New York, Madison Square Garden, Game 5 of the Finals.
When the Lakers emerged from the players' tunnel, they were greeted not by boos, but by something even more terrifying—silence.
The silence of twenty thousand people hung over them like a blade suspended above their heads.
It was not fearful silence, but the certainty of "we know we're going to win." Every Lakers player who stepped onto the court made that silence deepen.
When Kobe came out, the silence was deafening.
When O'Neal came out, the silence deepened further. Phil Jackson was the last to emerge. He stood by the sideline with his arms folded, his expression calm, but there was something in his eyes—not tension, but the certainty of "I know my players will fight."
But when the Knicks took the court, the silence shattered.
Sprewell was the first to run out, and the cheers of twenty thousand people merged into a roaring torrent.
Houston was second, and the cheers rose another level. Sabonis was third, and the roar nearly blew the roof off.
Li Fei was last. The moment he ran out, the noise in the entire arena reached its peak. Twenty thousand people rose to their feet at once. Applause, cheers, and shouts merged into a tidal wave that echoed beneath the dome.
Some shouted "MVP," some shouted "Li Fei," some cried, some laughed, and some simply stood there with their heads tilted up, staring at Li Fei's face on the big screen.
Li Fei stood on the court with his hands on his hips, looking up at the big screen.
His expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—not tension, but the silence of a hunter before his final strike.
His gaze swept over the stands, over those familiar faces—Spike Lee, Beyoncé, Jay-Z, Jordan,