The Lakers inbounded from the sideline.
Farmar caught the ball and pushed it across half court with quick, confident dribbles.
There was no need for elaborate play-calling now. The Celtics had already emptied their bench, sending out their reserves to close the night. Compared to the intensity of the starters, the defense on the floor felt looser—rotations half a step late, closeouts softer, and the urgency of earlier quarters long gone.
Farmar read it instantly. A quick hesitation dribble and a sudden burst of speed got him past his man. The help defender, a young Boston big, slid over but hesitated, not wanting to risk a pointless foul in garbage time. Farmar glided into the paint and banked the layup off the glass with ease.
Meanwhile through these possessions, Jiang Chen remained invisible. He hadn't touched the ball for several trips down the floor, reduced to standing in the corner while the others ran their own sets. Anxiousness crept into his chest. He had a mission—he couldn't afford to vanish like this. If Phil Jackson decided to pull him before he showed anything, the opportunity would be gone forever.
"Man, pass the ball!"
His voice rang out in English, sharper this time. Instead of staying in the corner, he sprinted to the top of the arc, clapping for the ball.
Bang!
The ball smacked into his palms. Farmar sent it over quickly, his eyes narrowing with a hint of skepticism. He'd seen this before in practice — the hesitation, the mistimed rhythm, the missed shots.
As Jiang Chen caught it, Farmar drifted toward the weak side, giving space, almost as if to see what would happen next.
Jiang Chen looked up. His defender hadn't even bothered to step closer, standing nearly two meters back with his chin tilted, daring him to take the shot.
"Hey, where did you come from? Didn't know the Lakers had a Chinese player," the Celtic said with a smirk, his tone half-teasing, half-dismissive.
Jiang Chen's expression hardened. He lowered his stance, tightening his grip on the ball as his breath steadied. In one motion, he bent his knees and rose sharply. At the top of his jump, his wrists snapped forward in a clean, fluid release.
The ball climbed high — far higher than a normal three-pointer — tracing a long, perfect arc toward the rafters.
"Whoa… look at that release."
"That's some beautiful form."
Murmurs rippled through the stands. The ball fell from the sky and dropped straight through the net.
Swish!
A faint smile touched Jiang Chen's lips. The high-arc three-pointer — Midorima Shintarō's signature — had found its mark.
Farmar's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected it to fall. Maybe it was luck, yet the image of that soaring arc stayed with him, unsettling his certainty.
On the Lakers' bench, no one moved. Kobe leaned forward, face tight with frustration, while the rest of the team sat slumped. Across the floor, the Celtics' Big Three talked casually, not even glancing at the scoreboard.
Only a few fans scattered around the arena clapped. The rest stayed quiet — another basket in a game they believed was already decided.
…
CCTV-5 Live Broadcast
"That three-pointer actually went in! Jiang Chen's release looked solid on that one," Yang Jian said, a hint of surprise slipping into his voice before he chuckled softly. "Well, at least the box score won't be empty now. One make is better than none."
He paused, his tone turning thoughtful. "Still, it's hard to say. Maybe this can open a small window for him in the NBA — but one shot doesn't mean much."
Yang Yi nodded, speaking evenly. "Right. Hitting a three is good, but it doesn't change the flow of the game yet. Let's see if he can build on it."
...
"Kid, I let you shoot last time. Next possession, don't even think about it. I'll swat you into the seats."
The Celtic reserve guarding Jiang Chen leaned in, voice low and sharp.
"Huh? Why is there always a fly buzzing in my ear?" Jiang Chen shot back, smirking. "What's your name anyway? Another bench guy from Boston?"
He never backed down from trash talk—not in China, not here.
"Ha— a nobody talks big? You'll be nothing but a runner-up," the Celtic said, pounding his chest as he signaled for the ball.
He caught it on the wing, dribbled between his legs, and squared up. He meant to shut Jiang Chen up himself.
But Jiang Chen's eyes tightened. His defensive instincts surged, the Strongest Wall settling into place as he dropped his weight and locked his stance. In that instant, the gaps in his opponent's rhythm became clear — every hesitation and shift in balance exposed before it even happened.
The Celtic pushed forward—
Bang!
Jiang Chen's hand flashed out and sliced through the dribble. The ball was gone before the attacker registered it.
"...???"
"What the—?!"
The Celtic froze, staring at empty air where the ball had been. He spun, unbelieving.
Jiang Chen was already gone, sprinting into open court. The crowd's murmur rose as he crossed half, the ball thumping crisply under his hand. No defender was back. He could have taken it straight to the rim.
Instead he stopped. Jiang Chen pulled up outside the line, eyes narrowing as he rose into his shot.
"What's he doing?"
"Why isn't he driving?"
Gasps spread through the arena. Even the Celtics' bench leaned forward.
For a moment, the audience stalled.
"An easy two and he pulls up?"
"Is he seriously going for another three?"
"Hit one and now you think you're Ray Allen?"
"Turning down an easy layup for a three? What, trying to spark something?"
Most of the TD Garden crowd treated it as arrogance or recklessness, a few scattered fans calling it bold. The noise was a mix of doubt and curiosity.
The ball left Jiang Chen's hands on that same high arc—Midorima's rainbow again—and fell clean.
