It was February in Houston, and the weather was biting cold.
But the fans? They were bringing the heat.
All-Star Weekend is the ultimate basketball carnival, and the festivities had turned "Space City" into a madhouse.
Giant posters of superstars were plastered on every corner, and the streets around the Toyota Center were packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Fans from all over the globe were rocking jerseys of every color, and the air crackled with pure adrenaline.
Outside the arena, lines had formed hours ago. You had guys draped in LeBron's #23, others holding up "KOBE MVP" signs, and plenty of people rocking "YAO" tees with little flag stickers on their faces.
This was Link's first time experiencing the madness firsthand.
Walking through the player tunnel, the bass from the sound system was chest-thumping, drowned out only by the screaming fans. Cameras flashed from every angle as reporters hauled their gear back and forth, trying to get a shot.
"How's it feeling, Prophet Link?" A laughing voice came from his side.
Link turned to see LeBron James, decked out in his Eastern Conference All-Star warmups.
He was grinning as he walked over, surrounded by a swarm of reporters, flashbulbs popping like crazy. The young "King" looked completely at ease, like he was born for this spotlight.
"Feels unreal," Link admitted. "Like I'm dreaming."
LeBron laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
"Go kill it in the Three-Point Contest. Show these old heads whose league this is going to be!"
courtside, a group of fans held up signs supporting Link.
"Let's go, Link! Get it!"
Link felt a warm rush in his chest and waved back at them.
---
The Rising Stars Challenge was set for Friday night.
Even though Link wasn't playing, he was invited to watch courtside. The second he sat down, fans spotted him.
A group of teenagers in Lakers jackets rushed over, asking for photos.
"That buzzer-beater on Christmas was sick, man! That's the shot that made me a fan!" a kid with glasses said, his voice shaking with excitement.
Link smiled and snapped a picture with him, feeling a sudden wave of emotion.
Just a few months ago, he was a nobody on a ten-day contract. Now, this all felt like a fever dream.
Compared to the actual All-Star Game, the Rookie Game was a bit more intense. The young guys were hungry, eager to show what they could do.
Chris Paul was running the show, threading the needle with beautiful assists. Link spotted plenty of familiar faces: David Lee, Deron Williams, Danny Granger...
And, unfortunately, that one face that made his stomach turn.
Andrew Bogut.
Just one look at the guy triggered a visceral, physiological dislike in Link.
On the court, CP3 was showing off a level of maturity and skill way beyond his years. Under his leadership, the Sophomores were playing lights out. In the end, they took the win by a narrow margin.
After the game, Link got mobbed by international media in the mixed zone.
"Link, first All-Star Weekend—thoughts?"
"It's like a fantasy," he smiled into the microphone. "Even though I didn't play tonight, the atmosphere is incredible."
"Three-Point Contest is tomorrow. You confident?"
"I'm going to give it everything I've got." His answer remained humble.
---
Saturday arrived. The night of the events.
Link got to the arena early to warm up. The massive court was empty, save for a few staff members setting things up.
He walked to the right corner to test his range.
"Nice form."
Link turned around. It was Yao Ming, walking slowly toward him. That massive frame was impossible to miss.
"Hey, Yao." Link stopped shooting.
"Nervous?" Yao stopped beside him.
"A little," Link admitted honestly. "Especially knowing I'm up against guys like Ray Allen and Peja."
"That's normal." Yao's voice was calm and steady. "My first All-Star Game, my palms were sweating like crazy during halftime."
He paused, then added, "There are going to be a lot of fans watching you back home tonight. Just do your thing. Don't let the pressure get to you."
Link nodded seriously. "Got it."
Yao patted him on the shoulder, didn't say anything else, and headed for the locker room.
After his workout, Link ran into Tracy McGrady in the hallway. The Rockets superstar looked like he was in a good mood and greeted him first.
"Hey, Link. Heard you're in the shootout?"
"Yeah, T-Mac."
McGrady raised an eyebrow, a spark of interest in his eyes. "Ray and Dirk have been hot lately, but..." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "I got money on you making the finals. That rhythm you have... it's special."
Link was surprised. "Thanks, man."
"I'm serious," T-Mac shrugged. "I've watched your tape. Your stroke is beautiful. Reminds me of Kobe."
After the brief chat, Link headed to the Western Conference locker room.
When he pushed the door open, a few guys were already there.
Steve Nash was stretching in the corner. Tim Duncan was sitting quietly at his locker. Kobe was leaning against his stall, head down, taping up his wrist.
"You ready?" Kobe asked without looking up.
"Just about," Link said, heading to his spot.
Kobe finally looked up, locking eyes with him.
"The Three-Point Contest isn't a game. There's no defense. Find your own rhythm and don't let the crowd speed you up or slow you down."
"I'll remember that," Link nodded.
---
By 7:00 PM, the Toyota Center was sold out.
After a dazzling light show, the announcer introduced the night's competitors with a booming voice.
The Skills Challenge and the Dunk Contest went first, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Dwyane Wade took the Skills crown, and Nate Robinson blew the roof off the place by jumping over Spud Webb to win the Dunk Contest.
Then, the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight hit center court.
"Ladies and gentlemen, coming up next... The Three-Point Shootout!"
The cheer was deafening.
The eight contestants were introduced one by one.
Ray Allen got the loudest applause. The Sonics' sharpshooter was hitting 41.2% from deep this season and was the heavy favorite to win.
Then came Peja Stojakovic, Steve Nash, Dirk Nowitzki... every name on the list represented the absolute elite of NBA shooting.
Finally, the spotlight hit Link.
"And, from the Los Angeles Lakers, the rookie sensation breaking out this season... Link!"
The applause was mixed with loud cheers, and he could distinctly hear fans shouting encouragement . Link waved to the crowd, took a deep breath, and walked to the player bench.
The DJ started the countdown. It was time.
First up was Dirk Nowitzki.
The giant German had a soft touch that didn't match his size at all. He came out swinging and put up 22 points! The crowd went wild.
Next up were Michael Redd, Quentin Richardson, and Rashard Lewis. They seemed to struggle with the tension, putting up 14, 18, and 17 points respectively.
Fifth up was Steve Nash.
He licked his fingers and started firing, maintaining a crazy high shooting percentage.
Swish!
Swish!
The sound of the net snapping was constant. As he drained shot after shot, the crowd got louder and louder. He nailed four out of five on the final "money ball" rack.
Nash finished with 24 points, taking the lead!
Sixth was Peja Stojakovic.
The Serbian sniper was emotionless, his mechanics precise like a machine. His shot had almost no arc, looking like a laser beam straight into the hoop.
He finished with a solid 22 points. The arena was buzzing.
The pressure was now on the final two shooters.
Ray Allen was seventh.
He adjusted his wristband, his expression calm as water.
The whistle blew—lift, release, bucket. Lift, release, bucket.
His motion looked identical every single time, like he was a glitch in a video game. through the first four racks, he only missed two regular balls.
On the final money ball rack, he hit four out of five!
The scoreboard froze: 26 points!
The crowd erupted in a tidal wave of cheers and disbelief. Ray Allen had just broken the mark Nash set moments ago, taking first place by two points!
Now, every eye in the building turned to the final contestant.
Link stood on the sideline, staring at that bright "26" next to Ray Allen's name.
He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, his fingers trembling just slightly.
The official signaled for Link to take the court.
Link took a deep breath and walked to the left corner.
He bent down, touched the familiar hardwood floor, and straightened up.
Five racks of basketballs were waiting for him. The timer was set.
The world went quiet. It was just the rim and the feel of the leather in his hands.
He raised his hand, signaling the ref—
He was ready.