her hands still coming together in rhythm with the crowd. "I'm trying to be."
Sharon glanced at her, then at the court. "Still think bringing you here was a good idea?"
Elizabeth shot her a look, sharp but playful. "I wasn't missing Ga 1 for anything."
Sharon did not look convinced.
Elizabeth shifted in her seat, adjusting the hem of her jersey over her bump. "You were there when we made the deal. One live ga. Just one."
She paused, then added under her breath, "In exchange for what feels like house arrest. Hmph, acting like I can't handle a bit of excitent and tension."
This got a raised eyebrow from Sharon, causing Elizabeth to look sheepishly away.
Elizabeth cleared her throat from the embarrassnt before continuing her cheering.
.
On the court, the Spurs answered with Tim.
Duncan backed his way into position, turned, and lifted a soft hook off the glass.
4–7.
On the broadcast, Shaquille O'Neal spoke with rare calm.
"Tim didn't dominate like I did," he said, "but he played the ga better than anyone."
Beside him, Barkley raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Back on the floor, the Knicks pushed again.
This ti, Lin Yi got the ball.
Turn.
Fade.
The shot rimd out.
Duncan secured the rebound imdiately.
Transition.
Butler cut hard to the basket.
Finish.
6–7.
Popovich gave a small nod and sat back down.
Weather the first punch.
That was always the plan.
On the court, Lin Yi was already moving.
No hesitation.
No frustration.
The next play was forming.
And then—
The Garden exploded because Lin had pulled up from nine ters out, and the ball was about to leave his hands,
"Wait… what?" soone on the Spurs bench blurted.
On the court, Andrei Kirilenko froze for half a beat, then closed out hard.
That's not a shot, he thought, panic creeping in. That's a mistake. It has to be.
Out loud, he snapped, half to himself, half to the universe, "There's no way. No way that goes in."
His arms stretched wide, long enough to swallow most shooters whole, cutting off Lin Yi's sightline. It didn't matter. The release was quick but almost rushed, more of a push than a clean jumper.
Kirilenko's eyes narrowed. I've seen that before… where?
Then instinct took over.
"Rebound!" he shouted, already turning.
Behind him, Lin Yi had finished his motion and was walking back.
Calm as ice.
He spread his arms slightly, head tilted up into the heavens, like the bucket was ordained.
A Knicks fan near the floor laughed nervously. "He's not serious… right? Right?"
Swish.
Silence hit first.
Madison Square Garden didn't erupt. It stalled. People stared, so half-rising, others just 11blinking at the rim like it might take the shot back.
Then—
"Damn!"
"Are you kidding ?!"
"What was that?!"
The noise ca all at once, confused, loud, and almost disbelieving.
On the Knicks side, Draymond Green slowed to a stop mid-cut, looking back at the hoop. "Yo… that wasn't the play."
Chris Paul shook his head, a grin breaking through. "Not even close."
At the broadcast table, Charles Barkley leaned forward, hands on his knees. "I'm telling you right now, they did not draw that up. Not in the Finals."
Back on defense, Kirilenko slamd his foot against the hardwood. "You can't take that shot," he muttered in disbelief. Then louder, frustrated, "You just can't!"
No one answered him.
On the Spurs sideline, Gregg Popovich made a sharp downward motion with both hands. "Settle down," he called out. "Stay organized. Next possession."
But even he felt it. That small shift in the air.
Tony Parker jogged the ball up, exhaling. "Man… he really thinks every shot's going in, huh?"
Tim Duncan didn't look at him. His eyes stayed on Lin Yi. "Right now," he said quietly, "it looks like he's right."
Scoreboard read 6–10.
Nothing dramatic.
Still, the Spurs' spacing on the next set ca a half-step late. One pass hesitated. One cut lacked conviction.
Lin Yi watched it all unfold, expression steady.
Lin Yi knew exactly what he was doing.
God Mode gave him one minute. That was it.
Even if everything broke right, even if every shot dropped, the Spurs weren't the kind of team you buried in sixty seconds.
So he didn't aim for a knockout.
He aid for doubt.
Make them think. Make them hesitate.
That first shot mattered, but the celebration mattered more; it planted sothing.
And now, the Garden was awake.
It started as a murmur, then built into a roar. Fans rose from their seats, voices crashing together.
"LIN YI!"
"LIN YI!"
On the next possession, the Spurs went to their anchor.
Tim Duncan caught it on the block, backed down, steady as ever. One dribble, two, then the soft bank off the glass.
8–10.
As he ran back, Duncan brought both hands down in a calming motion. "Settle in," he called. "We're fine. Stay with it."
For a mont, it worked.
Then he turned his head.
The Knicks were already pushing. The inbound ca as a long pass, fired up the floor.
Duncan's eyes widened slightly. Not again.
Lin Yi caught it near the logo, his heel brushing the center mark.
He rose.
On the Spurs' side, Kirilenko lunged forward, but he knew. A step late, and it felt like a mile.
"You've got to be kidding …" he muttered.
At the comntary table, voices overlapped.
"Hold on—"
"From there?!"
"This is the Finals!"
Lin Yi released, then casually raised three fingers toward the Spurs' bench.
Popovich's face grim, color rising fast. "No, no, no—"
Swish.
Absolute wetness with no rim.
For a second, everything stalled again.
Then the arena exploded.
"TIOUT!" Popovich snapped, dropping back onto the bench, breath heavier than before.
On the Spurs bench, players stared at each other.
"That's not real," one of them said under his breath.
"There's no way that's real."
Out on the floor, Duncan just stood there, eyes fixed on the rim.
On the Knicks' side, the reaction wasn't much better.
Green blinked, then looked at Chris Paul. "We… we just letting him do that now?"
Paul let out a short laugh. "You got a better idea?"
Lin Yi, anwhile, finally showed a hint of emotion. A small fist clenched as he jogged back.
That should do it.
He glanced at the clock in his head.
Twenty-seven seconds left.
"Alright," he murmured to himself. "Maybe one more."
Against a team like the Spurs, three clean looks in a minute was already a win.
But the real payoff was right in front of him.
The Spurs, who had just settled into their rhythm, were off-balance again.
. . .
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