Hearing Chen Yilun's words, Malone felt as though the sky was collapsing.
"Boss, you're my boss."
After holding it in for a long time, that was all he could manage to say. "Even the old farm owners back in the day didn't work people this hard."
"My coaching staff isn't just taking care of the Kings this season. We're constantly traveling between Sacramento and Stockton just to give those kids a better development environment."
"If we have to do this again next year, I won't be able to take it."
"What boss?"
Chen Yilun, unusually, didn't accept the title. "How many times have I told you? When we're working, use my title!"
"Alright, alright—President of Basketball Operations Chen!"
Malone couldn't help but laugh in exasperation.
"The league only gives us fifteen official roster spots. Add two more, and we'll explode!"
"It's too early to worry about that."
Chen Yilun gestured for Malone to calm down.
"We'll make our picks first. The summer's long—plenty of time to adjust the roster."
Truth be told, Chen Yilun had big expectations for this year's draft. Everything else was secondary—there were a few young prospects he was determined to get his hands on.
As for the current roster, at least for this summer, he planned to do everything possible to keep it intact.
The rest could wait until 2018.
...
...
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Western Conference Finals! Are you ready?!"
Golden 1 Center, home of the Kings.
The DJ's booming voice echoed across the arena.
The Kings players stood on one side, staring at the familiar blue-and-gold figures on the opposite end.
"Last year, we lost to them," Butler said in a low, steady tone, taking a deep breath.
"We all remember how bitter, how suffocating that loss felt. I don't need to remind you, do I?"
CJ, Jokic, Booker, and the others beside him nodded solemnly.
"But this year, it's our best chance. We have Kevin now. Our team's more mature—more united."
"Are you ready to take revenge?"
"Yes!"
Every player who had experienced last year's defeat roared in unison.
"Then get out there and tear them apart! Grind their bones to dust!"
"Yeah!"
Watching the Kings players fired up like they'd been injected with pure adrenaline, the Warriors on the other side grew tense.
"What terrifying chemistry," Iguodala murmured from the bench as he adjusted his knee brace.
"They're like sharks that smell blood."
Livingston, sitting next to him, nodded. "Teams like that are the scariest. They'll do whatever it takes to win."
"I guess it's true—fated rivals always cross paths again," Steve Kerr said quietly from the sideline, locking eyes with Chen Yilun in the stands.
"Never thought it would come down to a showdown between us."
When Kerr first took over the Warriors, his biggest imagined rival had always been his mentor Popovich and the Spurs he led.
But plans couldn't keep up with change. The sudden rise of his junior, Chen Yilun, had caught everyone completely off guard.
Now, his teacher had been eliminated twice in two years by his own protégés, forced to bow out in defeat.
Facing the ferocious Kings, Kerr and his Warriors could only grit their teeth and fight for that Finals ticket.
"Game on!"
The Kings won the tip and went on the attack.
Back on the Western Conference Finals stage, CJ took a deep breath. Gone was last year's nervousness—replaced by a surge of excitement he could barely contain.
Staring down Curry, CJ quickly signaled a play.
On the first possession, he ran a screen to draw defenders, then immediately passed to Durant waiting on the perimeter.
Durant caught the pass, didn't hesitate for a second—one shot fake to shake off Barnes, a sidestep, and then a three-pointer.
"Swish!"
The ball sliced through the net.
"Nice shot!"
The Kings fans erupted, the arena shaking with thunderous cheers.
They were targeting Barnes!
Kerr instantly saw through Malone's plan—it couldn't have been more obvious. A blatant, open strategy with no attempt to hide it.
You want to go head-to-head in pure firepower, huh?
A drop of cold sweat slid down Kerr's forehead.
He hadn't expected Malone to be so direct—no feeling out, no warm-up—just dropping bombs from the start.
But what left Kerr truly desperate was that he had no real counter.
Go shot-for-shot with Curry?
Even if Durant tired, there were still Butler, Jokic, and the rest of those monsters waiting behind him.
Curry sensed the danger too. After exchanging a quick glance with Thompson, he used a screen, stepped back two paces beyond the arc, and launched.
"Swish!"
The deafening roar instantly died down.
Another impossible three from Curry.
Countless teams had fallen to that same shot.
"Defend what you can," Curry murmured to Barnes as they retreated.
Then he turned to Thompson. "Minimize contact on offense—save your energy. This one's gonna be tough."
But before Curry could finish, the Kings suddenly accelerated—five players shooting forward like bullets toward the Warriors' defense.
"The corner!"
Iguodala jumped up from the bench, shouting in panic.
Butler had already turned into a ghost on the weak-side corner. Seeing no one tracking him, he cut along the baseline in a sharp V-drive straight to the rim.
CJ swung the ball to Booker at the top of the arc. Seeing Curry and Thompson preparing to trap him, Booker fired a bounce pass that sliced through the Warriors' zone, finding Butler wide open under the basket.
Butler caught it and exploded upward, throwing down a ferocious dunk.
"What the—?"
Kerr stood courtside, trying to make sense of the last few possessions.
"They're running a fast break?"
He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
Weren't the Kings known for the Princeton and motion offenses? Since when did they run a fast break?
And look at that lineup—Jokic is still on the floor! That's not exactly your prototype for speed.
Mobility was everything in a run-and-gun offense.
How were they pulling this off with Jokic on the court?
Before Kerr could wrap his head around it, the Warriors bricked another shot.
Jokic rose high over Gasol for the rebound and hurled it downcourt like a shot put.
Butler, catching it beyond the arc, sprinted to the logo and swung it to CJ at the weak-side 45.
CJ wasted no time—one sharp pass to Durant cutting down the lane.
Durant caught it, took one step inside the free-throw line, and took off—slamming home a tomahawk dunk with ease.
"It's not a run-and-gun," Kerr muttered as realization dawned.
"They're running a seven-second counterattack!"
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser