Chapter 135: Counterattack
“Huh?”
After packing up his things, Chen Yilun was ready to head home for some rest. But as soon as his car pulled up to the entrance, he noticed the lights still on at the practice facility.
“Who’s still in the gym after a game like this?”
He stopped the car and walked back inside.
The moment he entered, Chen Yilun spotted a familiar figure. “Jimmy, why are you still here this late instead of resting?”
Butler, who had been working on his shooting, flinched at Chen Yilun’s voice. The ball clanged off the rim and bounced away.
“Boss, what are you doing here?” Butler casually tugged at his jersey, wiping sweat from his face and revealing muscles as neatly sculpted as artwork.
“I was just about to head out, but I saw the lights on and decided to check in.” Chen Yilun looked around. “Guys, head home and rest. Right now, recovery is more important than anything else.”
But Butler wasn’t alone. Jokić and his European buddy Bojan were also on the far side of the court, grinding through drills.
“Well, this is a surprise.” Chen Yilun strolled over, pretending to be casual. “Divac used to tell me dragging you guys to practice was like pulling teeth. And now you’re here on your own?”
“Heh.” Jokić, who wasn’t much of a talker, recognized there was no blame in Chen Yilun’s tone. He just gave a sheepish grin without saying anything back.
“We came here because we wanted to.”
After catching his breath, Butler resumed shooting.
“Sure, it feels a little like cramming for an exam at the last minute, but I can’t sleep when I go home. Might as well stay and get some more reps in.”
Though he played it off casually, Chen Yilun could see the anxiety flickering in Butler’s eyes.
“Jimmy.” Chen Yilun hesitated before finally speaking.
“I know what I’m about to say might not sink in right now,” he said slowly, hands in his pockets. It wasn’t that he was stalling—he was weighing every word, careful not to crush the already fragile morale.
“But I’ll say it anyway—you’ve all done an incredible job.” His eyes swept over Butler, Jokić, and Bojan, who had barely seen minutes all season.
“You need to understand—teams full of rookies usually don’t achieve anything for years. But look at you—you’ve made it all the way to the semifinals.”
“Our opponents are strong, and honestly, Coach Malone and I are running out of ideas.” Chen Yilun gave a self-deprecating laugh and spread his hands. “But that’s on us, not you. If the ending can’t be changed, then at least enjoy the journey.”
“Enjoy the beauty of competition. Or just the simple joy of playing basketball. Whatever happens, Coach and I will stand in front of you. So go out there and just play your hearts out.”
He gave them a reassuring glance before turning to leave.
“Practice a bit longer if you want, but make sure you rest. I’ll check with security tomorrow, so don’t think you can fool me.”
As they watched him walk away, the three players were left in silence.
“Nikola, you’re one lucky bastard.”
Butler broke the quiet with a sudden remark.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Caught off guard, Jokić scratched his head in confusion.
“You haven’t been in the league long. For a second-round pick, the team’s really giving you a chance to grow.”
A trace of envy slipped into Butler’s voice. He had clawed his way up step by step, forcing management to notice him. But this kid? He got personal training from Divac from the moment he arrived, and the front office gave him all the time he needed to develop.
“Looks like the boss and coach have been under serious pressure too.” Butler rolled his sore shoulders.
“They’ve done enough for us. Now it’s our turn to repay them.” Stripping off his sweat-soaked jersey, Butler headed toward the sideline.
“The day after tomorrow—we have to win, no matter what. Even if it’s just for Yilun and Coach Malone.”
“Yeah!” Jokić nodded firmly. “This time, I’m not losing again!”
These past two days, Jokić had been burning with frustration. Getting beaten down by Duncan and Aldridge—veteran and youngster taking turns—was brutal.
...
“Today we’re changing things up!”
In Sacramento’s home arena, Malone’s voice was heavy as he addressed the team.
If they lost this one, it would likely be their last home game of the season.
“Gay, you’ll anchor the bench unit today!”
Since he’d already been told beforehand, Gay didn’t react. He knew the team was standing at the edge—everything had to make way for victory.
“Greg, you’re starting in Gay’s place.” Malone’s tone was serious as he looked at Oden.
“Me? …Alright!”
Oden froze at first but then nodded with firm resolve.
A starting role? It had been so long.
“Oh? Switching up the lineup, huh?” Popovich watched the Kings take the floor one by one, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s more like it. This is how you make a game interesting. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
But his smile quickly disappeared.
Oden’s impact was immediate.
The Oden–Jokić pairing wasn’t a classic twin-tower look. Jokić could stretch the floor out to the three-point line, while Oden—after a summer and regular-season training with Chip—had developed a reliable mid-range jumper.
That allowed them to open up space for cutters or suddenly crash the paint together, clogging the already tight restricted area.
On one possession, Duncan had sealed position, ready to grab what should have been an easy rebound. But Oden suddenly used brute force to nudge Duncan a step forward.
That single step knocked Duncan off balance. Oden snatched the offensive rebound over his head and calmly finished with a hook shot.
“That’s a push! That’s a foul!”
Duncan shouted at the baseline official—a rare outburst from him.
But the referee just glanced at him and let play continue.
Duncan was about to protest again, but the words caught in his throat.
Maybe there wasn’t a foul. Back when he was younger, in those inside battles, he had used far rougher moves himself.
So why had he been shoved aside so easily?
Puzzled, Duncan looked up at Oden retreating on defense, his massive back filling Duncan’s vision. For a moment, Duncan felt a wave of disorientation.
I really am getting old.
Author's Note
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