Chapter 225: The Final Moment, The Road to Growth
"Congratulations to Chen for tying Michael Jordan's streak of seven consecutive triple-doubles!" Barkley shouted from the TNT commentary booth, his voice full of excitement. He deliberately emphasized Jordan's name, clearly enjoying the historical weight of the moment.
Kenny Smith smirked and turned toward him. "Charles, didn't you say you'd call up Michael live if Chen tied his record? What happened to that?"
Barkley leaned back in his chair, feigning calm. "No rush. Maybe Chen breaks it next game. Then we'll make the call."
Kenny burst out laughing. The energy in the booth was light, but down on the court, the tension was anything but.
The Bucks, fueled by their home crowd, were giving everything they had. Michael Redd and Mo Williams caught fire from deep, draining one three-pointer after another. Every shot drew a wave of roars from the stands.
The game tightened, swinging back and forth through the fourth quarter. Neither side gave an inch.
With just 25.4 seconds remaining, the Bucks trailed 97–98. One last possession to decide it.
Every fan in the Bradley Center rose to their feet, the air thick with anticipation. No one had expected Milwaukee to hang with Phoenix this long, let alone have a shot to win.
Mo Williams brought the ball up under heavy pressure. Chen Yan shadowed him step for step, his defense suffocating. Williams tried to protect the ball, dribbling backward toward the timeline, nearly committing an eight-second violation before finally crossing half court.
Seeing his teammate in trouble, Redd flashed to the top of the arc to receive the pass.
Ten seconds ticked away. The crowd roared louder.
Redd held the ball, scanning the floor, calm and focused. He motioned for his teammates to clear out. This would be his shot.
Fourteen seconds left. He began to dribble, testing Raja Bell's defense.
Bell stayed close, hands up, refusing to bite on the fakes. He knew Redd's tendencies—when the game was on the line, the left-handed sniper always trusted himself.
Redd leaned into Bell's chest, spun once, then pulled up from forty-five degrees at the elbow.
"Swish!"
The net snapped, and the Bradley Center erupted.
99–98. Milwaukee by one.
Bell had done everything right, contesting hard, but Redd's shot was perfect.
The home crowd went berserk. Fans screamed, waved towels, and jumped in unison. Even those who had come to watch Chen Yan couldn't help but admire the clutch execution.
But Redd's celebration was short-lived—there were still 10.8 seconds on the clock.
"Timeout, Phoenix!"
D'Antoni immediately signaled from the sideline.
"This is it," Kenny Smith said on the broadcast. "Who takes the final shot for the Suns? That's a tough decision."
"Yeah," Barkley agreed. "Normally, Chen's the obvious choice. But his outside shot's been off all night. You can't count on him drawing a foul this late either—refs swallow the whistle in moments like this."
"True," Kenny added. "Maybe they feed Stoudemire inside, but that's risky too. Double-teams can strip him fast. The Bucks will collapse the paint."
While the commentators debated, D'Antoni huddled his team. Holding the whiteboard tightly, he ran through scenarios, hesitating.
Stoudemire was dominant tonight—31 points, 10 rebounds—but big men are vulnerable in late-game sets. One mistimed dribble could ruin everything.
Azubuike had over 20 points as well, but asking a role player to take the game-winner was a gamble.
D'Antoni's mind raced. Then Chen's voice broke through the noise.
"Coach," he said firmly, "give me the ball. I'll take care of it."
The entire bench turned to look at him.
His tone wasn't arrogant. It was steady, decisive.
Chen's confidence wasn't blind—it was born from experience. This was more than a game; it was a moment of growth. If he wanted to become a true superstar, he had to learn to face pressure head-on.
To D'Antoni, that conviction was worth trusting.
He stared at his young guard, then nodded. "Alright, Chen. It's yours. Take the shot with confidence."
Even if he missed, D'Antoni knew this experience would be invaluable. Every star had to walk this path—failure or success, it was all part of becoming elite.
"Understood," Chen said simply, nodding once.
As the timeout ended, he walked toward the floor, calm and unshaken.
No nerves. No hesitation.
He wasn't thinking about the crowd or the record or even the score. All that mattered was the moment—the next ten seconds that would define the night.
The whistle blew. Players spread across the court.
The ball would start in Chen's hands.
He bounced it once, twice, staring at the clock. 10.8 seconds.
This was what he lived for—the final possession, the weight of the game resting squarely on his shoulders.
He'd missed shots before. He'd made plenty, too. But now, with everything he'd learned, every challenge he'd faced, he was ready for whatever came next.
He inhaled deeply and muttered to himself.
"All I have to do is put the ball in the basket."
Then he took his stance, ready to write the next line of his story.
TL: After reading all your comments about whether I should rewrite the NBA story, the majority of you feel that a full rewrite is not needed. So I will not rewrite it. Instead, I will simply remove the remaining Chinese elements starting from the future chapters.
Thank you to everyone who shared their thoughts and took the time to comment. Your feedback helped me decide, and it honestly makes me happy to see how much you enjoy this story. Lets keep the momentum going.
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