Chapter 225: The Finals Begin (1)
Though Golden 1 Center held far more seats than the old arena, tickets for the Finals were still impossible to get. Not only Sacramento locals, but fans from all over had rushed in overnight, eager to witness this historic moment.
“After all these years of playing, we finally made it to the Finals,”
Rudy Gay said, his tone light but full of meaning.
“Old man, no slacking off this time,”
Durant teased from beside him. “We’re counting on you, vet.”
“Get out of here,”
Gay burst out laughing. “I’m coming off the bench now, and you still expect me to carry the team? You trying to throw away the championship or what?”
As the two joked around, Malone stepped into the locker room.
“Alright, let’s go over today’s lineup.”
Holding a tactics board, he began calling names.
“Starters are the same: CJ, Booker, Butler, Durant, and Jokić. The rotation will be Gay, Thaddeus Young, and Oden. Ben and Bojan, stay ready!”
“Got it!”
After the strategy talk, it was almost time to hit the floor.
As the DJ announced each name, the players filed out through the tunnel into the roaring arena.
Today’s Cavaliers starting five were Irving, JR Smith, LeBron James, Kevin Love, and Tristan Thompson.
Their regular bench rotation included Richard Jefferson, Iman Shumpert, Deron Williams, and Kyle Korver.
To be fair, the Cavaliers’ roster wasn’t bad at all—just not quite at the Kings’ level.
Seeing Durant glaring at him like a rival predator, LeBron gave a faint, confident grin.
Whatever people said, one fact was undeniable: in today’s league, LeBron James stood alone as the most dominant one-on-one player.
Sitting atop his throne, LeBron knew that look all too well.
“Another would-be king slayer, huh?”
He smirked coldly.
Kevin Love glanced down, pretending not to hear.
It was the kind of line that sounded fine from the media or fans—but coming from your own mouth? It just didn’t sit right.
The Cavaliers won the tip.
LeBron brought the ball up himself. Kyrie and JR spaced out on the weak side to give him room to operate.
“You’re guarding me?”
LeBron chuckled.
“Who else?”
Durant smiled easily, then his expression hardened.
“It’s payback time—for 2012.”
“Oh-ho! King versus King right from the start!”
In the broadcast, commentator Mike Breen raised an eyebrow with interest.
“This play might just be a preview of the whole series.”
LeBron pounded the ball and barreled forward like a bulldozer.
Durant recognized the move—same old three-step attack pattern. He took a step back, angling to cut off LeBron’s drive.
Under Durant’s pressure, LeBron had to adjust, trying to create some space.
But just then—
Butler, who’d been guarding Love in the corner, caught LeBron’s movement in the corner of his eye.
The moment LeBron drifted toward his side, Butler pounced like a vulture scenting prey.
“LeBron! Watch out!”
Love shouted, but it was too late—LeBron suddenly felt the ball vanish from his hand.
“Smack!”
Butler had slapped it clean, scooped it up, and shouted,
“Fast break!”
He sprinted full-speed downcourt, CJ and Booker already racing ahead like twin streaks of purple lightning on each side.
Butler pushed the ball to midcourt, then fired a perfect lead pass to CJ cutting through the middle.
But as the pass left Butler’s hand, a blur of wine-red flashed—LeBron lunged at CJ like a hunting cheetah.
CJ rose for a simple three-step layup toward an open rim—
but just as the ball left his hand, a sudden chill ran down his spine, like unseen eyes watching him.
The next instant, he found out why.
A massive hand came out of nowhere from behind and smashed the ball mid-air.
“Smack!”
The ball shot into the stands like a startled bird.
“Roar!”
LeBron landed, pounding his chest and roaring in triumph.
“What a defensive play!”
In the broadcast, Mike Breen’s eyes lit up.
“The Kings’ defensive scheme is designed to push LeBron off his preferred driving lanes, forcing him into double-team pressure from the wings.”
He nodded approvingly.
“It’s a smart setup. With Durant containing him up front, the help defense has a much easier job. Plus, this strategy limits LeBron’s signature drive-and-kick game.”
Jeff Van Gundy, seated across from him, nodded in agreement.
“Exactly. You could already tell from that first play—the Kings came ready to lock LeBron down tonight. But that chase-down block from LeBron? Huge momentum boost.”
He elaborated,
“LeBron launched from near the baseline and covered the entire court in seconds. The Kings’ fast break was blazing, yet he still caught up.”
“It’s fine,”
Butler jogged over to CJ and murmured,
“At that pace, how many times can he do it? Scoring isn’t the key right now—let’s wear him out first.”
Since LeBron had sent the ball into the stands, the Kings retained possession with a baseline inbound.
Standing at the line, Jokić scanned the court, then suddenly got an idea.
“Jimmy!”
He barked, and instead of a routine pass or lob, he fired a sharp bounce pass—a bit of a gamble.
The ball hit the floor, JR Smith reached to deflect it, but it spun off at an odd curve, slipping past him.
Butler caught it cleanly, JR already out of position, and laid it in with ease.
“What?!”
JR froze, then realized what happened and yelled in frustration, his voice cracking.
“You’re cutting in on a pass now?!”
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