An angry Kobe, and Li Fei Brand was about to sell out!

Yet not everyone had given up.

On the charter flight to San Antonio, the atmosphere was suffocatingly oppressive.

Amid the thunderous roar of the engines, no one spoke.

The gloom of defeat hung over every Lakers player.

O'Neal wore enormous over-ear headphones, his eyes closed and his body curled into his seat.

At this critical moment, the normally dominant force in the paint showed not anger, but profound bewilderment. He still seemed unable to understand why his unmatched strength had failed against those two expressionless big men.

In that deathly silence, a voice suddenly rang out.

"Get your heads up!"

The voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable, steely authority.

Everyone looked up in surprise, turning toward the front of the cabin.

Kobe Bryant, just twenty years old, had risen to his feet. Dressed in black training gear, he swept his knife-sharp gaze over every teammate.

"Are we dead? Huh?"

Kobe stepped into the aisle and stared straight at the players with more years in the league than him. "We only lost one game. We're only down 2–3. This series is best of seven, not best of five!"

"Look at yourselves! You look like a bunch of beaten roosters!"

Kobe pointed at the pitch-black sky outside the window. "There's nothing to fear in San Antonio. They're human too. They bleed, and they get tired. As long as we don't give up, this isn't over!"

"Shaq!" Kobe suddenly turned toward O'Neal, who had taken off his headphones, his gaze burning. "You're the most dominant center in this league. I won't let you hang your head like a coward! Next game, we're going to eat their frontcourt alive!"

"And Derek, Robert... we need your defense. We need your threes!"

**"Fuck the media's predictions, and fuck this road-game curse! We're going