Bang!
Swish!
In the training facility, Link dribbled to the baseline.
Jump, shoot!
Good!
Then he continued...
His forehead was beaded with fine sweat. He had clearly been at it for a while.
Simultaneously, a system notification chimed.
[Mission: Mid-Range Shooting (Basic)]
[Content: Make 2000 mid-range shots]
[Current Progress: 99/2000]
Link wiped his forehead; sweat dripped from his eyelashes, blurring his vision.
He went to the sideline for a brief rest.
He wasn't doing the [Defense (Advanced)] or [Catch & Shoot (Advanced)] training.
Advanced training took too long, often requiring two or three months to complete. Doing advanced training mid-season was not efficient.
Comparatively, mid-range shooting was currently his weak spot.
Brian Shaw shook his head nearby. "Link, don't push so hard. You just played a back-to-back yesterday."
At the other end of the gym, an assistant coach was running defensive slide drills with a few bench players.
Tonight, the Lakers were playing an away game against the Sacramento Kings. Several Lakers players, including Link, had arrived early at the opposing arena for warm-ups.
Evening. Sacramento, California. Golden 1 Center.
Fans were starting to file in.
Both teams were warming up on the court.
Ron Artest was adjusting his elbow pad.
The defensive player of the year, known for his toughness, had an increasingly strained relationship with the Indiana Pacers after the Malice at the Palace. Eventually, he was traded to the Kings early last season.
Artest's form had rebounded somewhat with the Kings, but the team's record since the start of the season wasn't optimistic. Besides him, the team had Mike Bibby, Peja Stojakovic, and Kevin Martin. Although lacking a true superstar, their strength couldn't be underestimated.
"It won't be easy tonight. Play smart, don't get into a wrestling match with them!"
The Zen Master finished his final pre-game speech, and the game began!
From the first possession, the smell of gunpowder was in the air.
Odom and Artest threw elbows while fighting for a rebound, looking like they were in a wrestling match.
Tweet!
The referee blew the whistle!
Foul on Artest for the loose ball foul.
Artest was clearly dissatisfied and shoved Odom slightly. Odom was about to explode, but teammates rushed to pull them apart.
On the very next possession.
The referee called an illegal screen on the Lakers.
Trying to find a "balance whistle" to cool the game down.
However, this was like dripping water into boiling oil—it didn't help at all.
Before the first quarter was even halfway through, the whistle had blown seven times.
On one offensive possession, Artest got into a verbal spat with Kobe while defending him. He chased Kobe relentlessly, arguing, while Kobe completely ignored him. This only fueled Artest's anger, his eyes filled with malice.
Link was also having a very uncomfortable game.
He kept moving according to the offensive scheme.
The Kings had Bonzi Wells chasing him—a defensive specialist with excellent athleticism.
With 7:01 left in the first quarter.
Score 13-11, Lakers up by two, with the ball.
Link used a teammate's screen to find an opening.
Wells stuck to him tight, constantly grabbing and holding.
Link caught the ball at the top of the key off a screen. Wells lunged at him, practically crashing into his chest.
Link leaned into the contact and forced up a shot, trying to draw the foul.
However, the referee turned a blind eye. The Kings secured the rebound.
Running back on defense, Wells whispered in his ear, "Prophet? Is that all you got?"
Link was already frustrated with the game, and now anger surged in his chest. He looked at Bonzi Wells expressionlessly.
Halfway through the first quarter, the score remained tight.
The level of physical contact kept escalating.
The Lakers maintained a slim lead thanks to Kobe's unguardable isolation scoring.
The flashpoint occurred at the 3:22 mark.
Lakers ball. Link curled off a double screen from the baseline.
He found a sliver of space in the left corner.
Odom's pass arrived just as Artest rotated over to help.
Link caught the ball, pump-faked Artest into the air, and then drove along the baseline!
His speed was explosive—he blew past him in one step!
The rim was right there. Link gathered and jumped, preparing for a simple layup finish.
Just as his body was airborne and fully extended, a shadow charged at him from the side at full speed!
Ron Artest!
After biting on the fake, he didn't give up. Instead, he chased back with everything he had.
He jumped toward Link, but clearly not for the ball.
Artest's hand swung violently down onto Link's arm holding the ball. At the same time, his body, like a runaway truck, smashed into the airborne Link!
Thud!
A dull, heavy sound.
Link felt a massive impact on his right ribs and arm.
He lost his balance in mid-air and flew sideways. His back and shoulder slammed heavily onto the floor, sliding several meters before coming to a stop.
The basketball had flown off to who knows where.
Link groaned, his vision blacking out for a second, his breath hitched.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!!"
Odom was the first to roar.
He was closest and saw it clearly.
That wasn't a play on the ball; it was a flagrant foul, plain and simple!
Odom was already simmering with rage. Now, like an angry bull, he charged straight at Artest and shoved him hard. "What the fuck are you trying to do?!"
Artest stumbled back from the shove and instantly saw red.
He pushed back without backing down. "What? Can't handle a touch?"
In an instant, players from both sides swarmed in. It looked like a brawl was about to erupt.
Bynum and Brad Miller were chest-to-chest, shouting at each other. Vujacic was bear-hugging Odom, who looked ready to throw a punch. Mike Bibby was holding back the furious Artest, afraid he'd do something extreme again.
The referee's piercing whistle was drowned out by the shouting and shoving.
Golden 1 Center was in chaos.
Kings fans were booing, while the few Lakers fans were screaming curses.
In the confusion, the Lakers' team doctor rushed to Link's side. "How is it? Can you move?"
Link was curled up on the floor, breathing rapidly. The pain in his ribs made him unable to speak for a moment.
"Don't rush, breathe slowly." The doctor gently pressed on his chest.
After about ten seconds, the sharp pain subsided slightly.
With the doctor's help, Link slowly sat up, then tried to stand.
He tested his ankles and knees; movement wasn't a major issue. But a dull throbbing persisted in his right torso.
After reviewing the replay, the referees didn't hesitate. Flagrant 2 foul. Immediate ejection.
Artest walked to the tunnel, cursing all the way.
Link was helped to the locker room.
The game continued. The players' eyes held a mix of anger and restraint.
In the locker room.
The team doctor did a quick check with portable equipment.
"No structural damage!"
Everyone present let out a sigh of relief.
Brian Shaw looked at Link. "How do you feel?"
Link rolled his shoulder and took a deep breath.
The doctor applied a pain-relieving spray, and the pain eased significantly.
"Give me a minute. I can still play," Link said after a thought.
"Link..." Brian instinctively wanted to stop him.
Link shook his head. "Let me play. I know my body."
"Alright..." Brian didn't argue further, just patted his shoulder.
After brief treatment, Link returned to the court.
Scattered applause and cheers rang out from the minority of Lakers fans in the Golden 1 Center.
Link's expression was calm, but his eyes were growing colder.
He was going back in!
He was going to win this back with basketball!