The words fell.
LeBron called for double screens from Anthony Parker and Antoine, steering clear of Su Yan—refusing to match up with him.
On the right wing he darted straight for the rim.
His one-on-one powers had vanished only against Su Yan; once he dodged Su Yan, everything returned.
"Roar—"
With a roar LeBron charged the paint.
David Lee and Tyson, the twin towers, guarded the rim. LeBron strode in for the finger-roll, utterly unruffled.
Like hauling dynamite, he hurled himself skyward first and worried later.
Mid-air contact, hang-time, twist.
Using his glitch-level athleticism, LeBron slipped past the Knicks' twin-tower block.
He contorted his body for the layup.
Going in?
No.
They absolutely could not let LeBron score; through gritted teeth David Lee and Tyson swatted at the shot.
"Tweet-tweet!"
The ref's whistle shrilled.
Both their hands crashed across LeBron's arms, dragging him down.
The layup missed.
But with the whistle LeBron would step to the stripe.
Only 4.4 seconds remained.
Hit the free throws and the game was basically iced.
"Oh, no!"
Tyson clutched his head, stricken: "I probably shouldn't have fouled him—we're toast!"
"It's fine."
David Lee consoled him: "If you hadn't, I would have.
LeBron had already slipped us; with his skill he'd have finished.
That would've hurt morale even more.
Better to send him to the line—his free-throw stroke isn't deadly, he could miss both."
"Really? Well… that doesn't sound so bad."
Hearing David Lee, Tyson felt a little better.
Su Yan and Curry rushed over to high-five the two bigs.
"Great D."
Su Yan grinned: "Even if LeBron cans both, we still have a shot."
"Yep."
Curry nodded: "Fouling beats giving him the bucket—smart play."
With that
Tyson let go of regret and refocused on the game.
Time remained.
The outcome hung in the balance.
"Thud!"
LeBron stepped to the line.
This season he shot 76.5 %—not exactly money, pretty much his career in a nutshell.
Miss both and life was perfect.
But a sensible split was what everyone expected.
First attempt.
"Huff… huff…"
LeBron exhaled hard, settling himself for a pressure-packed first shot.
This was pure "big-heart" territory.
"Boo—"
The Garden roared, Knicks fans trying to ice him.
"Bounce-bounce-bounce."
Three dribbles.
LeBron gathered, lifted, wrist-flick, let it fly.
First shot?
Cash.
"Yeah!!!"
Varejão punched the air, electric.
The make meant the lead; 4.4 seconds left, a miracle tough to conjure.
More—Cleveland virtually had the win in hand.
"Locked up!"
Morris breathed easy: sink one more and it's just a countdown.
Everyone knew.
The Cavs were buzzing.
Even LeBron exhaled.
His stroke isn't elite; even with clutch genes the pressure was real.
Good that it dropped.
The weight lightened.
"Whew…"
Another deep breath, the tension easing.
"Not good!"
"This next one has to miss."
Knicks players and fans, faces tight, prayed while they fretted.
Second shot.
With pressure dialed down, LeBron looked even surer.
This one?
"Swish."
Again.
Both makes.
"Tweet-tweet!"
Coach D'Antoni burned a timeout instantly.
Down two, 4.4 seconds.
Honestly, steep.
Yet… the Knicks had faced this all season and walked out alive.
Every time a comeback kill.
Especially the Celtics game—Su Yan's 0.4-second alley-oop Game-Winner proved anything possible.
Think like that
and 4.4 seconds feels almost roomy.
On the Knicks bench
D'Antoni cut straight to it: "Stay confident—get the ball to Su Yan!!!"
"Yeah!"
"Su Yan will bury it!"
"Zero panic—we've got Flame God, the league's deadliest Three-point Shooter.
We've got this."
Everyone believed; everyone trusted Su Yan.
???
Wait, what!
They're just assuming I'll nail it?
You guys that sure?
I don't hit every buzzer-beater, guys—
But the moment called for morale, so Su Yan flashed steel eyes and a cocky grin: "Get me the damn ball!
I'm ending this game—WE WIN!!!"
"Yeahhh!!!"
Arms shot up; confidence exploded.
Cavs bench.
"The Little Emperor's too much—tiny Knicks, easy W!"
"Two freebies, game on the stripe.
Fact: LeBron's still the era's top Small Forward, bar none!"
"Victory lap!"
Led by Morris and Antoine, they toasted LeBron and started the early celebration.
LeBron stayed stone-faced: "Guys, it's not over.
Su Yan's got deep Three-point range.
He's already iced several this year—stay locked in."
"Right."
Mike Brown was equally grim: "Smother Su Yan, smother Su Yan, smother Su Yan!!!"
Soon
the timeout ended.
Both starters returned—4.4 seconds of do-or-die.
"dear, you're the best—you've got this!!!"
Meng-meng clenched her fists, praying for Su Yan.
Salena curled her own small fists, eyes locked on Su Yan, willing the Game-Winner.
"Kevin, you think Su Yan hits it?!"
Westbrook asked.
Salena watched Su Yan; Kevin watched Salena. Hearing Russ, Kevin's eyes flashed disdain.
"He'll hit nothing!
I've seen this—LeBron's free-throw dagger ends it."
Uh…
Westbrook blinked, then shook his head. Asking a love rival about a buzzer-beater—pointless.
Stuck between them, he turned to chat with Harden instead.
Across the court
"Skyhook" Jabbar chuckled: "Big Bird, Dream—Su Yan got a chance?"
"Dream" Olajuwon frowned: "Brutal degree of difficulty!!!"
"Big Bird" Larry Bird folded his arms, chin lifted, radiating the eternal confidence of a king of pretending.
He smirked: "Tough, sure—but I believe in that kid Su Yan!
He's about to dazzle the world again!!!"
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