On the 20th, the NBA season picked back up.
The Knicks edged out the Pacers 109–105 on the road.
Coming into the season, not many people had much faith in Indiana after Danny Granger went down with a season-ending injury. Still, young teams don't really follow expectations.
Paul George was starting to figure things out. Fans had already begun calling him The Pacers' Kobe, and while that label was a bit early, his confidence after the All-Star break was obvious. He was taking tough shots, making some, missing some, but never hesitating.
Indiana made it uncomfortable all night.
Head coach Frank Vogel adjusted early, cutting down Roy Hibbert's minutes and going smaller, trying to match the Knicks' tempo instead of fighting it.
It worked, to a point.
They couldn't stop Lin Yi from getting into the paint, but they stayed close, possession after possession. The game never really opened up.
Late in the fourth, it came down to control. Lin stepped to the line, knocked down his free throws, and that was enough to close it.
Barely.
. .
On the 22nd, the Knicks arrived in Toronto to face the Toronto Raptors.
Before tip-off, Ed Davis and Amir Johnson had already made noise, calling themselves Lin Yi Terminators.
Lin heard about it. He just didn't react.
At this point, it wasn't new.
Every week, someone had a plan. Or at least a quote.
It was all the same story. People talking big until they were snapped out of their delusions.
The league was chasing both sides of it. Stop him, or become him.
It had started creeping into the previous draft year. Big men with a similar build would get tagged with his name, and suddenly their stock would rise.
And if they didn't?
No problem. You could always say you were the guy who was going to stop him.
There wasn't much downside.
If you failed, it was expected. If you had one good night, people remembered.
He was the new Shaq. Redefining the meaning of being a Big.
. . .
The game itself wasn't close.
Toronto's backcourt, Kyle Lowry and DeMar DeRozan, couldn't find any rhythm. Between them, the shots just didn't fall.
On the other end, Lin was efficient. No extra effort, no forcing anything. He finished with 35 points and 12 rebounds, and he was done before the fourth quarter really mattered.
After the game, things took a lighter turn.
In the tunnel, Lin caught up with Johnson and Davis, handed each of them a pair of his Grim Reaper Vs.
Amir looked down at the shoes, then back up. "So this is… what, a consolation prize?"
Lin smiled. "Call it motivation."
Ed turned the shoe over in his hands. "You're saying we didn't do enough?"
"I'm saying you talked like you were going to shut me down," Lin replied. "Now you've got something to work toward."
Amir laughed. "Alright. Next time, we're not asking for shoes."
"Good," Lin said. "I'd rather not give them out again."
Ed nodded. "Deal. Next game, we're locking you up."
Lin started walking away. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Keep that same energy," Amir called after him.
Lin raised a hand without turning. "Always."
. .
Later that night, both of them posted the shoes on Twitter, clearly pleased.
Somewhere else, Blake Griffin was scrolling.
He paused when he saw the posts, zoomed in on the signature, and let out a quiet laugh.
"Man… they really don't see it."
A teammate glanced over. "See what?"
Griffin shook his head. "That's not encouragement. That's a message."
"What kind of message?"
Griffin smirked. "He basically told them, 'Try harder next time.' And now they're promoting it."
He leaned back, still amused. "I've been on the receiving end. Trust me, that's not as friendly as it looks."
He refreshed the page, still shaking his head. "Rookies."
. . .
On the 24th, the Knicks hit Utah.
This time, things didn't go their way.
At the Utah Jazz's home court, the altitude and pace worked against them. The Jazz had contributions across the board, no single player forcing the issue, just steady production.
Gordon Hayward led the way with 18 points and 6 assists.
Final score, 109–101.
After the game, Hayward was clearly pleased.
"I mean… I don't think I've ever beaten a team like this before," he said, smiling. "Even in games."
When Lin saw the quote later, he just stared at it for a second.
Then he shook his head.
"Alright… you got the win. You don't have to sell it that hard."
A teammate nearby laughed. "You going to respond?"
Lin shrugged. "Nah. Let him have it."
He paused, then added, "But if he's talking about video games, I'm not buying that."
. . .
The loss caught people off guard.
So much so that when ESPN filed their report, one of their writers almost submitted it under the headline: Knicks rout Jazz.
They had to double-check the score.
That was where things stood now.
When the Knicks won, it was expected. When they lost, it felt like a mistake.
Through this stretch, they had only dropped two games all season.
Analysts were already talking about timelines, playoff clinching scenarios, and records. The gap in the Eastern Conference looked too wide.
After the All-Star break, ESPN even ran a poll asking how many games the Knicks would lose by the end of the season.
Most fans picked somewhere between seven and nine.
A smaller group went even lower.
Very few thought they wouldn't challenge the record set by the Chicago Bulls.
At this point, it wasn't about whether they were contenders.
It was about how far they could push it.
. . .
In Oklahoma City, Russell Westbrook pulled one of the assistant coaches aside after practice.
He lowered his voice, half serious, half confused. "Coach… you might want to check on Kevin."
The coach glanced over. "What's wrong with him?"
Westbrook tilted his head toward the corner of the locker room. "He's been on his phone all week. Just sitting there, smiling to himself. Sometimes he laughs. Like… really laughs."
The coach raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
Westbrook frowned. "I'm telling you, it's not normal. He looks like he's having full conversations with the screen."
Across the room, Kevin Durant was exactly where Westbrook pointed, head down, thumbs moving fast, a quiet grin on his face.
Westbrook shook his head. "I'm just saying. Maybe talk to someone. Just in case."
. .
What Westbrook didn't know was that Durant had been busy all week.
After his recent run of form, Durant had climbed to second in the MVP rankings. For him, that mattered. It felt close.
Close enough to start arguing about it.
At first, it was just one account on a fan forum.
A few posts. A few replies.
"Durant should be MVP."
Simple.
Then someone replied.
"Over Lin Yi? Not happening."
Durant stared at the screen, expression tightening. "Not happening?"
He typed back immediately.
"Look at the numbers, ££$%%£ &^^^ *£$%."
A moderator stepped in not long after.
Account banned.
Durant leaned back, annoyed. "So that's how it is."
A minute later, he logged in again. Different username.
Same argument.
Different forum.
Same result.
Somewhere in the replies, a comment stood out.
"Durant's nice, but he plays soft."
Durant blinked once, then leaned forward again. "Soft?"
His fingers moved faster this time.
"Say that again. $( $( £%$."
. .
A few minutes later, he was juggling multiple accounts, switching between tabs, and replying to everyone.
"This has to be coordinated," he muttered. "No way every forum is like this."
Then he refreshed a page and saw a poll from ESPN about the Knicks' season.
"How many games will they lose?"
Durant didn't hesitate. He voted against them breaking the record.
He paused, then nodded to himself. "Yeah. That sounds right."
A second later, he logged into another account.
And voted again.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, he was taking screenshots, posting them, and adding captions.
At one point, he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
"Yeah… let's see how you like that."
. .
A few minutes later, Westbrook walked past him again and slowed down.
Durant was still on his phone.
Still smiling.
Westbrook stopped, watched him for a few seconds, then shook his head.
"Yeah… I'm definitely bringing this up again."
. . .
On the 25th, the Knicks returned to New York and finally had a day off.
Lin Yi stayed in, planning to take it easy on the couch with Elizabeth Olsen, until his phone rang.
His old school.
The Wildcats.
This season had taken a turn. With Giannis Antetokounmpo in the program, everything looked different. More length, more pace, more confidence. They were one win away from locking in a spot in the NCAA March Madness.
Lin held the phone for a second, thinking it over.
Then he nodded. "Alright. I'll come."
It wasn't about the result. He just wanted to see Giannis up close. How much had changed, how much was already there.
Draft boards were reacting fast. Both DraftExpress and ESPN had him climbing, with real talk about going number one.
Lin hung up and looked over.
"Want to come to my college game, Liz?"
Elizabeth shifted on the couch, shaking her head slightly. "I've got plans. Meeting my sisters and my mum later."
She gestured for him to come closer.
Lin leaned in, and kissed her on the lips.
"Have fun," she said, smiling.
"You too," he replied.
He got up and grabbed his jacket, then paused and pulled out his phone.
Scrolling down, he tapped Chef Curry.
"You free? College game tonight. Worth watching."
A few minutes passed.
Then the reply came in.
"Got a game. Don't remind me."
Lin glanced at the message and let out a quiet laugh.
"Figures," he muttered, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
Another second, another message popped up.
"Seriously, though. He that good?"
Lin typed back as he headed for the door.
"I'll tell you after I see him."
He paused, then added one more line.
"Try not to miss too many shots tonight."
The typing indicator showed up almost instantly.
"Keep yapping."
Lin smiled and stepped out.
. . .
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