As the second half kicked off, the Spurs made a clear adjustment.
They shifted their focus heavily toward the paint.
On the very first possession, Tim Duncan demanded the ball in the low post. He backed his man down twice, then went for his trademark bank shot.
Thud! Swish!
The ball kissed the glass and dropped through the net. Fundamental perfection.
"Tim Duncan is taking over," Mark Jackson said, his voice laced with respect. "I didn't expect the Lakers to push the Spurs this far tonight!"
Over the next few possessions, Duncan began to dominate. Facing Andrew Bynum's defense, he went to his familiar straight-arm floater.
Another hit.
The lead was shrinking.
The cheers at the Staples Center began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of unease. That Number 21 was just too consistent—a consistency that bred despair.
The Zen Master didn't call a timeout; he trusted his players on the floor.
But the Spurs' onslaught was just beginning.
Duncan wasn't just scoring at will; he was building a brick wall on defense. Drives by Kobe and Odom were repeatedly disrupted, allowing the Spurs to launch fast breaks.
Less than three minutes into the third quarter, the Spurs had nearly erased the deficit.
Then, when it rains, it pours.
On a drive to the basket, Kobe's knee collided hard with Bruce Bowen.
Kobe hit the floor in visible agony.
The Lakers bench sprang up instantly, glaring at Bowen. The arena erupted in an uproar of boos. The notorious defensive specialist just shrugged, acting like it was an unfortunate accident.
"Oh no, Kobe Bryant does not look good!" Mike Breen's voice spiked with tension.
"Without Kobe, the Lakers' season might be over right now," Mark Jackson added grimly.
The atmosphere in the Staples Center turned heavy. Fans whispered to one another, anxiety written all over their faces.
Phil Jackson was forced to call a timeout.
The team doctor rushed onto the court, helping Kobe limp to the locker room.
"Listen, guys, forget about that last play! Be decisive on offense and protect the rebounds!" Phil shouted during the huddle, trying to reignite their fighting spirit.
But it felt futile. Without their perimeter anchor on both offense and defense, the Lakers looked like they were sleepwalking.
In the blink of an eye, the momentum shifted completely.
Tony Parker, who had been locked down by Kobe all night, was suddenly having a field day. Slashing inside, hitting shots outside—he was unstoppable.
67 : 65.
The Spurs went on a 14-3 run.
They had flipped the score in an instant.
Seeing the game spiraling out of control, the Zen Master called another timeout.
"The Lakers need someone to step up. Right now!" Mark Jackson said seriously. "They have to stop San Antonio's momentum."
The players walked to the bench, sweat pouring down their faces.
Phil slammed his hand on the tactical board. "We need points! Move your feet! Find the open man! Shoot with confidence and box out..."
His gaze swept over the team.
Facing a Spurs team led by their Big Three, the Lakers' morale was visibly shattered.
"Coach!"
A voice cut through the noise—not loud, but incredibly clear.
It instantly grabbed Phil's attention.
"With Tim anchoring the paint, we can't score inside. We have to open things up from the perimeter." Link took a deep breath.
Phil stopped tapping the board, his marker hovering in mid-air. He looked at Link but didn't speak immediately.
"Tony and Manu struggle chasing off-ball," Link analyzed calmly. "Three-pointers are our only shot... Set the screens, and get me the ball."
Phil's eyes narrowed slightly.
He hadn't expected the rookie to volunteer for the burden.
Link didn't shy away from the coach's gaze. He looked right back at him. There was no panic in his eyes, only calm determination.
---
The timeout ended.
Lakers ball. Aaron McKie ran the offense.
Link weaved along the baseline, finally finding a sliver of space off a screen from Bynum.
Manu Ginobili was caught half a step behind.
That half-step was all Link needed.
He caught the pass. His shooting form, honed by thousands of repetitions, became his deadliest weapon.
Ginobili lunged desperately, his fingertips almost grazing the ball. But Link's release point and speed were just superior.
Swish!
Three points, good!
The crowd erupted, the oppressive atmosphere slightly lifted by the shot.
"Answer ball! Prophet Link steps up!" Mike Breen roared from the commentary table. "Just when the team needed points the most, Link didn't hesitate!"
But the Spurs were unmoved.
Duncan demanded the ball in the post again, spinning for another bank shot—his 14th point of the game.
And he drew the foul on Bynum.
The free throw was good.
With Bynum sitting on four fouls, Phil swapped him out for Chris Mihm. The interior defense was now even weaker.
