Dale Davis, who was defending Garnett, had already rushed in desperately.
At that moment, the world of this 19-year-old high school student seemed to have been muted. His pupils did not see the 20,000 crazy roaring fans, the ferocious faces on the Indiana bench, or even the large, hairy black hands rushing towards him.
In his world, all that remained was the orange-red circle ten feet off the ground directly in front of him.
That wasn't the position for an inside player in his era, but it was the 'absolute territory' that Chip Engelland had precisely measured for him thousands of times with a ruler in countless empty Late Night.
It's a full 23 feet 9 inches from the center of the basket.
Knees bent, ball brought together, airborne.
Muscle memory completely took over the young body at that moment...
His left hand held the basketball steady on one side like a textbook example, while his right thumb and forefinger formed a perfect V-shape, and his wrist ruthlessly and decisively pressed down at the highest point!
In the final instant the basketball left his fingertips, Garnett lightly flicked the ball with his middle finger.
The basketball, with an exaggerated backspin, grazed Davis's middle fingernail, tracing a near-perfect parabola in the air.
Time seemed to stand still at that moment.
On the giant screen atop the FleetCenter, the red time numbers were relentlessly ticking...
1.2 seconds...
0.6 seconds...
0.3 seconds...
Swish!
Without any hesitation, the ball drew a sharp arc in the air, so precise it was as if it had a guidance system, and without even touching the metal edge of the rim, it went straight into the white nylon net!
The white net surged violently upwards, bursting out with a sharp, piercing "snap" in the silent arena!
Three-pointer hits! Boston Celtics take a two-point lead!
Almost at the same instant the basketball pierced the net, the red light behind the backboard suddenly lit up, and the final whistle shattered the Indiana night sky!
"My God! A game-winning shot from the top of the key!! A 19-year-old high school student sank a three-pointer right in Dale Davis's face!! This is a miracle!!" The commentator jumped onto the broadcast platform, clutched his head, and roared at the top of his lungs, his voice so shrill it almost tore the microphone apart, plunging the 16,000-seat arena into complete silence.
"Roar--!!"
The instant he landed, Garnett's rationality was instantly consumed by the adrenaline surging through his veins. His facial muscles tensed with extreme excitement, and with the arrogance and wildness of a newborn calf, he charged straight to Pacers Pacers' ashen-faced bench!
He clenched his fists and pounded his chest repeatedly!
That beast-like roar, like a slap in the face, forcefully silenced the insults hurled at the throats of more than 16,000 Indiana fans!
At the far end of the media section at the highest point of the Market Square Arena, Lin Qi leaned on the railing with one hand, looking down at the area below.
In the deathly silence of 16,000 Indiana, he looked at the 19-year-old standing in the eye of the storm and finally exhaled a long breath.
Garnett was instantly pinned to the floor by Sam Cassell and Finley. Sam Cassell's bald head was pressed against Garnett's neck, while Finley was pounding his stomach with his fists.
The boy who could spew the dirtiest trash talk on the field was speechless at this moment.
He lay in the center of the cold, gleaming linoleum court, staring at the blinding incandescent lights overhead.
His eyes, mixed with the salty sweat streaming down his forehead, were finally soaked through.
We won! We fucking won!
The next day, before the ink was even dry in the Boston Globe and the Boston Herald, the front-page headlines had already caused a magnitude 8 earthquake in the entire American basketball world.
"The Ruthless 19-Year-Old Assassin: Garnett's Game-Winning Three-Pointer – The Future is Here!"
He's redefining big men—America's experts are collectively silent!
Sports Illustrated went so far as to put this 19-year-old high school student on its cover. In the photo, Garnett is shirtless, his amazingly muscular chest still glistening with sweat, as he frantically pounds his chest at the camera, with the 16,000 Indiana fans at Market Square Arena looking ashen-faced in the background.
The cover featured only one line of cold, aggressive bold text. "The Death Knell of the New Era." The entire American media was abuzz with the devastating three-pointer from the top of the arc. Traditional, old-school commentators stubbornly declared in their newspaper columns that "it was just a lucky shot by a seven-footer," while the Boston media practically wanted to crown the 19-year-old high school student a king.
Amidst a cacophony of praise and skepticism, Lin Qi simply and calmly drew the blinds on his office window.
In the general manager's office, the secretary had already hung up the incessantly ringing media phones to prevent them from disturbing him. Lin Qi sat at his desk, not even glancing at the schedule covered in red marks next to him. His gaze was fixed on the physical and injury assessment report of the players, with Garnett as the core, that the medical team had just submitted.
43 wins.
They forcefully tore a gap in the hellish battle for position in the Eastern Conference, seizing a crucial half-step advantage, but at the cost of the young players' nearly depleted physical strength.
Lin Qi slowly lit a cigarette, and white smoke filled the dimly lit office. He walked to the Eastern Conference matchup prediction chart on the wall, his gaze sweeping over the Pacers, then the Cleveland Cavaliers, and finally settling on the two team logos at the top.
Chicago Bulls, Orlando Magic.
Two giants at the peak of their era crouched in the shadows of April, coldly watching the young Boston players who had crawled out of the mire of away games, covered in blood.
"My first game-winning shot of my career..."
Lin Qi looked out the window at the rising sun over Boston and exhaled a puff of smoke. His deep gaze seemed to pierce through time and space, looking at Garnett, who, in the original historical trajectory, should have only shown his fangs next season or even later.
" Chip Engelland... he actually moved this date forward by more than six months!"
Lin Qi's lips curled into a cold smile as he lightly touched the Chicago Bulls ' logo with his fingertip.