The Second Home Field

Sudden stop and pivot, breaking through screens, slipping past defenders, carving out a gap—without hesitation, a step back, both feet behind the three-point line, rising, shooting—

Swish.

The ball traced a graceful arc and snapped through the white net, once again pulling all eyes in Madison Square Garden to Curry's agile footwork and smooth shooting. With the clean swoosh of the ball dropping in, the crowd's noise dissolved into helpless sighs.

Another three.

Then—

Curry turned, eyes landing on the sideline—on Lance. He broke into a grin, jogged over, and stuck out his right hand, flat and firm like a bamboo shoot—toward Lance.

Was Curry about to mess with Lance?

Smack!

Lance reflexively raised his hand, their palms meeting in a crisp high five. Curry spun 180 degrees in a flash and jogged back to defense with flair.

"Wow! Twenty-one seconds left, and Steph Curry is still so relaxed, even taking time to high-five a fan courtside."

"Looks like the Knicks' morale just took another hit."

"Wait a minute—that's not just any fan…"

The TV commentators finally got a clear look at the "fan's" face and burst into laughter, surprised and amused, their tone lightening.

That "fan": uh… did I just get played by the Baby-Faced Assassin?

MSG fans glared daggers at the "traitor" who was cheering for the other team—clenched fists, rolled sleeves, the air was thick with heat and resentment.

Then—

As Lance noticed the rising tension around him, his posture shifted subtly. Shoulders broad, arms still, eyes calm—suddenly, that presence. Everyone around him instinctively backed off.

Oh right… that guy's a monster on the football field. Not to be messed with.

Order restored.

In truth, this moment didn't change the game. The Warriors had complete control, the Knicks were helpless to recover, and Curry's fourth-quarter threes were like nails in the coffin. With the outcome certain, Curry even let himself flex a little.

112–123.

After a tough loss to Boston, the Warriors bounced back with an easy road win over the Knicks.

Meanwhile, the Knicks kept spiraling. Not even Lance's playoff-winning mojo could turn their luck.

Phew.

Lance let out a slow breath. Losses are never easy to swallow—especially at home. He was thinking about heading to the locker room to give a few words of encouragement when something caught his attention.

"Hey, Lance!"

A voice behind him. He turned instinctively.

A smiling face. A hand raised.

Lance raised his own hand to meet the high five, but then tilted his head in confusion.

Wait, what are we celebrating? Didn't the Knicks just lose?

But that wasn't the end—

One. Two. Three. More and more came forward.

Smiling faces, excited eyes, eager palms—Lance high-fived one after another, the cheers swelling through the stands.

Uh… is this okay?

Just a moment ago, MSG was furious over Lance's high five with Curry. Now, the final whistle blows, and nobody seems to remember that. The crowd's mood flipped like a switch.

Well… the loss was inevitable. Playoffs were a long shot anyway. Might as well have fun.

Maybe the Giants and Knicks were flops this year, and the Yankees flamed out early. Only the Rangers had any real playoff hopes. But at least—someone beat the Patriots.

That was worth celebrating.

Whatever James Dolan's real reason for inviting Lance, one thing was clear:

It worked. The buzz was real.

Social media was on fire again. Chinese fans were flooding their feeds in shock. The thunderous cheers in MSG alone were enough for Dolan to feel smug. The New York media were going to have a field day.

Incredible.

Lance genuinely felt the hometown energy in New York. This wasn't just a visit—it felt like his second home field.

"Lance! Lance!"

Amid all the shouting, it was hard to hear. Finally, a few security staff made it over and helped manage the chaos, drawing Lance's attention.

"Please come this way."

Behind him, waves of screaming and shouting, women confessing love, the whole crowd going mad—not for basketball, but for a football player.

The Knicks: … so we should be the ones under the bus, right?

Whoa!

A gorgeous blonde lifted her shirt, boldly flashing her curves while screaming:

"Lance, I'm yours!"

Lance didn't slow down—but the crowd behind him lost their minds. Men howled, veins bulging, red-faced and ready to explode. The Garden erupted into pure mayhem.

Just then, Lance, already in the tunnel, suddenly paused and took two steps back.

The entire arena nearly collapsed into chaos.

Security scrambled to form a shield around him. Fans thought Lance had been moved by their passion, so they only got crazier. The scene teetered on the edge of complete collapse. Even the Knicks and Warriors players were stunned.

They never imagined Lance would be this popular in New York. They just played their hearts out for two hours—and got upstaged by a guy who barely moved from his seat.

Can they curse now?

But Lance?

His attention wasn't on the hysteria. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked into the crowd, gaze low and serious, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Move aside."

"Hey, guys, calm down. Step back a little."

"Calm down!"

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Powerstones?

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