But this time, Link stood up again.
Right after the Spurs scored, the Lakers inbounded quickly.
McKie barely crossed half-court when he saw Link popping out from a baseline screen set by Odom, sprinting toward the right wing at a 45-degree angle.
McKie's pass wasn't perfect, but it was timely.
Link caught the ball, but he wasn't wide open. Robert Horry had switched over, his long arms already reaching up to obscure Link's vision.
But the moment Link caught it, his feet were set. He rose up and fired immediately!
Horry's contest was a split-second too late.
Swish! Nothing but net!
"Another one! Prophet Link! That's back-to-back threes!" Mike Breen sounded stunned.
Link sprinted back on defense. There was no celebration on his face, only focus.
He clapped his hands, shouting to his teammates, "One stop! We can get a stop here!"
Link's performance was starting to reignite the dying embers of his teammates' spirit.
The Spurs went to Duncan again, but this time, Odom's aggressive help defense forced a miss.
The Lakers pushed the pace. Link shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.
Odom launched a long pass over the defense.
Link caught it a step inside the three-point line and drove. Parker retreated, trying to bait an offensive foul.
Likn read it perfectly. At the last second, he changed direction, gliding past Parker. Facing Bowen, who had rotated to help, Lin went for a sideways hook shot.
Triggering [Soft Touch Lv2], the ball gently kissed the glass and dropped in.
The Staples Center completely ignited.
Chants of "Prophet Link! Prophet Link!" threatened to blow the roof off.
Mark Jackson shook his head, shock written all over his face. "I can't believe it. After Kobe left, this rookie completely took over the game. He's got 26 points tonight!"
Time was running out in the third quarter. The Lakers had the final possession, and the ball was in Link's hands.
The Spurs defense was suffocating. Gregg Popovich stood on the sidelines with a dark expression, clearly unhappy with his team's containment.
Link protected the ball with his back, feeling the pressure from Ginobili behind him while scanning the floor. Odom tried to get open at the top of the key, but Duncan's long reach cut off the passing lane.
The shot clock ticked down mercilessly: 9... 8...
No time left.
Mihm came up for a screen at the last moment.
Link dribbled and stepped back.
4...
3...
He was a full step behind the three-point line.
With no time to adjust, Link seized the fleeting window and launched.
The ball traced a massive arc, flying toward the distant hoop.
Every eye in the arena followed the ball. The Staples Center fell silent.
...
Thud... Swish!
An incredibly lucky bank shot!
Simultaneously—
BZZZZT!
The red light flashed. End of the third quarter!
The silence shattered instantly as a tsunami of noise nearly flipped the roof off the building.
That incredibly difficult buzzer-beating bank shot fixed the score at 83 : 87.
The Lakers were only down by 4!
And Link's personal tally had hit 29 points!
"At the buzzer! Off the glass! Oh my goodness! He hit the most incredible shot of the night!" Mike Breen's voice cracked. "Link is practically fighting the Spurs by himself!"
Mark Jackson held his head in his hands. "Prophet? Tonight, he's the Lakers' Savior!"
Link stumbled upon landing and was immediately bear-hugged by a delirious Odom and Vujačić. He was gasping for air, drenched in sweat, but his eyes were burning bright.
That shot did more than just close the gap; it was a massive injection of adrenaline for the team.
As the Spurs players walked to their bench with grim expressions, the deep voice of the PA announcer boomed through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an update!"
The noise died down slightly as everyone perked up their ears.
"After an emergency evaluation, Kobe Bryant has suffered no structural damage to his knee! He is expected to return for the fourth quarter!"
BOOM—!!!
A cheer even louder than the one for the buzzer-beater exploded!
The Lakers bench went absolutely wild.
Link wiped the sweat from his face and looked toward the player tunnel.
He had held the line during the darkest moment.
And now, Kobe was coming back.
The break between quarters felt both short and agonizingly long. Fans waited anxiously, chattering and constantly glancing at the tunnel.
The whistle blew to start the fourth quarter. Both teams returned to the floor.
The Spurs had their full lineup out, Popovich looking stern.
On the Lakers' side, as the last player ran out of the tunnel...
It was like a nuclear bomb went off in the Staples Center.
Number 8!
Kobe Bryant walked onto the court.
He high-fived his teammates one by one.
When he reached Link, he gave him a massive hug.
Then he walked straight to the scorer's table, wiping the soles of his shoes.
With a nod from the referee, he checked in.
The Staples Center witnessed the Return of the King.