Chapter 240: This Is Basketball IQ — 40+ Points in Three Quarters!
Camby was frozen, the echo of the rim still ringing in his ears.
When he finally came to his senses, he saw Chen Yan staring straight at him.
Chen didn't say a word—but the look said it all.
"Man, that's insane! What kind of athleticism is that?"
"He just flew in and dunked right on Camby! That's unreal!"
"There's no gravity in the America West Arena tonight!"
The crowd exploded. Chen Yan's dunk had the building shaking.
The Nuggets' bench, which had been waving towels a moment ago, suddenly went silent.
Amar'e Stoudemire and Grant Hill ran over, fired up, giving Chen a shove on the chest. That dunk wasn't just a highlight—it was redemption. Both of them had just been stuffed by Camby, and now Chen had taken vengeance for them.
Chen himself could hardly hide his excitement. Dunking on the league's shot-block leader? That was a moment to remember.
Still, he didn't let his mind wander for long. There was no time for celebrating. The game was still alive.
The arena was buzzing nonstop, fans still losing their minds over what they'd just seen.
George Karl didn't call a timeout. The Nuggets had already burned too many in the first half. This time, they had to figure it out on the floor.
Iverson brought the ball up, waving for Camby to set a screen at the top of the key.
After the switch, he was left isolated on Stoudemire.
AI immediately went into his rhythm—one of the smoothest in NBA history.
A hesitation.
A quick jab.
A fake drive left.
Then, stop and pop.
"Swish!"
Pure.
The shot dropped cleanly, cutting the lead back down to single digits.
Iverson's fire was the only thing keeping Denver in the game. Without him, the Suns would've been running away with it.
The Suns came back down.
Nash dribbled across half court, hair flying, scanning the defense.
Kleiza was glued to Chen, bumping him on every move, trying to wear him down with physical defense.
The Lithuanian forward was strong and disciplined, a warrior on the international stage—but Chen Yan wasn't going to let him dictate the pace.
Instead of forcing contact, Chen started moving off the ball, running the baseline, cutting, curling, searching for the soft spots.
After two quick sequences, he found open space.
Nash lobbed a pass to Diaw at the elbow. Diaw caught it, spotted Chen sliding to the corner, and zipped a perfect bounce pass his way.
Chen caught it in stride, planted his feet, raised his elbow slightly, and gave a subtle pump fake.
Kleiza bit—hard.
Chen drove past him with one clean dribble.
Camby rotated again, arms stretched wide, ready for another block. He was still heated from the earlier dunk and wanted revenge.
Chen approached the paint, two steps away from contact—and stopped.
He pulled up.
"Bang!"
The ball bounced off the rim softly and dropped through.
Nothing fancy. Just smooth, efficient basketball.
Camby froze again, realizing Chen had just baited him completely.
For Chen, this was the difference between athleticism and intelligence.
He didn't need to attack every time.
He didn't need to force highlight plays.
He just needed to make the right read.
That was basketball IQ.
"Beautiful pull-up jumper," Barkley said from the TNT booth. "That's a smart shot, not forcing it at the rim after just dunking on Camby. You keep the big guy guessing!"
"Exactly," Kenny Smith replied. "When you've got someone like Camby, you don't try to prove a point twice. You make him think you're going up, then just stop and pop. That's elite-level decision-making."
The camera zoomed in on Chen's calm expression. No celebration, no emotion—just business.
"The Nuggets have a problem," Kenny continued. "They've got no one who can stay in front of him. Iverson and Carter are too small, Kleiza can't move laterally, and if Martin guards him, that pushes Melo into the paint, and he doesn't want that smoke."
"Exactly," Barkley laughed. "Melo's allergic to defense!"
Anthony had dominated the paint earlier in the game, but anyone watching could tell he wasn't happy with Coach Karl's strategy. Carmelo saw himself as the franchise star — and doing the dirty work under the rim wasn't in his script.
On the next Denver possession, Iverson worked off the ball, cutting sharply to shake free. But Chen Yan stayed locked in on him, shadowing every move.
If Iverson went for a layup, Chen was ready to send it back like a "hot pot special."
Instead, Iverson pulled off one of his signature moves — a difficult fadeaway jumper, almost horizontal in midair.
He leaned back so far it was less of a fadeaway and more of a recoil shot.
"Swish!"
Perfect arc. Nothing but net.
That was four straight points for Iverson, stepping up when Denver needed it most.
