"Hmph!"
Melo grunted, firing the ball back at Luke. "You take it. Your turn. Let me see what you can do on the offensive end."
What could he do? Not much.
Luke had no intention of attacking, but his tongue remained as sharp as ever. "Your defense is so trash, there's no point in me scoring. I'd rather just keep testing your offense."
Anthony gnashed his teeth. This kid's mouth was pure poison! Defense was Melo's Achilles' heel—no matter how many 20-point games he dropped, critics always hammered him for his lack of effort on the other end.
"If you don't play defense, you'll never be a superstar," Luke continued, relishing the way the trash talk felt. "You'll just be a 'Stat-Padding Melon.' Look at Kobe. Not only does he drop 30 a night, but he's a fixture on the All-Defensive First Team. If you could do that, it would've been the Nuggets representing the West this year."
"But you? You'll never pull that off."
"LeBron just won MVP. Wade had a ring and a Finals MVP by his third year. As the third pick of the 2003 'Platinum Class,' you're starting to look like the odd man out, aren't you? The lowest achiever of the bunch."
"And the word on the street? Everyone says you only made it this far because you're riding Chauncey Billups' coattails. Seems true—last year you were a first-round exit, but the second a real leader like Billups arrives, suddenly you're in the WCF?"
Every sentence was a jagged needle pricking Anthony's nerves. But Luke didn't stop; his mouth was a machine gun, and he was out of ammo.
"Shut up!" Melo roared.
"Shut up? Why? I just locked you up. The winner talks, the loser listens. You failed, so you be the one to shut it. Loser!"
"You little—shut your mouth before I shut it for you!"
Anthony's fists were white-knuckled. He was seconds away from lunging. At this point, David Stern and league images were the last things on his mind; he just wanted to vent his rage. Growing up in the tough neighborhoods of Baltimore and having ties to the "underground," he had never been disrespected like this.
"My name isn't 'little' anything. I have a name. It's Luke Thorne! Remember it!"
Seeing Melo's fighting stance, Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket, placed it carefully on the floor, and beckoned him with a hand. "Come on then! Just don't cry into a towel like a coward when I beat you down, the way you did after Kobe sent you home."
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, Idan Ravin appeared.
Seeing the two squared up, Ravin rushed between them. "Hey! What are you two doing? No fighting in my gym!"
He had only stepped away to use the restroom, leaving Melo to put up some warm-up shots. He never expected to return to a potential crime scene.
At the sight of Ravin, Anthony slowly unclenched his fists and waved a dismissive hand. "It's nothing, Idan. The kid is just... interesting. He's Chinese, right? I was just asking if he knew any Kung Fu."
Luke was slightly surprised. He expected Melo to pull rank and have him kicked out immediately. At least the guy is man enough to handle his own business, Luke thought.
"Fine," Ravin said, though he clearly didn't believe the Kung Fu story. He turned to Melo to introduce Luke properly. "This is Luke Thorne, a freshman from Davidson. He's declaring for the draft."
"Davidson? Steph Curry's school?" Melo recognized the name. Curry's Cinderella run to the Elite Eight the previous year had made Davidson a household name in the sports world.
"Exactly. Steph just left, but Luke stayed behind. You mentioned you needed a defensive specialist to practice your offensive moves against? He's your man. His defense is—"
"I've already had a taste," Anthony interrupted with a dry smile. "It's... decent."
"Good. Then let's start. Your handle is still the weak point. Here's the plan: morning is non-contact drills, and in the afternoon, you and Luke will do full-contact sessions."
Despite being called the "Offensive Encyclopedia," Melo's dribbling was actually a liability. He relied on the triple-threat, the jab step, and the mid-range jumper. In the Lakers series, the increased physicality of the playoffs made his regular-season handles look sloppy. He couldn't penetrate the Lakers' interior, forced to settle for contested jumpers, which resulted in a mediocre 40% shooting percentage while Kobe coasted at 48%.
"Idan, I think I still need to warm up. Let me play a few more rounds with Luke first," Anthony said, his eyes narrowing. He was still smarting from that first miss and was desperate to teach Luke a lesson. He told himself the first shot was just him being careless—now, he would show this rookie what an NBA All-Star was truly capable of.