NBA: This center is incredibly strong.

"October 2000, Orlando, preseason game, an 18-year-old reminded me of someone I knew. That person wore number 32, dominated the city for four years, and then left. Today, a number 24 stood on the same floor, and with the same absurd style, shoved the ball into the basket. He wasn't Shaquille O'Neal. There's only one Shaquille. But in that instant when he jumped—just that instant—I swear, I heard the same wind!" —The Orlando Sentinel.

After local Orlando media reported on Chen Yan's game, he became a local celebrity.

Although his influence has not spread throughout the United States, as long as Chen Yan continues to deliver outstanding performances, it will only be a matter of time before he becomes famous throughout the United States.

"People are afraid of becoming famous, just like pigs are afraid of getting fat. Now, I'm sure someone has their eyes on me." Chen Yan was both happy and worried after reading the report.

The good news is that with the huge exposure, his fame has increased and his popularity has soared, which is conducive to collecting emotional points.

The worry is that if he can't maintain his performance, the media's opinion will immediately change.

The praise we receive now will turn into a barrage of doubts.

He didn't want to be someone else's stepping stone.

He didn't want the media outlets that were waiting to see him fail to succeed.

"What I give you is yours, and what I don't give you, no one can take away." Chen Yan was ready to meet the challenge.

In the five preseason games that followed, Chen Yan's performance was enough to silence all the doubters.

In these five matches, he collected a total of 53514 emotion points, bringing him one step closer to redeeming a new badge.

After six preseason games, Chen Yan averaged 18.6 points, 14.3 rebounds, and 3.0 blocks per game.

This data is simply incredible for an 18-year-old.

What's even more incredible is his playing style.

Standing at 216 cm tall and weighing 130 kg, he possesses a jumping ability completely disproportionate to his physique.

Those dunks weren't simply about "putting the ball in the basket," but rather they carried a kind of destructive, violent aesthetic.

The defender had clearly secured his position, but could only watch helplessly as those long arms flew over his head and slammed the ball into the basket.

With the preseason over, Chen Yan's domineering style of play naturally attracted the attention of some teams, while many others ignored it.

They believe Chen Yan has good potential, but the intensity of the regular season is incomparable to the preseason. Whether he can adapt to high-intensity games is still a question, so there's no need to worry.

Because of their misjudgment, Chen Yan had ample time to "level up" during the regular season, which ultimately cost them dearly.

......

In the Magic's coaching office, Rivers sat in an armchair, watching preseason game footage over and over again.

On the screen, Chen Yan repeatedly grabbed the backboard, leaped high in the crowd, and swatted the opponent's layup towards the stands.

That image reminded Rivers of someone—not a specific center, but a long-lost feeling.

That feeling is called: the restricted area is mine, and anyone who enters will pay the price.

"Doug, are you really going to start an 18-year-old rookie?" Assistant coach Van Gundy sat next to him, his tone clearly worried, feeling that Rivers was pushing him too hard.

Rivers did not answer immediately.

He paused the video on a particular scene—Chen Yan forcefully squeezed between two defenders during a contest, grabbed the offensive rebound with both hands, and then dunked while being surrounded by three defenders.

Chen Yan's expression in the video is calm, even somewhat wooden, but his hands gripping the basketball have bulging veins and distinct knuckles, as if he wants to crush the basketball.

Rivers pointed at the screen and said, "Looking at these six games, how many big men can hold their own against him?"

Van Gundy remained silent.

Indeed, Chen Yan's dominance in the paint was almost overwhelming during the preseason.

He's not the kind of center who relies on skill and footwork; his style is simple and direct—you want position, I'll give you position; you want physicality, I'll give you physicality.

When opponents think they've pushed him out of his comfort zone, he'll suddenly jump, using his amazingly long arms and incredible leaping ability to grab the rebound or make a block at a height no one could have imagined.

"He's better than John, and we need his defense. If he doesn't meet our expectations, we can make adjustments," Rivers declared decisively.

Just then, there was a knock on the office door, and Chen Yan walked in.

Rivers looked at him and suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of oppression from the young man's figure.

It's not the kind of aggressiveness that's deliberately displayed, but rather an innate, silent, and unassuming power.

He stood there like an iceberg that hadn't fully emerged from the water, and you knew that the volume beneath the surface was far greater than what you could see.

"Sit down, Chen," Rivers said, gesturing to a chair.

Chen Yan sat down, and the chair made a slight groan.

He glanced at Rivers, his gaze calm, without the nervousness or fawning often seen in rookies facing their head coach.

"Our first regular season game is against the Knicks. I want you to start at center," Rivers said bluntly.

Chen Yan didn't speak, he just nodded.

Rivers waited two seconds, confirming that the other person had only nodded and had no further reaction, before asking, "That's it? Nothing else to say?"

Chen Yan thought for a moment and then said, "The Knicks have a very strong interior defense."

"right."

"Their resistance was fierce."

"right."

"But I like confrontation."

Rivers stared at him for a few seconds, then laughed.

This was the first time since the preseason that he had seen something like excitement on the young man's face.

It wasn't arrogance or provocation, but rather the pure, instinctive anticipation of someone who truly loves basketball when facing a challenge.

"Starting center means you'll be matched up against Marcus Camby, facing their pick-and-rolls, protecting our paint, and grabbing every rebound," Rivers' voice turned serious. "You played well in the preseason, but the regular season is a different level of competition. Opponents will study you, target you, and do everything they can to pull you out of your comfort zone. They'll foul, shove, use dirty tricks to provoke you, and talk trash in your ear. Are you ready?"

Chen Yan slowly stood up, finally freeing himself from the chair.

He looked down at Rivers, who was sitting in a chair, and said something that stunned everyone present.

"Coach, I only care about one thing—who can take the ball away from me when it's in my hands."

The office was silent for about three seconds.

Van Gundy glanced at Rivers subconsciously and noticed that the head coach, known for his strictness, had a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, revealing a meaningful smile.

There was no emotion or relief in that smile, only the certainty of a head coach after confirming something—he had found someone he could entrust with the penalty area.

"Go to practice," Rivers waved his hand. "We'll start tactical training against the Knicks tomorrow. Chen, your task is simple—defend the paint, grab rebounds, and dunk every single ball that comes into the restricted area."

Chen Yan nodded, turned and walked towards the door, then habitually bowed his head slightly when he reached the door frame.

This is the trouble of being too tall.

Watching Chen Yan's departing figure, Rivers asked, "Stan, how far do you think we can go this season?"

Van Gundy thought for a moment and said seriously, "If Chen can maintain his preseason form, if he can adapt to the intensity of the regular season, if he..."

He suddenly laughed at himself. "Doug, you made me say so many 'ifs' just to get me to admit that this rookie might be the best draft we've had in years?"

"Isn't that right?" Rivers retorted.

He knew very well that as long as Chen Yan developed, along with Hill and McGrady, the trio could compete for the championship every season as long as they stayed healthy.

Duncan's absence is his loss.

Rivers believes that as long as he can hold onto this trio, the title of championship coach is just around the corner.