"This is exactly why Lin is such a brilliant leader," Chuck said. "He controls the Knicks' offense like he's got them on a remote. Every player who joins this team gets a fresh start!"

"Another perfect assist from Lin Yi! That pass made Klay's shot look effortless!"

O'Neal nearly flipped the desk.

The Big Aristotle was already regretting his life choices. Why did he even agree to join TNT in the first place?

Kenny and Chuck had completely lost it—they were acting like poets up there.

Praising assists like they were gourmet cuisine? Really?

And was nobody going to mention that Klay had just pulled up with a defender right in his face?

Are we sure that shot wasn't because he saw Lin Yi's hard stare and panicked into shooting?

…

As the second quarter kicked off, Lin Yi's assist tally kept rising.

Tonight, Lin was putting on a clinic. He and Whiteside took turns setting picks for Klay, and poor old Mike Miller was running in circles trying to keep up.

Then Bosh went to the bench, and without "Bosh-a-board," the Heat just couldn't grab a rebound to save their lives.

Rebound after rebound—it was like the Knicks were gift-wrapping them for Lin. There was no way he was letting those slip.

Ever since Lin Yi started easing off the scoring load this season, he'd quietly become one of the league's best on the offensive glass—averaging 4.1 a game. The Knicks were jacking up more threes than anyone, and when you shoot that much, you're bound to have plenty of rebound chances.

Klay was having a blast. In the first six minutes of the second quarter alone, he took eight threes. Add Battier's two attempts, and the Knicks were completely locked into their shoot-and-crash rhythm.

To be fair, Pat Riley and Erik Spoelstra had thought through just about every possible scenario before the game. They'd even imagined Lin Yi flipping the switch and going full God Mode.

But what they didn't expect… was getting buried under an avalanche of threes and rebounds.

Honestly, even Lin Yi was surprised by how easily he was rebounding tonight.

Sure, part of it came from his Rebounding Maniac instinct—being able to read where the ball would fall—but it was mostly his length, height, and quick second jump. Poor Haslem didn't stand a chance.

He'd already had two boards ripped right over his head in the quarter alone. And when Whiteside came in, it didn't get any easier. Lin Yi might've been boxed out, but who was boxing out Whiteside? Nobody.

So Spoelstra had no choice but to send Bosh back in.

And to his credit, once Bosh returned, the Heat stopped hemorrhaging rebounds. But by then, Klay was red-hot.

Swish—!

Swish—!

Swish—!

Spoelstra just stared blankly.

By the midpoint of the second quarter, the Knicks had opened up an 11-point lead—51 to 40.

This was the new Lin Yi—capable of switching between tank and sniper rifle.

Clearly, New York had found a new way to deal with Miami. As long as they dominated the glass, the Heat couldn't run their fast breaks.

During the timeout, Lin Yi sat down on the bench and sighed theatrically.

"The Heat scored only seven points in half a quarter. Guess that's why the fans keep calling me the best defender in the league."

The Knicks bench: "???"

Paul and Tyson turned away in unison—basically saying, "You mean the best aesthetic defense player, right?"

Lin clutched his chest in mock pain. "Is that seriously how you guys see me?"

The rest of the team shot him a look. "Come on, Lin. You know exactly how much effort you're putting in on defense."

Lin Yi: "…"

Still, he had a point—strong offensive rebounding does equal fewer chances for the opponent to score. Control the boards, control the game wasn't just an old saying—it was gospel.

In fact, years later, teams would use offensive rebounding as their main weapon against the Warriors' run-and-gun attack. It's one of the reasons the Death Lineup wasn't used for entire games.

.

After the Knicks pushed their lead into double digits, the Heat could only fight back one possession at a time. Luckily for Miami, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade stayed patient.

Not that they had much choice. The Heat didn't have the same explosive firepower as the Knicks, and they knew one careless stretch could spark another New York run.

James felt like he was living in the wrong storyline. When the Big Three first formed in the summer of 2010, the criticism and noise from the outside world didn't bother him—in fact, he saw it as proof of fear. Fear of what they were about to become.

But now? Every time they played the Knicks, it felt like they were the ones facing the final boss—one that kept spending coins and upgrading mid-battle.

Before halftime, James and Wade managed to chip away at the deficit. With their combined effort, the Heat cut it to 64–57, finally bringing the gap under ten.

Even so, LeBron felt a dull ache forming in his temples. He was giving everything he had, yet beating the Knicks still felt like trying to climb a mountain in flip-flops.

Wade wasn't any better off. He knew if the Heat failed to win a title this season, the backlash would be relentless.

Funny thing—while LeBron and Wade were frustrated with Lin Yi, Lin himself was equally frustrated by them.

The Heat were a team you could beat, but not break. No matter how well the Knicks played, Miami always found a way to hang around.

And Lin could feel it—they were adapting. Getting tougher. Sharper.

He couldn't help but feel a strange respect for them. Now it felt like he'd become the monster that everyone else was using to grind XP.

…

The second half began with Wade knocking down a smooth mid-range jumper—64–59.

Wade roared afterward, pounding his chest. "This is my house!"

On the Knicks' end, perhaps lulled by Lin Yi's pass-first approach all night, the Heat's defense relaxed just a fraction too much.

The moment James tried to recover with a quick slide, Tyson had already planted himself like a wall, sealing the lane perfectly.

Lin slipped into open space. LeBron could only watch, his face tightening like he'd bitten into something sour.

A quick push-off, a hang in the air, a clean release—

Swish!

67–59.

The American Airlines Arena, which had just been roaring seconds earlier, fell silent.

Reality check, Lin thought.

...

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