Chapter 183: Overheard — The Assassin Strikes Again
"Chen Yan is just unreal at seizing moments!"
"Don't blame Tony Allen—he played that perfectly. Chen just hit a shot no one could guard."
The two commentators could barely contain their excitement. In their eyes, that three-pointer had practically sealed the game.
But Doc Rivers wasn't ready to surrender. He immediately called his final timeout.
With 26 seconds left, the play was simple: give the ball to Durant and let him work.
Durant already had 44 points, and he was the Celtics' best option for a final possession.
D'Antoni adjusted the defense. He switched Boris Diaw onto Durant. With his strength, length, and calmness, Diaw could at least make things tough for the rookie phenom.
Durant took the ball at the top of the key. The clock ticked down.
Diaw crouched low, focused entirely on Durant's body movement. He wasn't going to bite on any fakes.
Durant didn't ask for a screen. He didn't need one. This was his moment — the shot every scorer dreams about.
Nine seconds.
Durant rocked the ball between his legs, swaying side to side, reading Diaw's balance. His dribble wasn't fast — it was rhythmic, deliberate. He was setting the stage.
Diaw, already exhausted, didn't go for a steal. He just waited, ready to contest the jumper.
"8... 7... 6..."
The Boston crowd counted in unison, their voices shaking the rafters.
With three seconds left, Durant rose for the shot.
Diaw reacted instantly, leaping early to get a hand up.
Bang!
The shot hit the front of the rim and bounced out.
The Suns bench exploded — until the whistle blew.
"Wait... a foul?"
"Unbelievable! The referee called a hand foul on Diaw!"
The broadcast booth erupted.
"Oh my God, this is wild!" one of the commentators shouted. "Durant's going to the line for three free throws!"
His partner groaned. "Man, that's a brutal call. The replay shows some contact, but in this situation, you usually let them play. The ref just made himself the headline."
On the floor, Diaw grabbed his head, furious, pleading his case. His teammates rushed in, pulling him away before he got hit with a technical.
With 1.8 seconds on the clock, Durant stepped to the line.
"MVP! MVP! MVP!"
The entire TD Garden roared. It was the first time in Durant's career he'd ever heard the chant.
He looked nervous — then smiled.
Bang!
The first free throw rattled out. The crowd groaned.
He took a breath.
Swish.
Second one in.
Swish.
Third one perfect.
129–128, Celtics.
Durant clenched his fist, yelling in triumph. For him, it was the biggest moment of his young career.
---
On the other sideline, D'Antoni called the Suns' last timeout.
1.8 seconds left.
"Boris, you inbound," D'Antoni ordered quickly. "Raja to the corner. Chen—you use Amar'e's screen and get open. You take the shot!"
The Suns huddled tight, locked in on the plan—unaware that a familiar figure was sneaking closer.
Rondo.
Quiet as a thief, he crept near the Suns' bench, leaning just close enough to overhear. It was straight out of an NBA Overheard blooper reel.
By the time anyone noticed him, Rondo had already pieced it together: the play was designed for Chen Yan.
Then again, who else would it be? Chen had 52 points already. Everyone in the arena knew who'd take the final shot.
---
The whistle blew. Time for the final play.
Diaw stood on the sideline with the ball.
Players on both sides crowded the free-throw line, jostling, shoving, fighting for space.
Nash darted out first, faking toward the ball. The Celtics bit.
Chen Yan then cut hard off Stoudemire's screen, curling to the top of the key.
Diaw didn't hesitate — a clean, perfect pass.
Chen caught it in stride, rose, and fired.
Snap!
Durant lunged from the side, timing his contest perfectly. He knew Chen's rhythm too well.
Thud! The shot missed short.
The crowd screamed — but Chen was already moving.
He grabbed the loose ball, turned, and in one fluid motion, launched a second shot.
0.6 seconds left.
The ball arced high, tracing a flawless parabola through the air.
Swish!
Straight through.
131–129, Suns.
Buzzer.
The arena went silent.
Only the Suns' players were yelling, piling onto Chen Yan near midcourt.
Durant stood frozen, staring at the scoreboard, disbelief written across his face.
Chen met his gaze with a calm smile that said it all:
You almost had me.
---
Kenny Smith's voice came through the broadcast, half-laughing, half in awe.
"First he gives you hope... then more hope... and then he takes it all away."
Barkley shook his head. "That's Chen Yan. Cold-blooded. Clinical. That's what assassins do."
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