The ball went up.
Tyson Chandler won the tip with his ridiculous wingspan and flicked it back toward Chris Paul.
Before Paul could even touch it, a purple blur sliced straight into the passing lane.
Link.
He had read the tip the instant the ref released the ball and nearly picked it clean.
Paul barely corralled it, eyes wide.
He had no idea the guy guarding him tonight was about to turn his life into a nightmare.
Link dropped into his stance, knees bent, arms active. With Defensive Specialist Lv3 humming in his veins, he wasn't giving Paul a single easy breath.
The crowd let out a low buzz.
"Wow—Link is straight-up checking Chris Paul from the jump!" the announcer called.
Hornets first possession. They ran their bread-and-butter: Paul and David West high pick-and-roll.
West set a solid screen, but Link was already fighting over it, chest to chest with Paul the moment he turned the corner.
Paul hesitated, surprised by the speed.
He dribbled back beyond the arc to reset.
Time winding down, he had to go himself.
Paul attacked right, trying to use his quickness against the taller defender.
Link slid laterally in one explosive step and cut him off cold.
Paul slammed on the brakes, tried a quick between-the-legs move to create space.
Link stayed glued, long arm high, completely blanketing his shooting window.
Forced into a tough fadeaway, Paul let it fly.
Clang.
Bynum snatched the defensive board.
Lakers ball.
Kobe caught it on the left wing, eyed Rasual Butler, and went straight to work.
No probe. No hesitation.
He backed Butler down, spun baseline, and rose into that signature fadeaway.
Swish.
2-0.
The arena noise dipped just a notch.
Hornets tried again. Paul called another screen, this time with Chandler.
He used the big man's body to slip into the lane and rise for a floater.
But Kobe rotated over from the weak side like a missile and pinned the ball against the glass.
Clean block.
Link was already leaking out.
He caught the outlet, pushed in transition, and finished with a smooth left-hand layup over Paul's desperate chase.
4-0.
Kobe jogged back and slapped Link's hand hard. "That's how we start!"
New Orleans was getting uneasy.
Paul clenched his jaw and called for the ball again on the next possession. This time he wanted it one-on-one.
He hit Link with a lightning-quick hesitation, then exploded right.
Link mirrored every move.
Paul pulled the ball back and tried to rise for the jumper.
Link went straight up, hand in his face, contesting everything.
The shot hit the front rim and bounced out.
The Hornets were 0-for-3 on their first three possessions.
All against Link.
By the time the first quarter ended, the Lakers led 38-18.
Kobe had 16 points.
Link added 5 points, 2 assists, and a steal while holding Paul to 2-for-6 shooting and 2 points.
The Hornets bench looked shell-shocked.
Byron Scott stood on the sideline, arms folded, face tight.
In the Lakers huddle, Phil Jackson stayed calm, but the players were buzzing.
Second quarter, the starters stayed hot.
Kobe kept cooking. Link kept locking Paul down.
Every time Paul tried to create, Link was there—fighting over screens, denying vision, forcing tough shots.
The lead ballooned.
Halftime score flashed on the big screen.
Lakers 68, Hornets 36.
Thirty-two points.
Link sat on the bench, towel over his head, breathing steady.
He stared at the scoreboard and felt a strange calm settle over him.
This kind of lead… it reminded him of a famous story.
A story everyone in basketball knew.
One that started with a tip-off and ended with history being rewritten.