End Of The First half

"Swish!"

Kobe hit a smooth mid-range fadeaway, the ball barely grazing the net as it passed through. Without a word, he turned and jogged back on defense, expressionless, but inwardly more focused than ever.

Lian Dao, on the other hand, grew more intense. As they returned to defense, Kobe wiped away a bead of sweat. That was close, he thought, realizing how dangerously close Lian Dao's long wingspan had come to blocking his shot.

The moment Lian Dao crossed the three-point line on offense, Kobe was there, bodying up, using every ounce of strength and veteran guile to stop him from catching the ball. But Lian Dao, unfazed by the physicality, fought back with subtle pushes and clever footwork, finally sealing Kobe off just enough to receive the ball from Tony Douglas.

As soon as the ball touched Lian Dao's hands, Kobe closed the space, contesting fiercely. Lian Dao, back to the basket, kept the ball protected. He leaned into Kobe with his body, then spun quickly, driving right. Kobe anticipated the move, cutting off the lane, but Lian Dao stopped on a dime, shifted his weight, and performed a smooth between-the-legs dribble before stepping back beyond the arc.

Kobe lunged, hand outstretched—too late.

Lian Dao drained the three-pointer over him.

Both players were locked in a battle, shot for shot, play for play. Neither could break through the other's defense, but the tension on the court was palpable.

On the other end, Lian Dao stuck to Kobe like glue, anticipating every cut, every move. He reached out, trying to disrupt Kobe's passing lanes, while Kobe responded with sharp elbows and subtle pushes, trying to carve out space for himself.

Kobe sprinted through a reverse cut and caught the ball, immediately facing up to Lian Dao. Although Kobe had speed, Lian Dao's quickness and length made him confident in staying with him. He locked his arms into position, using what he called the "Death Coil," a defensive stance that seemed to envelop the attacker with his long limbs.

Kobe's first fake didn't fool Lian Dao. But Kobe, never one to be easily rattled, drove hard to his right, Lian Dao hot on his heels. Even as Lian Dao blocked the lane, Kobe powered forward, driving into his body and preparing to launch a fadeaway.

As Kobe elevated for the jumper, Lian Dao slyly pinched the soft skin at Kobe's waist—just enough to throw off his concentration.

"Smack!"

Lian Dao's hand met the ball, blocking Kobe's shot cleanly. The crowd went silent, disbelief hanging in the air as their king had been blocked by Lian Dao.

Larry Hughes grabbed the loose ball and sprinted downcourt for an uncontested fast break layup.

Kobe, landing after the block, stared down Lian Dao with an intensity that could melt steel. But Lian Dao turned his head, nonchalantly pretending as if nothing had happened.

Lian Dao had learned these tricks from the veterans at the Knicks—harmless little moves like tugging jerseys, pinching soft skin, or sneaky elbows. He knew where to draw the line. His actions were enough to disrupt, but never to harm. He refused to engage in dirty plays that could injure someone or end a career.

Lian Dao had his own principles. His bottom line was clear: never be the one to foul maliciously. He played hard but fair.

The block from Lian Dao's sneaky little move had stirred something inside Kobe. He was visibly frustrated, and as soon as he crossed half-court, he demanded the ball from Jordan Farmar. Farmar, sensing the urgency, immediately handed it over without hesitation.

Kobe's eyes were ablaze. He wasn't expecting such a cheap trick from the rookie to throw him off, but more than that, he felt the pressure of Lian Dao's defense. It was time to teach this young player a lesson.

This time, Kobe was ready to put on a clinic. He didn't rush, instead using his footwork to carefully set up Lian Dao. First, a quick fake to his left had Lian Dao slightly off-balance. Kobe then pivoted off his left foot, holding off Lian Dao with his shoulder while setting up for a signature fadeaway. He pushed off with his right foot, rising into the air. Adjusting mid-flight, Kobe released the ball at the highest point of his jump, perfectly aligned for the shot.

It was textbook Kobe.

Lian Dao had done everything right defensively, but even he couldn't fully account for Kobe's mastery of footwork. Kobe's fake had drawn Lian Dao just enough off-center, and by the time Lian Dao reacted to the fadeaway, it was too late. He was a step behind, left watching as the ball arced over his outstretched hand.

This was the brilliance of Kobe's low-post game. His footwork was immaculate, allowing him to get a shot off from any angle or position. If Lian Dao didn't bite on the initial feint, Kobe would have gone straight into his shot. But if Lian Dao overcommitted, it would be just as bad—Kobe's ability to read the defense and counter with precision was unparalleled.