Before the crowd could finish cheering, the Suns fired right back. They pushed the ball in from the baseline while Iverson was still getting up.
Nash sprinted ahead, faked a pass, and finished an easy layup.
In the final minutes of the third quarter, both teams traded buckets at lightning pace. The Suns ran their signature fast tempo, while the Nuggets had no choice but to match them blow for blow.
It wasn't tactical basketball anymore — it was a shootout.
George Karl could see his team slipping deeper into Phoenix's rhythm, but at this point, he had no better option. If you couldn't stop the run-and-gun, you had to outscore it.
With less than thirty seconds left in the quarter, the scoreboard read 95–80. The Suns were up by fifteen.
It was Phoenix's ball — the last possession of the period.
On the floor were Barea, Chen Yan, Raja Bell, Matt Barnes, and Amar'e Stoudemire.
For the Nuggets: Anthony Carter, J.R. Smith, Carmelo Anthony, Kleiza, and Nene.
Chen had played the entire quarter but still looked fresh after resting half of the second period.
The Suns inbounded from the baseline. Barnes tossed it to Barea, who immediately swung it to Chen Yan.
Chen dribbled across half court and slowed the pace. His teammates spread out, clearing the lane. Everyone knew this was his time — the final shot belonged to him.
At the top of the arc, Chen turned his back slightly, protecting the ball while watching the clock tick down.
To him, a buzzer-beater was no different from a game-winner — take it at the last possible second, and don't give the opponent any time to answer.
With ten seconds left, he switched to his left hand, drifting to the right wing.
J.R. Smith stepped up, crouched low, and started clapping his hands, trying to pressure him.
Chen ignored it completely.
With seven seconds to go, his rhythm shifted.
He crossed between his legs, switching to his right hand. His body leaned right—then suddenly snapped back left.
A signature crossover.
J.R. slid the wrong way, his feet tangled.
Chen stepped back clean into space and rose for a pull-up three.
The crowd gasped. The form, the balance, the confidence — it looked automatic.
The ball arced through the air.
"Swish!"
The buzzer blared right after.
The sound of the net and the horn blended into one perfect moment.
Buzzer-beating three!
Chen froze in his shooting pose, holding it for an extra second as the arena erupted.
The fans jumped to their feet, chanting and clapping, the familiar anthem "Chen Yan's Song" blasting through the speakers.
Even Taylor Swift, sitting courtside, joined in with a bright smile, singing along with the crowd. The camera caught her clapping and mouthing the words.
Across the court, J.R. Smith looked frustrated and embarrassed. He tugged at his shoes, pretending to tie them, avoiding eye contact. Chen had nearly broken his ankles with that move.
The scoreboard flashed 98–80.
That buzzer-beater gave Chen 42 points — all within three quarters.
Forty-plus points in a playoff game.
The home crowd couldn't stop cheering. The building was alive with energy.
"Forty in three quarters!" Barkley shouted from the TNT booth. "This kid is making it look easy!"
Kenny Smith laughed. "He's playing the game at his own pace, Chuck. When you've got forty in the playoffs and you're not even sweating, that's scary."
"Man, this is what I call a real scorer," Barkley said, shaking his head. "He's not forcing anything, he's not chucking bad shots — he's reading the floor, picking his spots. That's the difference between talent and control."
The camera panned to Chen walking calmly to the bench. His teammates swarmed him — Nash slapped his hand, Amar'e gave him a chest bump, and even Grant Hill grinned from ear to ear.
Meanwhile, George Karl looked exhausted on the sideline. His team had tried everything — double teams, switches, traps — nothing worked.
"Forty-two points," Kenny said again. "And it's not like he's dominating the ball. He's moving, cutting, scoring efficiently. That's championship basketball IQ right there."
"Yeah, I'll say it," Barkley added. "He's playing like a vet. Rookie year or not, this dude's got the calm of a ten-year pro."
As the quarter ended, the crowd kept chanting his name.
"CHEN! CHEN! CHEN!"
He sat on the bench, breathing steady, towel draped over his shoulders. His expression didn't change — no grin, no flex, no words. Just focus.
He wasn't satisfied. Not yet.
Forty points wasn't the goal. Winning was.
And as the camera zoomed in on his calm eyes, Barkley summed it up perfectly:
"This ain't just about scoring," he said. "This is what a superstar looks like when he's learning how to win."
[TL: You can also check out my newly released fanfic, Bleach: Ichigo Takes Over the Soul Society – just visit my profile if you want to read it.]
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