Went Berserk, Knicks Lead by 24 at Halftime!

The whistle for the quarter break felt like a pardon, finally giving the still-shaken Bulls fans at the United Center a moment to catch their breath.

Yet when they looked up and saw the horrifying numbers on the massive scoreboard, their newly relaxed nerves instantly tightened again. It felt as though an invisible hand had clenched around their hearts, leaving them almost unable to breathe.

48:30. The Knicks led by 18.

And the Eastern giant's stat line was like a heavy hammer, shattering every last trace of hope in their hearts—38 points in a single quarter!

"Is this... what kind of monster is this?

" A fan in a Bulls No. 23 jersey clutched his head in both hands and muttered blankly. His voice rang especially clearly through the deathly silent arena, voicing what everyone was thinking.

In front of the Bulls' bench, Phil Jackson's face was ashen. He was nearly crushing the clipboard in his hand.

He had seen more superstars than he could count in his coaching career, and he had personally built Dynasties, but he had never witnessed such an unreasonable, such a devastating individual performance.

"Michael," Phil Jackson said hoarsely, looking at Jordan beside him. "You need to rest in the second quarter. We have to..."

"No!"

Jordan's voice was not loud, but it was absolute as he cut off the Zen Master. His chest rose and fell violently, sweat running down his sharply defined cheeks and dripping onto the court.

His eyes were locked on the expressionless man across from him, burning with the same unyielding fire.

"Phil, let me play. I won't rest—not for a second." Jordan spoke word by word. "This is war. The team is at its most critical moment. I have to be on the court."

Phil Jackson looked into Jordan's