Chapter 170: Bone Collector — Breaking Ankles on Live TV
After blowing past Stuckey, Chen Yan exploded into the paint like a missile.
His leap was so powerful that both Pistons big men—Amir Johnson and Nazr Mohammed—instinctively collapsed on him.
At the very last second, Chen whipped a perfect bounce pass through the gap.
Effortless.
Precise.
Beautiful.
Barnes caught it under the rim, tapped it off the glass, and scored.
28–23.
"Great pass!" Barnes laughed, giving Chen a friendly slap on the back.
Chen grinned and returned the gesture. "One more stop, let's stretch this lead."
He wanted to use his energy to lift the entire second unit—turning defense into offense and momentum into control.
---
The Pistons brought the ball up again.
Stuckey, visibly frustrated, crossed half court and quickly passed the ball away. He could already feel his teammates' irritation. If he kept playing hero ball, they'd probably take him out themselves.
This time, Detroit's offense actually ran smoothly—but Afflalo's open three hit front iron.
"Chen!"
Barnes snagged the rebound and immediately launched a long outlet pass. He wanted to repay the favor from the last play.
Chen Yan caught it at the logo and took off like a bullet.
Stuckey backpedaled to defend, but Chen sold him an in-and-out dribble with his right hand, slicing straight to the rim for a clean finish.
30–23.
It was a pure one-man demolition.
After scoring, Chen raised his hands toward the Pistons' bench, wearing a faint smirk.
It wasn't taunting—it was psychological warfare. And it was working.
Stuckey's confidence was unraveling fast. This wasn't the NBA he imagined—it was a harsh reality check.
---
"Another one-on-one blow-by! Chen is cooking this rookie!" shouted Mike Breen from the ESPN booth.
Jeff Van Gundy added, "If I'm Detroit's coach, I'm subbing Stuckey out now. You can't let a young guy's confidence completely collapse like this."
Breen nodded. "Yeah, he's getting torched out there. Once a rookie loses his swagger, it's hard to get it back."
On social media, Suns fans were having a field day.
"This is a straight-up mismatch."
"Asking Stuckey to guard Chen is like volunteering as tribute."
"ATM Stuckey is online—free withdrawals!"
"Man's out there getting a lifetime lesson in footwork."
Even Pistons fans inside the arena started groaning. Their supposed "future core" couldn't score or defend. Two months of anticipation, and this was the result.
---
And Then It Got Worse
Detroit finally executed a clean possession. Jarvis Hayes cut baseline for a layup—30–25.
But on the next Suns trip, the Pistons tried to adjust. Coach Flip Saunders swapped Stuckey off Chen and put Afflalo on him.
It wasn't just a coaching decision—it was self-preservation. Stuckey had practically begged for it.
At the top of the key, Chen Yan held the ball with one hand, calmly reading the floor. Afflalo crouched low, giving him a cautious step and a half of space.
Then—out of nowhere—Barea shuffled up to set a screen.
Yes, that Barea. Barely six feet tall, setting a pick on a shooting guard.
The Pistons' bench burst out laughing. It looked ridiculous.
But the laughter didn't last.
Because as soon as the screen hit, Stuckey switched back onto Chen.
"Oh no…" someone muttered.
The Suns spread the floor wide. Everyone knew what was coming.
Stuckey's face darkened. He realized—too late—that he'd just been isolated on purpose.
---
Bang. Bang.
Chen Yan unleashed two violent crossovers in succession, his body swaying like a predator toying with its prey.
Stuckey shuffled desperately, trying to mirror the movement, but his balance was slipping fast.
Then came the final blow.
Chen drove hard to the right, forcing Stuckey to turn his hips—then suddenly pulled back with a sharp behind-the-back dribble that snapped the defender's rhythm in half.
Crossover. Stop. Pullback.
The perfect combo.
Stuckey's feet tangled, his body twisted—and he fell.
Flat. On. His. Back.
The arena gasped in unison.
"Ohhhh! He dropped him!"
"Stuckey's ankles are gone!"
"Chen just turned him into a highlight reel!"
The crowd went crazy. Even neutral fans couldn't help but scream.
Meanwhile, Chen calmly gathered the ball behind the arc, rose up, and released a smooth jumper.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
---
But then—silence.
The referee's whistle blew as Stuckey grimaced on the floor, clutching his ankle.
The Pistons' medical staff sprinted onto the court.
Slow-motion replay told the full story.
As Chen pulled back on the final crossover, Stuckey's left ankle rolled violently. His foot bent inward at an unnatural angle before he crumpled.
Van Gundy sighed heavily. "That's tough. First game back from injury… and now this."
Breen shook his head. "Chen's got that Bone Collector energy. Remember college? He once broke a guy's wrist with a crossover. Now it's an ankle."
Van Gundy added, "It's not intentional. Chen's speed and rhythm are elite. When defenders try to react, their bodies just can't keep up—their joints give out first."
The camera cut to Chen Yan, standing at midcourt, expression neutral.
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