Swish.
Another three.
66–93. The lead fell to 27.
"What the—again?!"
"This kid… his shooting's legit!"
"Fast-break three? You almost never see that!"
This time surprise threaded through the stands.
On the floor, the Celtics' reserves froze, eyes wide. Tony Allen barked, "Step up on him. Don't give him an inch!" With the Big Three resting, he was the on-court voice.
His teammate nodded, glaring at Jiang Chen as if to say: we're bench guys — why make us look bad?
Boston tried to answer. A Celtic reserve heaved a hurried three—Bang!—it bounced off the rim.
The rebound went to the Lakers. Farmar pushed upcourt, scanning. His eyes kept flicking to Jiang Chen. Minutes ago he'd written the rookie off; now instinct pulled him to the hot hand.
In the corner Jiang Chen was set, hands raised. Farmar passed without hesitation.
This time the defender stuck to him, arms wide, not giving space.
Jiang Chen was more than a shooter. With Murasakibara's raw strength running through him, he had the bulk and balance to do damage.
He sold a pump fake. The defender bit, stumbled. Jiang Chen dropped his shoulder, exploded into the lane, powered through contact, and banked it off the glass.
Whistle!
The ref's arm went up. And-one.
The ball fell through. Jiang Chen landed, chest heaving, eyes burning.
At the line he bounced the ball twice and sunk the free throw.
"Nice shot!" Farmar called, waving, not a trace of earlier contempt—only respect. He looked at Jiang Chen differently now.
The Lakers' bench stirred. Gasol, Odom and others reacted, slapping thighs, calling out.
Kobe sat up. His expression changed; the dullness in his eyes sharpened. He checked the scoreboard: just over eight minutes left, down twenty-four. Still big, but not impossible.
For the first time all night, Kobe leaned forward, watching intently. If Jiang Chen stayed hot, he had to commit.
On the opposite bench Doc Rivers exploded, face tight.
"What are you doing out there?!" he roared. "Can't you stop one rookie? Guard that kid like your lives depend on it!"
The Celtics' championship felt close. He wasn't about to let a hot streak unravel it.
....
CCTV-5 Live Broadcast
"Wow… back-to-back baskets. He's really making the most of this chance," Yang Yi said, surprise slipping through his usually steady tone.
Yang Jian leaned forward slightly, his voice more animated. "That's impressive. To step up like this in the Finals, under this kind of pressure — that takes real composure. He's not shrinking, he's responding."
For the first time, a trace of anticipation crept into his voice. Maybe… just maybe, Jiang Chen had more in him than anyone expected.
The NBA playoffs were where miracles happened — and sometimes, all it took was one spark.
"Could this be Jiang Chen's moment?" Yang Yi added, still measured but no longer cold. "He's proving he belongs out there."
There was a faint warmth in his tone now — the kind that comes when doubt quietly turns to belief.
…
…
TD Garden, Boston.
Jiang Chen jogged back on defense, adrenaline still coursing through him. His chest burned, but his mind was clear.
That steal — that had felt right. Clean, instinctive.
The Strongest Wall wasn't built for steals, but its influence sharpened his timing, his reads, his positioning. Against a reserve guard with shaky handles, the gap felt immense — as if his reactions operated half a beat ahead of everyone else.
Unbelievable… the skills from Kuroko's Basketball really could bend reality on the court.
Even with just three integrated, he could already sense it — the foundation to survive, even thrive, in the NBA.
…
Boston pushed the ball up. Tony Allen found himself open at the elbow. Normally, offense wasn't his calling card, but with the starters resting, he took the shot.
Bang!
The ball clanked off the rim.
The Lakers' big men pulled down the rebound, and the purple-and-gold jerseys flowed forward in transition.
This time, the Celtics' reserves hustled back, cutting off lanes and setting up their defense.
Farmar slowed the pace near half court, signaling for control. He dribbled deliberately, raising a hand before motioning Turiaf forward.
The big man lumbered up to the high post and set a solid screen for Jiang Chen.
Jiang Chen curled around, caught the pass, and was met immediately by pressure — no more free space. Boston had adjusted.
He dropped low, the ball snapping sharply against the hardwood as he attacked. He cut through the narrow gap, slipped between defenders, and launched himself upward.
The leap drew gasps — higher than anyone expected. His body seemed to hover, rising clean above the wall of arms below him.
"This kid's bounce… that's unreal!"
"Is he about to pull off another and-one?"
Shock rippled through the crowd. For a brief moment, every head tilted upward, caught in disbelief at how easily he had taken flight.
Jiang Chen rose through the lane, releasing the ball high off the glass just as the defender's arm smacked across his own.
Beep!
The referee's whistle cut through the noise.
And-one.
The ball kissed the backboard, rolled once around the rim, and dropped cleanly through.
The arena erupted in disbelief.
"What level is this?!"
"Another and-one?"
"Twice in a row? Is Boston's defense slipping—or is this kid really that good?"
The buzz grew louder. Some fans shook their heads, refusing to believe it, while others leaned forward, eyes locked on the rookie suddenly commanding the spotlight.
Jiang Chen walked to the line, calm and steady. He bounced the ball twice, then sank the free throw without hesitation.