The Shot Heard 'Round Boston.

35-of-21 from the field. 5-of-10 from three. 13-of-14 from the line.

60 points, 8 rebounds, 5 assists.

That was Han Sen's stat line in front of the Boston crowd.

One minute away—if Stevens hadn't waved the white flag and pulled his starters, Han might've broken the all-time playoff scoring record.

Boston nearly had the record back in their house.

Not since 1986, when Michael Jordan dropped 63, had anyone put up 60+ at the Garden.

Shaq couldn't resist.

"I think Danny Ainge should take a page from Pat Riley and hang Han's No. 77 in the rafters."

Barkley laughed. "He'd rather die first."

By the time the game ended, Unmasking Han Sen had gone completely viral.

Because if anyone needed proof that Han was an absolute bastard?

Tonight, he gave them all the evidence they needed.

Especially when reporters asked Paul Pierce about his exchange with Han.

Pierce refused to comment.

But that didn't stop lip readers from catching what he muttered.

"That guy's a f***ing bastard."

And that's when things took an unexpected turn.

Because suddenly, 'bastard' wasn't an insult.

It was a badge of honor.

A reminder that in sports, greatness overpowers narrative.

Michael Jordan was an actual bastard off the court—but more people worshipped him than hated him.

As some fans on social media corrected, bastard wasn't even the right word.

'Tyrant' was more fitting.

---

Then, just when things couldn't get worse for Boston, bad news struck.

Isaiah Thomas was officially ruled out for the season.

According to sources, his hip injury had started back in the second round against the Raptors.

But Boston's medical staff never warned him about the risks.

When the Eastern Conference Finals escalated in intensity, his condition worsened.

By Game 3, he was done.

The moment the news broke, fans across social media jumped ahead.

"Cavs-Warriors 2.0 incoming!"

This wasn't just another Cavs vs. Warriors Finals.

It was LeBron vs. Cleveland, Part 2.

It was Wade vs. LeBron.

If last year's Cavs-Lakers matchup was big—this year was going to be even bigger.

But first, Boston still had a fight left.

And in Game 4, without Isaiah?

They shocked everyone.

The Celtics responded with a 114-103 win, evening the series at 2-2.

Durant dropped 43. Horford had 20 and 11. And for the first time all series, Boston had five players in double digits.

Stevens leaned into more ball movement, and without Isaiah dominating possessions, the offense flowed better.

Because as much as Isaiah had been their engine all season—he was also a double-edged sword.

When he was on, he tore defenses apart.

But when he wasn't?

He was a liability.

Between his lingering injuries and the physicality of the series, he had struggled.

And with him off the floor, Boston rediscovered their rhythm.

But it wasn't just about Boston playing well.

Han was gassed.

After his 60-point explosion, his energy had dipped—he finished with just 28.

It had been fun, but he felt it.

Four games down. Tied 2-2.

Game 5 was the real war.

---

Before Game 5 tipped off, the Western Conference Finals officially ended.

The Warriors swept the Spurs.

12-0.

A perfect run to the Finals.

With the West settled, all eyes turned back to the East.

Game 5.

A turning point in the series.

Stevens threw out an aggressive game plan—hard doubles on Han from the jump.

Force the ball out of his hands.

And for a moment?

It worked.

Then it backfired.

Because Han wasn't the problem.

Jokić was.

Jokić was still developing in many areas.

But passing?

That had been maxed out from the start.

Han easily slipped away from the traps.

Jokić, waiting at the top of the key, was the perfect release valve.

When Han cut off-ball, Jokić found him.

When Han relocated, Jokić hit him in stride.

Boston had no answers.

And it wasn't just Han bouncing back.

The rest of the Cavs had recharged, too.

With two full days of rest, their legs were back under them.

And then?

Things got petty.

Because in Game 3, Barkley and Shaq had joked about daddy talk.

Now?

Cleveland's home crowd ran with it.

As the Cavs pulled ahead, the DJ fired up the chant.

DJ: "Who's your daddy?"

Crowd: "I AM YOUR DADDY!"

Boston's players didn't just lose focus.

They lost their minds.

By the time it was over, Cleveland had a 118-98 blowout win.

Han rebounded with 34 points in three quarters.

Jokić put up a 18-10-11 triple-double.

Boston?

A disastrous 28 turnovers.

In the postgame presser, Stevens was fuming.

"That chant should be banned. It violates league policy."

He might as well have screamed, "We're here to play basketball, not be someone's son!"

And technically?

The NBA did have rules against this sort of thing.

Back when the Lakers played in Milwaukee, a fan held up a '69' jersey at Bronny.

LeBron called it disrespectful because the NBA doesn't allow No. 69.

But banning a crowd chant?

Good luck with that.

At most, the league fined the Cavs' DJ $500.

A warning shot.

Of course, Cleveland covered the fine.

$500 for a Finals ticket?

A bargain.

---

Now, with a 3-2 lead, the Cavs flew back to Boston.

And just before Game 6, one last headline broke.

Isaiah Thomas had attempted painkillers—desperate to play.

It didn't work.

His season was over.

Say what you will about his physical limitations.

