The American Airlines Arena had lost all sense of control.
David Stern sat in front of his television, face frosty, remote clenched in his paling hand as if it might snap. Years spent shaping the league's image, pushing it toward respectability, toward global appeal, and now this. A televised mess. A deliberate hit. And not just anyone, Lin Yi.
He knew what he was looking at. This was not an accident.
"MOTHERF***ER!!"
. . .
On the court, the three referees were barely holding things together. Bodies pressed in, voices overlapped, tempers spilled over. Players shoved, grabbed, and shouted.
In the middle of it all, referee Johnson took a stray punch, his head snapping back before he even realized what had happened. For a moment, he just stood there, stunned, then anger replaced the shock.
Officiating an NBA game was already a thankless job.
Fans blame you, players blame you, coaches blame you, and now punches were involved.
I had had enough. He thought.
Chris Andersen's headband lay abandoned on the hardwood, a small detail in a scene that had already spiraled out of control. The Heat, for all their physical presence, hesitated. They knew exactly how this looked. Still, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade stepped in to separate bodies.
Wilson Chandler did not hesitate.
He had already landed his shot on Andersen, and even after that, there was still something in his posture that said he was not finished. For a split second, it looked like he might go at James next before teammates dragged him back.
Then the energy shifted.
The Knicks bench, the coaching staff, even the crowd, all snapped back to the same realization.
Lin Yi was still down.
On the floor, Lin Yi lay there, gritting his teeth, breathing unevenly. The pain was real.
His healing will kick in, but after a few seconds. For those first few seconds, every nerve in his body was lit up, and there was no hiding it.
He almost wanted to laugh through the pain.
So this is how it feels. Hope Liz isn't watching.
Lin was down on his luck because right now in New York.
. .
Elizabeth Olsen froze the moment Lin Yi hit the floor hard.
Her breath caught first, then her hands came up to her face as the replay confirmed what she had just seen.
"No! No! No! This cannot be happening."
Her voice broke as she stood up too quickly, chair scraping behind her. She turned sharply toward the stairs, already moving, already reaching for the idea of packing, leaving, getting to him as fast as possible.
Footsteps followed immediately.
Sharon Carter was behind her in seconds, catching her before she reached the stairs. Her grip was steady, controlled, careful not to hurt her.
She was a bodyguard hired by Lin and Zhong Muchen for Elizabeth's safety.
"Madam, madam," she said, trying to slow her down.
Elizabeth kept struggling forward, breathing unevenly, eyes fixed upward as she could already see the airport.
Sharon adjusted her hold slightly, firmer now.
"Madam Elizabeth, please, calm down. Sir will not want you in this state. It can affect the baby."
That made her pause for half a second, but she still tried to pull free.
"I have to go," she said quickly. "I have to pack, I have to get on a plane, I have to be in Miami. Look at him, he is hurt! Let go of ME!"
Her voice cracked again, frustration and fear mixing.
Sharon did not release her. Instead, she pulled her into a steady, grounding embrace and gently patted her back.
Sharon brought Liz out of her embrace and looked into her eyes with worry.
"Breath with me, Madam," Sharon said, with Elizabeth not budging. "Please, Madam. For your child and fiancé."
Liz nodded.
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
Sharon continued, "Sir is a strong man. He will be alright. He would not want you rushing into a situation like this while you are overwhelmed."
She gestured toward her slightly bulging abdomen.
She guided Elizabeth slightly back from the stairs, keeping her supported.
The tension in Elizabeth's shoulders finally began to loosen. Her resistance faded into exhaustion as the reality of the moment settled in.
Slowly, she allowed herself to be guided back upstairs, away from the noise of the television, toward the bedroom.
Elizabeth settled onto the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her ring.
Sharon Carter stayed for a moment longer, making sure Elizabeth was breathing steadily and no longer trying to rush back toward the stairs. Only when she was certain the situation had stabilized did she step out into the hallway and close the door gently behind her.
She reached for her phone immediately.
On the other end was Ludwig, their personal cook, the man responsible for meals for both Elizabeth and Lenny. He answered quickly, voice calm, unaware of what had just unfolded in front of a live broadcast.
"Ludwig," Sharon said, keeping her tone controlled, "I need something light prepared for the madam. As soon as possible."
There was a brief pause.
"Light?" Ludwig asked. "Did something happen?"
Sharon exhaled slightly. "Sir got fouled hard and stretched off in the Conference game. It upset her. She needs something easy to eat, something warm, nothing heavy."
The line stayed quiet for a second as Ludwig processed it.
Then his tone changed immediately.
"I understand. I am on it right away."
The call ended.
In the kitchen, Ludwig moved with urgency. Cabinets opened, ingredients came out in measured, practiced motions.
