NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: Second Decisive Kill, Forcing the King to Come!

Chapter 98: Second Decisive Kill, Forcing the King to Come!

The crowd roared like thunder as fans jumped to their feet, the scoreboard flashing Chen Yan’s insane stat line. Headlines on the big screen screamed about the rookie’s record-breaking night. Arenas stood on the court, watching the chaos, fully aware he had just become the backdrop for Chen Yan’s masterpiece.

1:33 left on the clock. Suns 125, Wizards 120. Wizards ball.

Gilbert Arenas wasn’t thinking about his points anymore. He didn’t care that he’d already poured in 46. There was only one thing on his mind now: win the damn game.

He crossed half court, stopped cold, and rose up right in Barnes’ face—a deep, contested three.

”Swish!”

125–123.

Barnes clenched his jaw. He’d played tight defense. Didn’t matter. Arenas lived for this kind of pressure and just knocked down his 49th point like it was nothing.

”That was not a good shot.” Zhang Heli said bluntly from the CCTV studio. ”But Arenas has never cared about ’good shots.’ He cares about big moments.”

His bucket injected new life into the Wizards and cracked open a door that looked shut just seconds ago.

For the next minute, both sides went cold. Shot after shot, stop after stop. Legs heavy, breaths short. This was run-and-gun basketball at its absolute limit.

27 seconds to go. Wizards ball.

Arenas dribbled at the top of the arc, legs steady, eyes focused. He wasn’t rushing—just waiting, pacing, killing clock. Everyone in the arena knew what was coming.

”Clear-out. This is Arenas’ world right now,” Coach Xu commented.

”If he goes for two, it’s a tie. If he pulls up from three—he’s going for the win,” his co-commentator added.

Arenas took one hard dribble.

Pulled up. Launched from deep.

”Beep!”

Whistle.

Foul. Three shots.

The air got sucked out of the arena like a vacuum. Barnes had fouled him—on a three-point attempt.

6.1 seconds left.

Barnes looked stunned, like he’d just punched a hole in his own chest. He hadn’t just grazed Arenas—he’d flat-out leveled him mid-air. There was no way the ref could let that slide.

Arenas walked to the line. His next shot would be his 50th point. All he needed were three free throws to ice it.

Chen Yan wasn’t about to let that happen without a fight.

He walked to the sidelines, raising his arms, hyping up the crowd like a maestro. He knew Arenas was tough—but not immune. This was a man who once bricked two game-winners after LeBron whispered something in his ear.

The fans followed Chen Yan’s lead. The booing was relentless, almost violent.

”Swish!”

First one in.

”Shua!”

Second one—tie game. 125–125.

Final shot.

Arenas dribbled once. Exhaled. Rose up. Released.

”Bang!”

Back iron. No good.

The crowd exploded. They knew they’d just dodged a bullet. But the relief didn’t last long.

Scramble. Tip. Bodies collide.

Haywood and Diaw were tangled in the air, both fighting for the rebound.

They crashed down. The ball flew loose.

”Beep!”

Jump ball.

5.3 seconds left.

The two players took their positions at center court. The entire arena held its breath. The ball went up.

Diaw timed it perfectly. He tipped it back—straight into Chen Yan’s hands.

No timeouts.

No hesitation.

Go time.

D’Antoni trusted his guy. He didn’t want the Wizards resetting their defense. He knew Chen Yan had ice in his veins.

Chen Yan pushed the ball up the court like a freight train, tearing through half-court.

Butler stuck to him like glue. He’d been getting torched all game but wasn’t ready to fold.

Inside the arc.

Time’s almost gone.

Chen Yan didn’t shake. Didn’t cross. Didn’t hesitate.

He rose—pure elevation—from the right wing, just above the free-throw line. Butler was right there, arm in his face.

”Beep—”

Buzzer sounded as the ball left his fingertips.

Everyone froze.

”Shua!!”

A flash of orange fire ripped through the net. For one full second, the arena was dead silent.

Then it erupted into absolute chaos.

The roof nearly blew off the American West Arena. Hands shot up everywhere. People jumped, screamed, cried.

Buzzer-beater. Game-winner. 61 points.

Chen. Freaking. Yan.

”He did it again!!” the CCTV commentators lost their minds. ”No timeout! No setup! He just grabbed the ball and cooked them!!”

His teammates rushed the court.

Fans went ballistic.

But Chen Yan? Stone cold.

He walked calmly to the baseline. Unfazed. Like this was just another Tuesday.

He peeled off his No. 0 jersey, spread it on the hardwood, and stood there like a king returning to his throne.

The King of Clutch had arrived.

Back home in China, TVs across the country lit up with celebration.

”He really hit that?”

”Bro just styled on Arenas with that shot!”

”61 and a dagger in the heart—this man ain’t real.”

”Forget NBA Live, even my custom player can’t do that.”

Forums blew up with memes, jokes, and one-liners.

”Chen Yan doesn’t play overtime. He ends it early.”

”Jordan sticks out his tongue, Kobe bites his jersey, McGrady wakes up... and Chen Yan? He starts walking toward overtime, then kills it.”

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