Compared to LeBron, who hadn't yet fully developed his post game, Kobe's offensive repertoire was far more difficult to contain. His fadeaway, in particular, was a nightmare for defenders.

In the annals of basketball history, only a few could boast such impeccable low-post skills. Michael Jordan's fadeaway, Hakeem Olajuwon's Dream Shake, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's skyhook—Kobe's fadeaway was right up there with the greats.

As the ball swished through the net, a roar erupted inside Staples Center. The fans were on their feet, cheering wildly. This was why they loved Kobe—his grace, his elegance, the way he turned every possession into a masterpiece. Each fadeaway was like watching an artist paint with the ball.

Although online trolls had once dubbed him "three iron tetroxide" for some tough shooting stretches, Kobe's performance over the last few seasons was anything but "iron."

In the 2007-08 season, Kobe shot an impressive 45.9% from the field, including 49% from mid-range, and 36.1% from three-point range. The following season, his shooting numbers were even better, with a 46.7% field goal percentage, 49.6% from mid-range, and 35.1% from deep. By 2009-10, he maintained a solid 45.6% from the field, 48.7% from mid-range, and 32.9% from three.

In the last three seasons, Kobe's mid-range shooting percentage hovered around an elite 49.1%. These numbers were all the more impressive considering he faced double-teams in nearly every game. Despite that pressure, Kobe continued to deliver at an incredibly high rate.

For the fans in Los Angeles, the so-called "blacksmith shop" had long since closed. They were witnessing the magic of a true scorer at his peak.

The Knicks launched another offensive, and Lian Dao felt a sharp pain in his waist as he handled the ball. Gritting his teeth, he controlled the dribble, determined not to let Kobe's relentless pressure throw him off.

Kobe really holds a grudge, Lian Dao thought. This guy never lets up with his revenge.

Lian Dao had planned to use his signature step-back jumper, but as soon as he made his move to stop, Kobe was all over him. Reacting instantly, Lian Dao accelerated again, blowing past Kobe. He drove straight to the rim, and with Bynum looming for the block, Lian Dao adjusted in mid-air, twisting his body and finishing with a smooth, acrobatic layup.

45:39.

The Zen Master, Phil Jackson, called for a timeout. The Lakers quickly switched back to their starting lineup, and the Knicks followed suit—except for David Lee, who remained on the bench.

Today, Darko Milicic was in rare form, showing surprising confidence on both ends of the floor. D'Antoni had noticed the difference and decided to stick with him over Lee. It wasn't just that Milicic was playing well—Lee was being thoroughly neutralized by Bynum, struggling to make an impact offensively. Keeping Milicic in, given his improved defense and solid offense, seemed like the right call.

With the starters back, the Knicks focused their defense on Kobe, choosing to double-team him at every opportunity. D'Antoni was content to leave Ron Artest open, gambling that Artest wouldn't be able to capitalize. Artest, guarded by Lian Dao, seemed hesitant, lacking the confidence to take shots even when open. D'Antoni could tell that something wasn't right with Artest's rhythm.

Whenever Kobe touched the ball, Lian Dao and Wilson Chandler were quick to trap him, forcing the ball out of his hands. Kobe passed it to the open man—Artest—but the gamble paid off as Artest repeatedly missed from beyond the arc.

Artest, who had been sitting on the bench for a rest, seemed out of sync upon returning to the floor, his shooting even more erratic than before. The Knicks doubled down on their strategy to trap Kobe, confident that Artest couldn't punish them from the perimeter.

On the other side, Lian Dao was feeling the heat as well. The Lakers threw everything at him, with Kobe and Artest both locking in on defense, forming a suffocating double-team. Having two elite defenders on him—Kobe from the All-Defensive First Team and Artest from the Second Team—made life difficult for Lian Dao.

He responded by driving and dishing the ball to Wilson Chandler, but Chandler seemed to have inherited Artest's shooting woes. Chandler missed several wide-open three-point attempts, and with both teams struggling from the field, the game turned into a battle of missed shots.

At this point, it was almost comical—the combined misfires from Chandler and Artest formed a symphony of clanging iron, echoing through Staples Center like a poorly tuned orchestra.

As the second quarter wore on, both sides seemed locked in a contest of who could miss more. But the Lakers, with their deeper roster and stronger lineup, started to chip away at the Knicks' lead, closing the gap.

By halftime, the Knicks clung to a narrow lead, 55:53, but momentum was shifting. The battle would only intensify in the second half.