Upstairs, Sharon returned briefly to the bedroom doorway, checking on Elizabeth Olsen from a distance. Elizabeth had stopped fidgeting with her ring. She sat now, shoulders still tense, eyes fixed on the now turned on bedroom TV. The Eastern Finals clear on display.
Sharon wanted to rush in and turn off the TV, but resisted, not wanting to push Olsen too far.
I hope Sir is alright.
She let out a tired sigh before focusing on the game too.
. .
Back in Miami.
The Knicks' medical staff rushed in. One of the doctors took a look at Lin Yi and immediately shouted for a stretcher.
The shout plunged the place into silence.
Players froze, and Mike D'Antoni grabbed his head, disbelief written across his face.
That serious?
Chandler, who had just been restrained, went still. For a second, even he looked like he might have misjudged the situation. If it had really gone that far, then holding back earlier suddenly felt like a mistake.
Across the court, Andersen, face already swelling and bloody, exhaled slowly. He was also getting treated by the Heat medical.
I have done what I was sent to do. Whether people liked it or not, the job was finished.
The stretcher rolled out, its wheels on the court, as Lin Yi was lifted. Something unexpected happened.
The crowd stood.
Applause spread through the arena, uneven at first, then louder—respect, even across rivalry. What had just happened crossed a line that fans understood without needing it explained.
On the TNT broadcast, Charles Barkley was already fuming. The replay looped again and again, each angle making it worse.
"That's intentional," he said, voice sharp. "Back in my day, if someone did that to me, I'd come back the next game ready for war."
Beside him, Shaquille O'Neal and Kenny Smith did not argue. There was nothing to argue.
This was as blatant as blatant could be.
Back on the court, order slowly returned. The stretcher disappeared into the tunnel, taking Lin Yi with it. Only then did referee Johnson head to the scorer's table. He wanted the replay, not for the foul, but for something more personal.
Someone had hit him. He intended to find out who.
On the Knicks bench, the conversation shifted.
Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler turned to Wilson, still catching his breath.
"We know why you stepped in," Paul started.
"You think I lost control," he said. "I didn't."
That got their attention.
"If I don't go first, all of you do," he continued. "Then it's a team suspension. We lose everything. So I go in, make it clear, force the refs to isolate it on me."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"You guys were separating the fight. I was the problem, so that's how it looks on replay."
Silence followed.
Even D'Antoni had nothing to say for a moment. The logic was uncomfortable, but it held.
The chaos had burned fast, but it had not spread.
Minutes later, the referees delivered the verdict.
Wilson Chandler, ejected.
Chris Andersen, flagrant two, ejected.
Then came the extra blow for Miami. Chris Bosh was also tossed for leaving the bench area.
Exactly as Wilson had predicted.
On the Knicks' side, the moment Wilson Chandler charged in, the situation could have spiraled out of control. Instead, Mike D'Antoni and Yao Ming reacted immediately, grabbing jerseys, pulling bodies back, forcing their own bench to stay put.
That single moment changed everything.
From the outside, it almost looked absurd. The Knicks, the team that had just seen their star taken down, somehow came out ahead in the aftermath. Andersen's hit was undeniable. A suspension was coming. Chris Bosh, caught in the chaos after stepping onto the court, now faced punishment as well, even though he had intended to intervene before things escalated.
He had rushed in to stop a punch and walked away with a likely suspension.
On the Heat bench, Erik Spoelstra remained composed. He did not dwell on the calls or the optics. In his mind, one thing mattered more than anything else.
Lin Yi was gone.
Up in the stands, Pat Riley allowed himself a faint smile. The sequence had not gone cleanly. It had drawn attention. It would bring consequences. But the core objective had been achieved.
The stretcher had left the floor.
That was enough.
From his perspective, the math was simple. Bosh might miss a game. Andersen would likely sit longer. Those were manageable losses. If Lin Yi missed the rest of the series, the balance shifted completely.
"Just as planned," He whispered.
. .
Back on the Knicks' bench, the mood was entirely different.
D'Antoni's expression said everything. "I wonder how serious Lin's injury is."
With Lin Yi out, the Knicks adjusted quickly. Yao Ming stepped in, pairing with Tyson Chandler to anchor the paint.
Yao's eyes lingered on the tunnel for a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned back.
"Don't worry, Lin. I've got this."
There was only anger in his voice held in check.
If the Heat thought they could target one player and break the team, they were about to find out otherwise.
Around him, the Knicks tightened as a unit. The noise, the chaos, the uncertainty, it all narrowed into something focused.
Even Chris Paul let go of everything off the court. The friendships, the respect, the shared history with Dwyane Wade and LeBron James, none of it mattered in that moment.
This was no longer about relationships.
"For Lin Yi—!"
. . .
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