"Bring it!"
Luke tossed the ball to Anthony and settled into a defensive stance.
Anthony caught the ball and immediately dropped into his trademark triple-threat position.
Seeing this, Luke's trash-talk radar went into overdrive. "The triple-threat. Again? Do you really think that move is so unstoppable? Don't you realize that holding the ball for three seconds every single possession makes you an offensive black hole? The only reason Denver's offense functions is because Chauncey Billups is patient enough to fix the rhythm you break. Put any other point guard out here, and your pace would be completely disconnected from the team!"
Luke's words hit a nerve because they were factually grounded. Since Billups joined the Nuggets, his biggest job had been carving out a specific "ISO zone" for Melo while keeping the rest of the team organized. While Anthony was an elite scorer, his tendency to halt the ball for those few seconds of observation really did disrupt the flow of the game.
"Shut up!"
Melo was fuming. The triple-threat was his signature, his pride, and his primary weapon. Now, it was being dismissed as "black hole behavior" by a kid who hadn't even set foot in the NBA.
Stung by the critique, Melo ditched the stance. He put the ball on the floor immediately, intending to use his sheer power to blow past Luke.
Luke felt a surge of joy. This Melon is so prideful. One insult and he abandons his best weapon.
In Luke's estimation, Anthony's triple-threat skill was likely Grade A or higher. If Melo chose to give up his elite stationary game to use his relatively average dribble-drive, Luke's defensive pressure decreased significantly.
Anthony dribbled slowly, looking for a crack in the armor. But Luke moved like a living wall, maintaining perfect defensive distance.
Melo tried a few crossovers, but realized Luke's center of gravity wouldn't budge. Gritting his teeth, he decided to bully his way in. He drove hard to the right, using his superior weight to shoulder into Luke.
Luke reacted instantly, sliding his feet and stonewalling the path. Even so, Melo's "built" frame was no joke; he leaned into Luke and forced his way toward the rim like a tank.
Just as he was about to gather the ball for a layup, Luke's freakishly long arm snaked in. Catching the split-second gap before Melo had both hands firmly on the ball, Luke poked it loose.
"You think you're LeBron? Tank-style drives don't suit you. You don't have that kind of power," Luke continued, chipping away at Anthony's mental fortitude.
He was finding that trash-talking wasn't just a tactic—it was addictive. The system store had a Grade S skill called [The King of Flexing] (Larry Bird's legendary trait), and while it cost 100,000 points, Luke realized that being able to break a superstar's spirit was a power all its own.
Anthony took two deep breaths. He retrieved the ball and tossed it back to Luke, muttering, "Your turn on offense. Let's see you handle my defense."
But Luke remained as steady as an old dog. He threw the ball right back without a second thought. "I told you, your defense is trash. I have no interest in it. I just want to see if your offense is actually salvageable."
Standing on the sidelines, Idan Ravin was nearly doubled over trying not to laugh. He knew exactly what Luke was doing. If Luke tried to play offense, his mediocre handles would be exposed within two seconds. Anthony might be a lazy defender in the NBA, but against a rookie with half-baked dribbling? He'd devour him.
But Anthony didn't know that. He only saw a Chinese kid who was arrogant enough to look down on a six-year veteran and a top-three pick.
"Fine! You asked for it!" Anthony growled.
Round three. Anthony didn't mess around this time. He went back to the triple-threat, his bread and butter.
Triple-threat means three options: Pass, Drive, or Shoot. In a 1v1, the "Pass" button was broken. Luke only had to guess between two.
Anthony suddenly jerked his upper body—a convincing shot fake. Luke bit, leaping to contest. Melo smirked, tucked the ball, and spun around Luke's hip in one fluid motion.
Luke, fueled by Tony Allen's defensive instincts, didn't panic. The moment his feet touched the hardwood, he lunged after Melo like a hunting dog.
Anthony didn't go all the way to the rim. Instead, he pulled up for his signature mid-range jumper. But just as he brought the ball to its peak, ready to release, a shadow loomed from behind.
SLAP!
Luke had chased him down, using his elite wingspan and verticality to swat the ball clean out of the air from behind!
In a real game, it might have been a marginal foul, but in a private 1v1, no one was calling it.
Anthony stood frozen. He looked at the ball rolling away, then at Luke's expressionless face. This college kid had the defensive timing of an NBA All-Defensive First Teamer.
"Hey, kid," Anthony's voice finally softened, tinged with genuine curiosity. "What's your draft projection? Why haven't I heard of you?"
In Melo's mind, anyone who could lock him up like that had to be a Lottery Pick.
"Second round," Luke answered shortly.
"Second round?!" Anthony's voice jumped an octave. "Are those draft scouts blind? A guy who can stop Carmelo Anthony three times in a row is ranked in the second round? That's an insult to me!"
Anthony was genuinely shaken. Three possessions: a blinded miss, a stripped gather, and a chasedown block. If this guy was just a second-rounder, what did that make Carmelo Anthony?
The contempt in Melo's eyes vanished, replaced by the respect players only give to those who can hold their own on the court.
"Kid, I apologize for my attitude earlier. But if you're projected for the second round, then..."