NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 85: Chapter 85: Countdown Buzzer Beater + The Youngest Man to Score 50 Points!

Chapter 85: Countdown Buzzer Beater + The Youngest Man to Score 50 Points!

25 seconds remaining.

The scoreboard read: Suns 115, Lakers 113.

Phoenix had the lead—and the ball.

Mike D’Antoni called a timeout as his players jogged over to the bench, trying to catch their breath. This was it. One last possession.

”Give the ball to Steve,” D’Antoni barked. ”Make them foul him. Don’t rush a shot, even if you’re wide open. Burn the clock. Every second matters now.”

He tossed the clipboard aside. There was no time for drawn-up plays—just survival.

”Be sharp with your passes! No mistakes. We control this game. If we get through this possession clean, we leave Staples with the W.”

Across the court, Phil Jackson huddled up his squad. His plan was textbook.

”Foul quick, then go for the two. If they miss a free throw, we’ve got a shot to tie it.”

Kobe, standing off to the side, wasn’t sold.

”They’re giving it to Nash. His free throw percentage is over 90%—sending him to the line is just handing them points,” he said, shaking his head. ”Referees have been letting a lot go tonight. Let’s press hard—real hard. Go for the steal.”

Phil paused. The Zen Master knew when to trust his stars. Kobe wasn’t just another player—he was the Lakers.

”Alright,” Jackson nodded. ”Let’s turn up the pressure.”

Suns lineup: Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Grant Hill, Boris Diaw, Amare Stoudemire.

Lakers lineup: Kobe Bryant, Sasha Vujacic, Luke Walton, Kevin Garnett, Kwame Brown.

Phil sat Derek Fisher. The veteran had a knack for clutch buckets, but he was a defensive liability. In his place, he put in Vujacic—scrappy, physical, and unafraid to get his hands dirty.

The whistle blew. Play resumed.

Nash broke free from Kobe’s pressure and took the sideline inbound from Diaw. Just as he pivoted, Garnett exploded out of nowhere, coming from his blindside.

BAM!

Bodies collided. The ball popped loose.

Garnett lunged, somehow scooping it before it hit the sideline, and flung it to Vujacic like a quarterback leading a fast break.

Turnover.

Exactly what D’Antoni feared most had happened.

Vujacic wasted no time. One dribble, head up—Kobe was streaking across halfcourt.

He fired it ahead.

The ball landed in Kobe’s hands like it was meant to be there.

The Suns were still scrambling.

Kobe didn’t hesitate.

He exploded forward, weaving past the defense. Hill and Chen Yan stepped up to trap, but Kobe hit the brakes and launched a high-arching fadeaway from just inside the paint.

Swish.

Nothing but net.

It was pure artistry—unreal body control, off-balance, over two defenders, and still money.

”KOBE BRYAAANNNNTTT!!!”

The Staples Center DJ’s voice cracked as the crowd detonated.

Fans jumped to their feet, screaming, arms in the air.

The building was shaking.

On the floor, the Suns were frozen in shock.

This was déjà vu.

Last year, Kobe had tied it at the buzzer in the playoffs—back then it was Smush Parker who forced the steal. Tonight, it was Garnett.

Score tied: 115–115. 17 seconds left.

”This game is insane!”

”Kobe just won’t die!”

”Garnett with the hustle—massive play!”

”He’s still that guy, man. When it matters most, it’s Kobe time.”

TV commentators were losing their minds. Twitter would’ve exploded if this were modern-day.

Meanwhile, D’Antoni had already called his final timeout. Nash walked to the bench, shoulders sagging.

His turnover just undid 47 minutes of brilliance.

But his teammates didn’t blame him. They clapped him on the back, gave him a fist bump, nodded.

They were in this together.

The Suns still had a shot—17 seconds. Enough for one possession.

D’Antoni took a breath and scanned his guys. Nash had the IQ and shooting, but his size and the mental hit from the turnover made him less than ideal right now.

Hill? Experienced, smart. But he’d only scored 8 points tonight, and his rhythm was off.

In the final timeout, Coach Mike D’Antoni’s eyes locked onto one man—Chen Yan. The rookie had already dropped 48 points in the game and was in full takeover mode.

”Chen, you’re taking the last shot,” D’Antoni said firmly.

Chen Yan’s heart skipped a beat. This was it—the moment every player dreams of. The crowd, the pressure, the clock winding down. Nervousness, adrenaline, excitement... all surged through him.

