章節 252: Our Dynasty.
The Heat's next possession fell apart in dramatic fashion when Durant, driving to the basket, dribbled the ball off his own foot and out of bounds. It was clear Han Sen's consecutive clutch plays weren't just fueling the Grizzlies' morale—they were suffocating the Heat's confidence.
Realizing the shift, Spoelstra quickly called a timeout.
Han Sen slumped onto the bench, draping a towel over his head as if retreating into his own world. After a moment, the team doctor approached with a portable oxygen tank. Han took a couple of deep breaths before nodding, signaling he was ready to head back out.
The camera caught him as he rose, igniting a ripple of excitement through the arena.
Even when down 3–1 in the series, Heat fans had clung to hope. Their team wasn't just skilled; they were well-conditioned, built for endurance. But now, watching a visibly drained Han Sen—his body barely holding on, yet his spirit refusing to break—they felt something new.
Despair.
The unshakable realization crept in: We can't beat this man.
Back on the court, Wade earned a pair of free throws after colliding with Marc Gasol in the paint. Rising with a heavy sigh, Wade's determination remained unbroken. He sank both shots, trimming the Grizzlies' lead to five, 98–93.
Han Sen's next shot rimmed out, but Marc Gasol grabbed the offensive rebound, muscled through Perkins, and converted the putback with a foul. Gasol roared triumphantly after the play, pounding his chest.
For the Grizzlies, this wasn't just a game. Winning for Han tonight was a mission.
Han, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, exchanged a fist bump with Gasol before forcing himself upright. Gasol's free throw was good, pushing the lead to eight.
On the Heat's next possession, Bosh cut to the basket after a screen from Durant and elevated for a layup. But as he brought the ball up, it was gone—Han Sen had swiped it cleanly.
The crowd froze in disbelief. Han Sen? Stealing the ball? In this condition?
It didn't end there. Han sprinted down the court alongside Conley, who, encountering Wade's defense, dropped the ball back to Han. He soared for a layup as Wade tried to contest, but the contact felt like hitting a blazing inferno. Han scored through the foul.
For the first time all night, the Grizzlies led by double digits.
The crowd erupted, not in support, but in pure bewilderment.
How do you beat someone who even a 40-degree fever can't stop?
The Heat called another timeout.
Han stood under the basket for a moment, seemingly frozen, before Rudy Gay jogged over to check on him. Draping Han's arm over his shoulder, Gay helped him back to the bench.
It was an image destined for history books. Jordan's 'Flu Game' ended with him collapsing into Pippen's arms; Han's moment now had its own iconic frame, a new masterpiece of resilience.
The Grizzlies kept their composure, gathering around Han instead of breaking into celebration. Around them swarmed reporters and camera crews, eager to capture this legendary moment.
When Han finally stood up again, cameras zoomed in. He simply raised three fingers toward the lens—signifying the Grizzlies' third consecutive championship.
That simple gesture was all it took.
The final seconds ticked away, and the Heat had no more answers. The score was 112–104 when the buzzer sounded. Mike Conley clutched the ball tightly as if it were his lifeline.
"They did it! They actually did it!" Barkley's voice boomed from the commentary booth.
"God gave 23 to Jordan. And the rest—77—belongs to Han!" Shaq proclaimed, repeating one of Han's most iconic quotes.
This time, no one dared argue.
Han Sen, barely upright, leaned on Rudy Gay and Zach Randolph for support. The final whistle seemed to release all the strength he'd been holding on to.
The Grizzlies' players held back their celebrations, gathering protectively around their leader.
Later, in the locker room, Han managed to take a quick shower to cool down. By the time they returned to the court for the trophy presentation, the arena was still packed with Heat fans.
Surprisingly, few had left.
Han's performance had done the unthinkable: it had earned the respect of even the opposing crowd.
Hate him. Love him. It didn't matter. Tonight, both emotions coexisted.
Adam Silver beamed as he prepared to present the trophy. Dynasties might not have been the league's favorite outcome, but a global superstar like Han Sen was exactly what the NBA wanted.
The Grizzlies' first title was an underdog triumph. The second, a display of dominance. The third? Pure legend.
Han Sen was no longer chasing Jordan's shadow. He was now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
...
"For the third consecutive year, the Memphis Grizzlies are NBA champions! They join the Celtics, Bulls, and Lakers in accomplishing this historic feat. Let's congratulate them—the 2014 NBA Champions!"
As Adam Silver's words echoed, the crowd erupted into cheers, applause, and whistles. Witnessing the birth of a dynasty, the rise of a legend—this was history in the making.
Silver handed the championship trophy to Michael Heisley, the often-criticized Grizzlies owner. A rare smile broke across Heisley's face, though one might wonder if he regretted his earlier lowball contract offers to Han Sen.
The trophy made its way to Han Sen, and the arena hit a fever pitch of celebration. At that moment, the NBA officially crowned its new basketball god.
A swarm of reporters quickly descended upon Han Sen.
"Can I touch your forehead?" a female reporter asked unexpectedly before beginning her interview.
Han Sen nodded.
She brushed his forehead and immediately pulled her hand back, her face painted with astonishment. It was like touching a furnace.
"How did you do it? Scoring 40 points, clinching the dynasty—while battling a fever?" Her incredulous expression wasn't feigned.
"I said it before: the Finals would end in Miami."
His voice was hoarse but carried enough weight to ignite the arena. At that moment, Han Sen earned another nickname: the King of Swagger.
He wasn't done. Han Sen seized the moment, leaning into the attention.
"All three of my championships were won in Miami. This city is my lucky charm."
This statement provoked a cascade of boos from Heat fans who had stayed behind to witness the Grizzlies' coronation. But for Han Sen, every jeer was another source of power.
Amid the celebrations, Rashard Lewis, now a Grizzlies player, reflected on his journey. "Last season, I was bitter after losing to them. But now I understand why this team succeeds."
For Lewis, the choice to join Memphis wasn't just a career move—it was destiny.
Shortly after, the Finals MVP was announced.
Han Sen's series averages of 38.5 points, 6 rebounds, 5.5 assists, and 2 steals, including three 40-point performances, made the vote unanimous.
Bill Russell, aided by staff, rose to present the MVP trophy to Han Sen.
Han embraced Russell, recalling the legend's promise to return so long as Han continued winning.
"Take care of yourself," Russell said, feeling the searing heat emanating from Han's body.
"You too," Han replied, his gratitude unmistakable.
As Han lifted the Finals MVP trophy, the crowd erupted into chants of "MVP!"
Rudy Gay, noticing Han swaying slightly, rushed to bring him a chair. Han declined to sit but used it for support. Once the noise subsided, he began his speech.
"This has been an incredible journey. Four years ago, no one believed Memphis could achieve a dynasty."
It was more than a victory speech—it was a farewell.
"I want to thank Chris Wallace for bringing me here. That trade? The greatest in NBA history."
Wallace's face flushed red, a mix of pride and mild embarrassment.
"I want to thank Lionel Hollins. Though he didn't see this through to the end, he laid the defensive foundation that made all of this possible."
Despite their past disagreements, Han gave credit where it was due.
"Most importantly, I thank Dave Joerger. He unlocked our full potential. If there were a Greatest Coach of All Time vote, my ballot would go to him."
Joerger chuckled, fully aware that his career owed much to Han's brilliance.
Han then turned nostalgic. "And Reggie Theus, my college coach at Barry University. He gave me the stage to shine. He's my Dean Smith."
Theus was visibly moved, reflecting on the pivotal night he supported a young Han Sen after a grueling practice—a decision that had changed both their lives.
Han turned to his teammates, a sly grin breaking through the exhaustion on his face. He gave them a once-over, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the crew he'd been rolling with these past four years.
"Man, look at us," Han started, chuckling softly. "A bunch of so-called misfits from a small market, turning the whole league on its head.
Rudy, you've been my guy since day one—always there, hitting those clutch shots like it's nothing.
Marc, you're the genius of the squad, holding it down in the paint and making those big-brain plays.
Mike, the silent killer—calm as hell, but when it's time to deliver, you never miss.
And Z-Bo…" Han laughed, shaking his head. "You're the heart and soul, man. You taught me how to scrap, how to dig deep when there's nothing left in the tank."
He let the words hang for a moment, then continued with a playful smirk. "Four years, no trades. That's unheard of, but that's us. We didn't need no superstar shake-ups or blockbuster moves. Nah, we ran it back every year and dared the league to stop us. Spoiler alert—they couldn't."
The team burst out laughing, and Han's grin grew wider. "But real talk, I wouldn't trade any of y'all for anyone else. We bled together, fought together, and now, we're champions. Again. You're my brothers, and no matter where we go from here, this dynasty belongs to us. Forever."
Rudy couldn't hold it in—he pulled Han into a tight hug, and the rest of the team piled on like it was one last huddle. The crowd roared, clueless about the deeper meaning behind Han's words, but on the court, surrounded by his squad, it felt like the perfect way to close the book on something legendary.
"Hey," Han added with a sly look as they broke the huddle, "now don't go crying too much, Rudy. We've got a trophy to celebrate."
The team laughed, wiping tears and throwing arms around each other. It wasn't just an end—it was a swagger-filled farewell to a dynasty they built with their own hands.
"Finally, to our fans—thank you. I may not know all your names, but this dynasty would not exist without you. No matter where life takes me, I'll always love you."
As the crowd roared its approval, streamers rained from the rafters. The chants of "MVP!" grew deafening.
Han lowered the mic and closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him. Sweat glistened on his fevered forehead, captured by photographers for what would become the defining image of the Grizzlies' dynasty.
It was a scene of resilience, triumph, and farewell—forever etched into basketball history.
-End of Chapter-
Translator's note: Took a while since I've been preparing for my trip. Also wrote Han's entire speech since in the raws Author just skips over it by 'thanking his teammates'. I didn't like that. It's his last year, it's gotta be a tear jerker damn it!
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