"So Barkley really called it."
Malone stood on the sideline, watching the action with growing anxiety as he rubbed his chin.
From the opening moments of the Western Conference Finals, LeBron James and the Lakers had delivered a blunt warning shot.
The frontcourt sweep defense Malone had pinned high hopes on ran straight into a wall against James.
The once-reliable Anunoby–Siakam pairing suddenly looked fragile in the face of James's outright unreasonable physical gifts.
"They really were thrown in before they were ready…"
Seated courtside, Chen Yilun couldn't help but sigh as he watched the Kings' defense struggle.
Both of them were future stars at the forward position, no doubt about it—but right now, they still lacked experience on this kind of stage.
Siakam was relatively better off. He'd spent two years sharpening his game in the G League and was frequently called up for official games.
Anunoby, on the other hand, was playing his first truly high-intensity game with a major role.
So against James, the two of them might as well have been non-factors.
Watching James score at will in the paint, the entire Kings roster fell into a brief state of confusion.
"What are you all doing?!"
During the break between quarters, Malone seized the moment and tore into his players without hesitation.
Knowing they'd played poorly, the players all hung their heads, like frostbitten eggplants, unable to lift their eyes.
"Coach, there's only so much they can do."
Just as the atmosphere hit rock bottom, Gay stepped in to cool things down.
"They're still kids, after all. There are limits to what you can ask."
What Gay said wasn't wrong.
Although the Kings had Durant in his prime and veterans like Gay to stabilize things, the roster itself was oddly structured.
Players like Gay and Rose had long since slid to the bottom of the rotation, while the only ones truly in their prime were Durant and Butler.
Before, with Durant and Butler holding the line on both ends, the younger players only had to follow along and do the dirty work.
But now that Butler was out, the defense suddenly felt leaderless.
"How about I go in for the second half?"
Gay said casually as he loosened his joints.
"You? Are you sure?"
Even Malone froze for a moment before asking in disbelief.
This was Gay—the same veteran who usually coasted through games without breaking a sweat. Now he was volunteering to play? Had the sun risen in the west?
"Don't look at me like that."
Gay glanced around, caught everyone's strange expressions, and couldn't help laughing.
"Today, I'll give you little punks another lesson."
As he spoke, Gay pulled off his warm-up jacket—only to realize he wasn't wearing his jersey underneath. Looking a bit embarrassed, he jogged over to his locker to dig one out.
"This lesson is called—"
He spoke casually while rummaging through his things.
"You can be lazy. You can coast. But you can't actually be bad."
He finally found the jersey he'd stuffed away at the bottom of the locker, shook out the wrinkles, and pulled it on.
"I'm not joking."
Gay looked seriously at Malone.
"At this point, it's time for us old guys to burn what's left of our fire."
He laughed again. "I thought I'd just lie back and coast my way into a dynasty. Didn't think I'd still get minutes."
As soon as Gay said that, the tension in the locker room visibly eased.
The younger players weren't lacking talent—they just needed someone to stand up and lead them.
Gay suiting up again was exactly what the team needed to steady its morale.
After halftime, when fans saw Gay slowly walking onto the court, the arena fell silent for a brief moment—then erupted into thunderous cheers.
As time went on, this veteran who had stayed with Sacramento through its darkest years only grew in stature among Kings fans.
He'd endured the lows, grown alongside the team, and sacrificed his own role for the franchise's future.
Chen Yilun had no doubt that when Gay eventually retired in Sacramento, he would become a living totem of the city.
With Gay on the floor, the entire team's aura changed.
In terms of pure ability, the current Gay was no longer on the level of Siakam or even Alexander.
But in games of this caliber, what most teams were really playing for was momentum.
As the Kings' stabilizing pillar, as long as Gay was still standing on the court, their spirit wouldn't collapse.
"Great shot."
Gay couldn't help praising Durant after another successful isolation.
Durant smiled back at him.
"Sorry about this, man. Had to drag you out to steady everyone at a time like this."
"Don't bother with that."
Gay waved it off casually. "We're all family. No need for formalities. You just charge ahead. As long as this old body's still here, this house won't fall."
"Alright."
Durant nodded firmly and turned back to the next possession.
...
...
"Now that's real depth."
In the Lakers' locker room, James wiped sweat from his face with a towel as he spoke with emotion.
The Lakers had managed to suppress the Kings in the first half, but once Gay entered the game, control slowly slipped back to Sacramento. In the end, the Kings held on to take Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals.
Durant, the team's only true superstar at the moment, poured in 40 points. Jokić added a 20–10–10 triple-double, Booker chipped in 18, and Gay—pressed into action—scored 13 of his own.
It was a game the Kings won by sheer force of will.
"They really are tough."
Davis sat with his arms crossed, his voice edged with frustration.
"The moment Rudy checked in, the whole team felt different. Otherwise, we definitely would've won."
"Dwelling on what-ifs is pointless,"
James cut him off. "We lost Game 1, sure—but I don't think that's a bad thing."
His eyes burned with intensity.
"Sacramento isn't as unbeatable as we thought. They even had to bring old Gay onto the floor. That means our chances are better than we expected."