The Suns nodded in agreement. Chen had been on fire in the second half. No one questioned D’Antoni’s call.

After assigning the final shot, the coach grabbed the whiteboard and quickly drew up the play.

---

Up in the commentary booth, Kenny Smith leaned forward, eyes glued to the Suns huddle.

”Charles, who do you think gets the final look?”

Barkley didn’t hesitate. ”It’s gotta be Chen. He’s been cookin’ all night. If you don’t give it to him now, why even bring him here?”

”Nash is still a solid option too,” Reggie Miller chimed in. ”Veteran, clutch... knows how to handle pressure.”

Kenny grinned. ”Well, let’s see who D’Antoni rolls the dice on.”

---

Back on the court, the referee blew his whistle. The Suns inbounded the ball from the sideline.

”Beep!”

Players exploded into motion.

Chen Yan sprinted off a staggered screen from Stoudemire at the baseline, curling around toward the top of the arc. Grant Hill stepped up next, setting a second screen to free him up—a classic double-screen flare set.

The execution was crisp.

But this was the NBA.

There are always wrinkles.

As Chen came off the second screen, he was immediately smothered—double-teamed by Kobe Bryant and Sasha Vujacic.

Was it a defensive read or a pre-planned Lakers trap? No one knew for sure. But what was clear—Grant Hill popped open on the weak side.

Instead of forcing the ball into traffic, Boris Diaw made the smart read and skipped the pass to Hill.

Grant took one step, rose up from the 45-degree elbow, and launched a mid-range jumper.

The Suns’ bench stood with towels raised—ready to erupt.

”Bang!”

No dice. The ball clanked off the rim.

Groans filled the air. Lakers fans roared—they just dodged a bullet.

But then—

BOOM!

Stoudemire skyed above Garnett, snatching the rebound out of the air and slapping it back with force.

The ball bounced beyond the arc—

Right into Chen Yan’s hands.

The rookie snatched it at the top of the key. Kobe closed in fast.

13 seconds left.

D’Antoni was yelling from the sideline, waving like a madman.

”Clear out! Clear out! Let him work!”

12... 11...

Chen Yan held the ball with one hand, eyes locked on Kobe. He didn’t rush. Didn’t panic. Just stood there.

The arena buzzed with electricity. Time seemed to freeze.

”He’s playing for the last shot!” Yu Jia shouted in commentary. ”Chen Yan wants this to end on his terms! One shot to win it all, or we go to overtime!”

5 seconds.

Crossover. Hesitation. Rhythm dribble.

Kobe stayed in front, giving just enough space. He was daring Chen to drive—but still within striking distance to contest a jumper.

3... 2...

Without warning, Chen Yan rose.

Pull-up three.

Kobe reacted late. He didn’t expect the rookie to go for the dagger from deep.

Still, the Black Mamba launched himself upward, arm extended—

Too late.

The ball was already gone.

”Beep~~~~~~~~~”

The buzzer echoed across Staples as the shot flew, spinning in the air like fate on rewind.

The entire arena held its breath.

”Shua!”

Net. Pure. Dead center.

A buzzer-beating three.

51 points for Chen Yan.

The youngest player in league history to hit 50—and he did it with a game-winner over Kobe Bryant in his house.

---

The internet exploded.

”INSANE! This kid is UNREAL!!”

”That’s a MyCareer moment right there!”

”Pulled up on Kobe like it was 2K!

Cold-blooded!”

”Damn, I wanna go to the league now!”

”Nah, screw this life. Let me be Chen in my next one!”

The Staples Center, just moments ago a cauldron of noise, fell deathly silent.

It was like a graveyard. 19,000 Lakers fans buried by one shot.

Hands on heads. Eyes wide. Disbelief painted across every face.

And in the middle of it all—Chen Yan stood tall, nodding with that trademark smirk.

This was his moment.

He turned and walked calmly toward the bench, chest out, unbothered by the silence. Staples wasn’t the Lakers’ home anymore.

It was his backdrop.

The Suns bench stormed the court, tackling him in celebration. Even Raja Bell, ejected earlier, was jumping around in the locker room like a madman.

And then—from the sidelines—a sudden high-pitched scream pierced the tension.

”Ahhh! LORE! Chen, you’re my hero!”

It was Taylor Swift.

She pulled off her No. 24 Kobe jersey, revealing a No. 0 Suns jersey underneath.

No more pretending.

”I’ve been a Chen Yan fan this whole time!”

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