The moment he said that, the fans gained a little more respect for Antoine.
Though he had been mentally crushed for two days, at least he dared to admit it and face it. He had not completely fallen apart.
Meanwhile, Wang Yi remained as calm as ever.
During the post-game interview, reporters crowded around him with endless questions.
"You put up a 57-point triple-double. How do you feel right now?"
Wang Yi wiped away his sweat and smiled.
"Happy. Helping the team win matters more than anything."
"At forty, you're still putting up numbers like this. How much longer do you think you can play?"
"I don't know. As long as my body allows it and the team needs me, I'll keep playing."
"That block—did you deliberately adjust your angle?"
"Yes. When I saw him take the shot, I knew that if I went straight for the block, I could easily hit his hand."
"So I pulled back a little midway, changed direction, and happened to hit the ball."
He made it sound effortless, but everyone knew how difficult it had been.
The reporter asked again, "A lot of people say you're the greatest player in history. What do you think?"
Wang Yi waved his hand.
"I don't want to judge history. I just want to play every game well."
"The series isn't over yet. We still have to keep winning."
Low-key, humble, and terrifyingly powerful.
That version of Wang Yi drove the fans even crazier.
Over the next two days, the buzz around Wang Yi did not fade in the slightest.
The media aired his highlights every day, while fans refreshed discussions about him nonstop.
The Los Angeles Lakers made a poster from photos of him in the game, with the headline: Forty years old, still a god.
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