"Hey, Little Guy!"
The words slipped out instinctively—and just half a beat later, the name floated up in Lance's mind:
Stephen Curry.
Lance definitely remembered it. Curry sounded just like curry, and yet the name had danced on the tip of his tongue and refused to come out.
Curry, chewing on his mouthguard, blinked in surprise—clearly not expecting that. He tilted his head with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Was that supposed to be trash talk?"
Lance's expression was all sincerity as he asked, "Isn't this the Knicks' home court?"
It was a subtle jab—a reminder that Curry was on the road and should expect to be heckled. But Lance's tone and face didn't match the message; it was all playful teasing, not aggression, and the vibe stayed easygoing.
Just as rumored—Lance didn't play by the usual rules.
Curry, being the good guy he was, struggled with banter. Snappy comebacks and jokes weren't really in his wheelhouse.
But pride wouldn't let him lose the moment.
He saw Lance's innocent expression—but the mischievous sparkle in his eye gave him away. Curry grinned and played along.
"Looks like someone didn't do his homework. That trash talk didn't land at all."
Lance wasn't fazed. He looked thoughtful, genuinely curious, "A hint?"
Curry dribbled the ball backward a few steps but didn't say anything—just smiled brightly, that baby face shining.
Lance raised an eyebrow. "Wait… you don't mean 'baby face,' do you?" As he spoke, he gestured with a mock face-patting motion. Curry visibly flinched—a dead giveaway—and Lance burst out laughing.
"Haha. I always thought being called 'baby-faced' was a compliment. Everyone who underestimated you for that must regret it now."
Curry smirked, then casually passed the basketball straight at Lance.
Thud.
Lance caught it cleanly. He straightened up, shoulders wide, and squared to the hoop. "Right. Just like rookies."
With that, he lightly flicked the ball with perfect form. It sailed in a clean, tight arc across the air. All eyes in the arena locked on its flight.
Even Curry watched.
Swish.
A crisp, flawless sound. Nothing but net.
Roar.
The entire crowd—everyone who had just seen it live—erupted. Cheers, whistles, whoops echoed through Madison Square Garden.
Both the Warriors and Knicks players warming up paused, stunned, their eyes tracing the arc back to the shooter… only to find Lance sitting casually in his courtside seat, not moving.
No way. That couldn't be him, could it?
A seated three-pointer? From that distance?
Nah, he's not a quarterback or anything.
Guessing it was Lance felt less believable than imagining Curry had just launched a backward three for fun.
The Knicks players especially stiffened. Looked like Curry was heating up early—this game was going to be brutal.
Only Curry knew the truth.
He turned, genuinely impressed, and gestured toward the hoop. "Didn't expect that. Got a few tricks, huh?"
Lance: Pure luck. Total luck.
No false humility—he really had just tossed it without thinking. Even he was shocked when it went in. Surrounded by a sea of attention, he fought to stay cool, projecting calm while inside his mind raced.
Could this be the effect of the Tomlinson training templates kicking in?
Regardless of the internal chaos, Lance shrugged and held up his hands. "What can I say? Natural talent. Can't hide it."
Curry cracked up. He spread his arms and let the ball dance between his hands. "Guess I gotta step it up if the rookie's already showing off."
He turned and jogged onto the court.
Others might not see it, but both the Knicks and Warriors players noticed: Curry's energy just flipped into overdrive. He was fired up, ready to light it up—and all thanks to Lance.
The Knicks players shot Lance weird looks: What the hell did you say to him?! This game was already tough—now you made it worse?!
This season, the Knicks were floundering at 21–26. Playoffs felt like a distant dream. The Warriors? 37–10 and every bit the title contenders. Now with Curry supercharged, things looked bleak for the home team.
Lance: Wait, that's all it took?!
If Dolan had known his special guest might sabotage team morale before tip-off—and motivate the opponent's MVP—he might've dragged Lance out of the arena personally.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
"Please welcome the starting running back for the AFC Champion Kansas City Chiefs—
Liii… VEEEEE!"
As the warmups ended and the game was about to begin, MSG's announcer wasn't about to let this moment pass quietly. With great flair, he directed the spotlight right at Lance.
And so, the NBA broadcast delivered one of its most absurd and iconic moments:
This was Madison Square Garden. The Knicks were hosting the Warriors. Yet somehow, the biggest star of the moment—
Was an NFL player.
Worse (or better, depending on your POV): thousands of viewers across the Pacific Ocean, tuning in from China, were completely baffled.
Who was that?
Why was there an Asian face on their screen that had nothing to do with either team?
Though Lance had made headlines in China thanks to his NFL breakout, many NBA fans didn't follow American football. Until now.
Suddenly, they were paying attention.
Crowds roared in MSG. Thunderous applause, cheers, chants, and even people standing to salute Lance. He was getting superstar treatment.
Meanwhile, Chinese viewers started asking:
"Who is Lance?"
Wait—was he some billionaire heir? A new Hollywood star?
And just like that—again—Lance was trending.
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Powerstones?
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