Chapter 396: The Blue-Purple Showdown (5)
When the Kings finally stopped holding Durant back and let him play without restraint, it was like unleashing a tiger down the mountain.
“What kind of monster did we just let loose…?”
Coach Kerr stood on the sideline, brow tightly furrowed, muttering to himself in disbelief.
The series had reached Game 5.
Aside from Game 4 in Golden State—when the Kings went ice-cold as a team and handed the Warriors a win—the series score now stood at 3–1.
In the eyes of most people, losing Butler meant losing the strongest shield on the wing. Naturally, the Kings’ overall strength should have dropped a level.
But Malone’s deployment of a stacked frontcourt sent a very clear message to everyone.
Even with Butler down, Sacramento still had plenty of bodies to throw at you!
And Butler’s injury only intensified the Kings’ sense of unity.
The once-relaxed young players were now twisted into a single rope, grinding through every possession with clenched teeth, fighting for every inch.
Back on the court, Curry’s desperate carry job kept the score within ten.
Being down big had every Warrior stretched to the breaking point—one wrong step and they’d fall into an abyss, a full year of effort erased in an instant.
Under those circumstances, the Warriors held their breath together, determined to extend their playoff run.
“Swish!”
After sprinting through a long sequence of off-ball movement, Curry finally shook free just enough to get a look—barely an open shot. With Murray already flying at him, he forced up a tough three and drilled it.
“Is this the foundation of two championship teams?”
Even Barkley, sitting in the broadcast studio, sounded moved at this point.
“Both teams have emptied the clip. There’s no special tactics left to break down—just punches landing blow for blow, and vicious biting on the defensive end.”
“This is a pure test of stamina and willpower!”
“And that’s exactly the situation the Warriors want,” Smith said after a brief pause.
“In the first four games, the Kings made one thing painfully clear—playing them straight up just doesn’t work.”
“That’s why Kerr came up with this approach.”
Barkley spoke with a meaningful tone.
“It’s like two warriors facing off. Sacramento’s fighter has thicker armor and sharper weapons, so Kerr drags them both into the mud and forces a brawl. Only then does the Blue Army even have a sliver of hope.”
“But that hope is only theoretical.”
Smith cut him off before he could finish.
“Kerr’s entire plan assumes both sides are human.”
Smith’s eyes burned as he stared at the giant screen.
“But the Kings have the Grim Reaper.”
As his words fell, Durant erupted on the court.
A quick fake shook his defender. He slipped along the baseline, caught the pass from outside, and detonated a two-handed dunk.
“Give me the rest of the shots!”
Durant glanced up at the game clock, silently gauging how much fuel he had left.
Enough. More than enough.
He had the stamina to go all out until the final second.
When Durant spoke, the other Kings players visibly relaxed.
If Durant was ready to put the team on his back, then all they needed to do was run to the right spots and play defense.
Four minutes remained. The Kings led 97–92.
After the change of possession, the Warriors tried to free up the Splash Brothers through constant movement.
By this point, the Warriors’ once-proud passing and cutting system had completely broken down. Everything came down to Curry holding the ball, using endless screens to create space for himself—or a fleeting opening for Thompson.
With Green setting the pick, Curry barely carved out a shooting window.
But before he could even gather, Booker slid back over, sealing off that already tiny gap.
The clock kept bleeding. A shot-clock violation loomed.
Curry had no choice but to force it.
“Clang!”
The ball smashed off the rim and bounced away.
Jokić, already planted under the basket, secured the rebound. This time, he didn’t even think about pushing the break.
The tempo was firmly in the Kings’ hands.
They didn’t need to score fast—quite the opposite.
Jokić’s only goal now was to slow everything down.
As long as the possession ended cleanly, every trip needed to be stretched as long as possible.
He handed the ball to Booker, and the Kings’ five players ambled into the frontcourt, running their sets at a leisurely pace, bleeding the clock.
With eight seconds left on the shot clock, the ball swung back to Durant at the top of the arc.
Catching it, Durant exploded from a standstill. His long strides carried him just inside the three-point line, where he rose straight up over Green for a simple, brutal stand-and-shoot jumper.
Swish.
“Is this really the gap in strength…?”
Green could only watch as the ball dropped cleanly through the net, completely helpless.
He’d never been an explosive athlete to begin with, and in front of Durant’s overwhelming talent, the defensive instincts he prided himself on suddenly felt laughable.
After the basket, the Warriors immediately inbounded and pushed the ball upcourt.
Thompson caught it in the corner.
He hadn’t even fully set his feet yet. Booker was already right there, body squared up. It was a terrible shot.
But time was gone. There was no room left to hunt for a better look.
Thompson rose the moment he caught it, forcing the shot.
Even with Booker draped all over him, Thompson leaned on years of muscle memory and somehow sent the ball home.
99–95.
The gap shrank to four.
That three reignited the Warriors’ hope of clawing their way back.
What followed was a tug-of-war—Kings doing everything they could to drag the pace down, Warriors pushing with everything they had to speed it up.
“One minute left!”
The score read 108–105.
Just a three-point difference.
Durant stood at the free-throw line and shook his head hard, flinging sweat from his hair onto the hardwood. A ruthless resolve burned in his eyes.
They call me a cupcake?
They think I only got here by riding the Kings’ finished system?
Then today I’ll show everyone—
Even by myself, I can do this.
There is no long night coming.
No torches needed.
I am the brightest sun of this era.
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