He wasn't Iverson.

Hell, even Iverson had limits.

But Isaiah's heart?

No one could question that.

Not even Han.

But this wasn't a fairy tale.

Not every story had a happy ending.

---

TD Garden, Game 6.

The Boston crowd was electric.

This was their final home game of the series. No matter what, they had to protect their house.

And from the opening tip, that energy turned into a unified chant:

"HAN SEN IS A BASTARD!"

Since the league hadn't punished Cleveland's fans, Boston's fans saw no reason to hold back either.

This was war.

And on the court, Stevens ramped up his tactics against Han.

The previous strategy wasn't enough, so he adjusted—this time, not only forcing the ball out of Han's hands but also denying him from even catching it.

The result? Boston was essentially playing 3-on-4 on defense, but with their home-court energy fueling them, it actually worked—for a while.

But Malone didn't just sit back.

He pulled J.R. early and sent in Wade to take over ball-handling duties.

Wade came off the bench to give Cleveland depth, but that didn't mean he couldn't handle a high-stakes battle.

With Han dragging Boston's perimeter defense, Wade relentlessly attacked the gaps, breaking down their interior.

But Stevens was stubborn.

If Wade had to score 30, so be it. As long as Han wasn't the one orchestrating, Boston could live with it.

And that stubbornness paid off—at least when the second units came in.

Without Wade, Cleveland's offense stalled.

Boston, even without Isaiah Thomas, had a bench just as strong as Cleveland's.

Malone was forced to extend his starters' minutes.

That meant Stevens had to do the same.

---

Game 6 turned into an all-out war of attrition.

As fatigue set in, both teams shifted their attacks inside. The defenses collapsed into the paint.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the game had turned into pure chaos.

Bodies were hitting the floor.

Every basket was a fight.

For a moment, it felt like basketball had time-traveled back to the early 2000s.

Final minute. Tie game, 96-96.

Han caught a pass from Jokić, attacked the rim, and twisted through two defenders for a high-degree-of-difficulty layup.

Landing, he exhaled hard.

This wasn't just a slugfest.

This was even more brutal than last year's battle with Miami.

---

Boston came back down.

Durant's contested jumper missed—but Horford boxed out Jokić and snatched the offensive board.

At this stage, experience took over.

Horford immediately kicked it back out to Durant.

Second chance.

One dribble, rise up—

Splash.

The Garden exploded.

Malone called timeout.

Final 30 seconds.

Cleveland drew up a motion set to free up Han off-ball.

But as Jokić went to pass—Bradley jumped the passing lane and stole it.

Boston ran the break.

Han reacted instantly, fouling Smart before he could get the ball ahead.

With the bonus in effect, Smart went to the line.

Stevens quickly burned a timeout.

Jokić walked to the bench, his hands gripping his head.

His hands squeezed his hair, frustration written all over his face.

Han walked over, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax."

Jokić had been so good that people forgot—he was still just a second-year player.

Making mistakes in crunch time? That was normal.

Not making them? That was the real anomaly.

Jokić exhaled, still shaken.

"In my country, you make a mistake like that? They dock your pay."

Han laughed, messing up his hair.

"This is only Game 6, Nikola. Even if we lose, we take it back home.

But who says we're losing?"

---

Timeout over.

Smart at the line.

First free throw— pure.

Second free throw—

Front rim.

Bounces up.

Hangs.

Drops in.

The crowd nearly had a heart attack.

20 seconds left. Cleveland ball.

Wade brought it up, quickly swinging to Jokić at the top.

He cut through the lane, pulling a defender with him.

Han curled around Covington's screen, moving like a shadow.

Boston's defense swarmed.

Jokić passed—Han caught it.

And instantly—four defenders collapsed.

No space.

No breathing room.

Han didn't panic.

He dropped his shoulder, forced his way inside.

Like a black hole, he pulled Boston's entire defense into him.

And then—

He flung the ball over his head.

Blind.

A no-look missile.

The ball barely cleared Boston's defense—

And landed right in Jokić's hands.

Wide open.

Top of the arc.

Han had just rewritten the play.

This wasn't the plan.

Malone had drawn up a two-for-one attempt, aiming for overtime.

Even Han hadn't told Jokić he'd do this.

But he did it anyway.

Jokić froze.

Just for a fraction of a second.

Any player in his position would.

His three-point shot hadn't been consistent all season.

But then—

Han's words echoed in his head.

"Even if we lose, we take it back home."

So what the hell was there to fear?

Durant lunged—

Too late.

Jokić let it fly.

His release wasn't quick.

But it was smooth.

NBA fans had debated for years—

"Could Yao Ming have adapted to the modern game?"

"Could he have become a three-point shooter?"

Jokić was the answer.

For big men, three-point shooting wasn't about volume.

It was about touch.

And Jokić?

He had soft hands.

The ball reached its peak.

The entire arena held its breath.

The ball climbed.

Turned over at its peak.

Started to fall.

And then—

SWISH.

Like a gunshot in the silence of TD Garden.

Boston's heart stopped.

Cleveland's bench erupted.

Game over.

Cleveland wins.