WebNovels

Chapter 29 - 29 The Crown’s Campaign

The Finals smoke of gunpowder had barely cleared. In Boston—where the air hummed with victory's joy and defeat's bitterness—a new, bigger storm was brewing. This wasn't a battle about basketball. It was a war for legacy, for how legends are told, for ultimate glory. The weapons weren't basketballs. They were headlines, columns, TV specials, and trending topics. The battlefield wasn't the hardwood. It was the minds and memories of millions.

LeBron James' team—and the media forces he'd already woven into his plan—kicked into high gear the second Game 7 ended. They moved like a well-oiled machine.

ESPN's postgame special set the tone faster and more one-sided than anyone had seen in years. In the studio, the big screen looped LeBron's Finals highlights on repeat: thunderous fast-break dunks, no-look passes through traffic, cold-blooded shots when it mattered most—and, front and center—those dramatic clips of him carrying the team alone in overtime, fighting to close the gap.

"Look at this!" a veteran analyst banged his desk, fired up. "34.1 points, 11.3 rebounds, 10.2 assists per game! That's what an 18-year-old rookie just did in the Finals! Has anyone in history done that? No! Even Magic Johnson—when he won Finals MVP as a rookie, his numbers were insane. But LeBron's line? This is complete dominance! He practically carried the team on his back!"

Another analyst jumped in, pulling up a ready-made comparison chart. "Let's dig into the details. Magic averaged 21.5 points, 11.2 rebounds, 8.7 assists in the 1980 Finals. Great? Absolutely—especially that Game 6 miracle where he filled in for Kareem at center and dropped 42-15-7. But," he pivoted, pointing to LeBron's column, "LeBron's outscoring him, outrebounding him, outpassing him! And his advanced stats—PER, Win Shares—they're all rookie Finals records! This isn't just good. This is era-defining!"

The show ignored the big stuff: Magic's team context, his role in the offense, the fact that Magic won the title. Instead, it fixated on straight-up number comparisons—and LeBron's "heroic" narrative of fighting alone, even in loss.

Next, Sports Illustrated's website dropped a cover story. The headline screamed: The New King Rises: LeBron James vs. Magic Johnson—A Conversation Across Time. The article oozed with drama:

"In 1980, Earvin defined the modern point guard with his magic. In 2003, LeBron redefined what a basketball player could be—with his all-around game. Both shook the Finals as rookies. But LeBron faced a San Antonio Spurs team that was older, tighter, and more disciplined—Tim Duncan and Gregg Popovich, a two-man dynasty. The pressure on him? More than most could handle. Magic's legend is about being a surprise hero, filling in at center. LeBron's legend? Being the only core, fighting a dynasty to the final second—tough, dominant. That Finals MVP trophy? It'd be the ultimate nod to that 'core value.'"

On social media, hashtags blew up: #LeBronRookieFMVP, #BetterThanMagic, #ChosenOne. Hundreds of "fan" accounts posted edited clips—LeBron vs. Magic, side by side—with fiery captions: "Who's the real GOAT rookie? Numbers don't lie! #LeBronEraBegins"

At the same time, quiet talks started about Magic's "luck." "Experts" wrote pieces pointing out Magic had Kareem—a superstar—by his side (even if Kareem missed some games). LeBron? He was "carrying a brand-new team that still hadn't gelled." The hint was clear: LeBron's feat was "more real."

Lisa Kruger's media team moved like ghosts across every platform. They dropped these polished stories right where they'd hit hardest, steering the conversation. They weren't arguing. They were announcing a fact: LeBron James was a better Finals rookie than Magic Johnson. He deserved all the praise—including the Bill Russell Trophy.

Inside the locker room, the mood was weird. The joy of the run clashed with the sting of loss. And all the media love for LeBron? It left other players—especially the veterans who'd fought just as hard—feeling a quiet, odd sadness.

Ray Allen—the new sharpshooter—packed his gear silently. He picked up a printed stats sheet, walked over to LeBron. LeBron was surrounded by teammates, looking tired but calm, like he'd planned this.

"LeBron," Ray said, calm, holding out the sheet. "Interesting comparison."

LeBron took it, scanned it fast. It laid out his and Magic's rookie Finals stats—side by side. At the bottom, a small line: "Using equal-weighted metrics, LeBron James' Finals Performance Score (GPSI) is projected to be ~18.7% higher than Magic Johnson's."

LeBron's lips twitched up—just a little, cold and satisfied. He looked up at Ray, eyes dark. "Thanks, Ray. Just numbers, right?"

"Numbers are everything sometimes, though," Ray said, meaning every word. He walked away. He saw through the media storm. He knew his place in this young king's plan: a sidekick, a star meant to make the sun look brighter.

LeBron folded the sheet like it was trash. But the sharp flash in his eyes gave him away. This was all going to plan.

His phone buzzed. A text from Lisa: "Phase 1'media narrative' setup done. Phase 2—'Legacy Ties' and 'NBA Future' stories drop in 1 hour. Get ready. The storm's coming."

LeBron deleted the text, stood up. He had a postgame presser to do—another key stop on this "coronation tour."

The press room was bright, flashbulbs popping nonstop. LeBron sat in the middle—coach and teammates on either side. Every question was about him.

"LeBron, what do you think about the Magic comparisons? Do you think you deserve FMVP?"

LeBron leaned forward, voice humble, sincere. "Earvin's a legend. An icon. I grew up watching his tapes. Just having my name next to his? That's an honor. I never tried to be better than him. I just tried to help my team win. As for the trophy… that's up to you guys [the media] and the league. My job's to play ball."

Perfect. He avoided the comparison, showed respect to a legend, and tossed the decision back to the media—knowing half the reporters in that room were already on his side, thanks to his machine.

Another reporter pushed: "But the numbers say your performance was historic—better than Magic's. Does that mean basketball's redefining 'greatness' now?"

LeBron smiled. "Basketball evolves. Players evolve. We stand on giants' shoulders, so we see further. But 'greatness'? Its core never changes. It's wanting to win more than anything—and working for it. Earvin had that. I'm just trying to chase it."

Flawless. He nodded to the numbers, lifted the conversation higher. He wasn't a cocky kid trying to rewrite history. He was a guy "chasing greatness."

After the presser, Danny Ainge stopped LeBron in the hallway. "LeBron, media's loud," Danny said, testing him. "About the FMVP…"

"Danny," LeBron cut him off, calm but firm—like he wasn't asking. "It's about the team's work. Whatever happens, we'll be back next season." He never said he wanted the trophy. But every word screamed: The leader who took the team this far? He deserved it.

Danny nodded, said nothing. He knew the truth: League execs and the media voters? They were drowning in this media narrative wave. LeBron James' name was already glued to "historic rookie performance" and "better than Magic potential."

The reborn king was using media and minds—his best tools—to build a golden staircase to the throne. That FMVP trophy? It wasn't just a pat on the back for the past. It was the first official crown for his future dynasty.

Everything was ready. All that was left? Hearing his name carved into the trophy.

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