Chapter 64: A Suspended Reality

"Come on! Rockets!"

The crowd roared, their energy unwavering despite the pressure. The home fans were relentless, their shouts echoing through the arena, pushing their team to fight harder.

Blake brought the ball up to the frontcourt, running the same play Andrew had meticulously drawn during the timeout. The ball landed in Yao Ming's hands, his towering frame easily holding it above his head. Oku, the Jazz's defensive menace, was at it again—small jabs, nudges, trying to get into Yao's head. But Yao was focused, scanning the court like a hawk, waiting for his teammates to make their move.

McGrady moved swiftly, sliding into position as Andrew had outlined. The Jazz's defense shifted, collapsing inward. Yao saw it, his eyes sharp. Battier had already reached the three-point line after setting a rock-solid pick on Millsap. The opening was there.

"Bottom corner!" Jazz coach Sloan bellowed from the sideline, his voice laced with urgency. Deron Williams, quick on his feet, darted toward the corner to contest Battier.

But Yao had other plans. He flicked a pass not to Battier, but to Blake, who was stationed at the right forty-five-degree angle. Blake, wide open, rose for a three-pointer.

Swish.

The ball sailed through the net, breaking the Rockets' scoring drought. The arena erupted, a wave of relief and excitement sweeping over the fans. The Jazz's physical defense couldn't touch that play.

"Brilliant execution!" Mark Jackson couldn't help but exclaim. The Rockets' offense had clicked seamlessly, dismantling the Jazz's rigid defense.

Brin nodded, "It's clear now—Andrew's magic on the sidelines is no fluke."

As the Rockets' bench roared in approval, Jazz coach Sloan glanced over at Andrew, who sat calmly on the bench. His composure radiated authority, the type that exuded quiet confidence, unnerving even the most seasoned coaches.

The Jazz went back to their bread-and-butter pick-and-roll. Boozer, receiving the pass from Deron, looked to score, but Blake was relentless in defense, his hands constantly in Boozer's face, disrupting his shot rhythm. Boozer turned, thinking he could bully Blake in the post, but Andrew had set up the Rockets' defense perfectly. Battier was already there, doubling him in an instant.

"Snap!"

Battier stripped the ball clean, and the Rockets were off on a fast break. Blake and McGrady stormed down the court like two lightning bolts. Blake lobbed a perfect pass to McGrady, who caught it mid-stride. Kirilenko leaped in desperation, but McGrady was already in the air, his body twisting as he slammed the ball through the rim with authority.

Boom!

The referee's whistle blew—and one.

The crowd lost it. The arena shook from the explosion of cheers. McGrady flexed, staring down Kirilenko with fire in his eyes, making sure everyone knew that payback had just been delivered. The intensity was palpable. He stepped to the line and drained the free throw, closing the Jazz's lead to just two.

Jazz took the ball back down the court. Deron orchestrated another pick-and-roll, but this time it was a decoy. Oku moved stealthily to the arc, setting up for a three. He had been lethal from beyond the arc all season, averaging 4.2 attempts per game, hitting nearly 40%. Deron, with laser precision, swung a no-look pass right into Oku's shooting pocket.

But just as Oku raised his hands to shoot, Millsap appeared out of nowhere, closing the gap in a heartbeat. Oku was forced to hesitate, and in that moment, Millsap's defense suffocated him. Oku had no choice but to pass the ball back to Deron.

Deron, under pressure from Blake, had no time to reset the play. He drove hard to the basket, muscling his way through, but Yao Ming was waiting. With impeccable timing, Yao met Deron at the rim.

Smack!

Yao swatted the ball away, sending it flying into McGrady's hands. Without missing a beat, McGrady spun past Kirilenko, leaving the Jazz defense scrambling. The fast break was on.

With no defenders in sight, McGrady approached the free-throw line, tossing the ball lightly against the backboard. The crowd held its breath. In one swift motion, McGrady soared, catching the rebound off the glass and hammering it home with a thunderous dunk.

Boom!

The rim bent under the force of McGrady's classic slam dunk. The Toyota Center erupted into a frenzy, the noise deafening. Fans jumped out of their seats, their cheers nearly lifting the roof. Chinese fans, thousands of miles away, were glued to their screens, hearts pounding with pride.

McGrady hung on the rim for a moment, savoring the roar of the crowd. When he finally dropped, he turned, stone-faced, locking eyes with Boozer. His expression was icy, unreadable, but his message was loud and clear: We're not done yet.

Boozer, who had earlier mocked the Rockets, stood frozen, his face twisted with frustration. The tables had turned, and it was McGrady who now owned the moment. He raised his hands, calling for more noise, and the crowd responded with a thunderous cheer, the decibel level skyrocketing.

Buzz Sloan, clearly rattled, jumped from his seat and called a timeout.

"This game is heating up," Brin said with a grin, his voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

After the Jazz's early 7-0 run, the Rockets had fired back with a 7-0 run of their own, halting the Jazz's momentum.