Chapter 231: Reaching the Summit (1)
Cleveland, a few days later.
A heavy, somber atmosphere filled the Quicken Loans Arena.
“First it was Oakland, now it’s Sacramento,”
a Cavaliers fan muttered under his breath, sitting in his seat wearing a team T-shirt.
“We’ve had it rough. It’s been years since we caught a real break.”
His words echoed the thoughts of many Cavaliers fans.
When LeBron James returned from South Beach to form the Big Three, everyone believed the glory days were back.
But first came the Warriors, and now the Kings—
three straight years fighting uphill battles.
Yet, what Clevelanders feared most wasn’t this Finals—it was LeBron’s decision in the upcoming summer.
After last year’s championship, reports had already surfaced suggesting he was considering leaving.
Unlike his first departure to Miami, though, this time was different.
After LeBron had poured everything he had into delivering Cleveland’s first-ever championship,
the fans had already made peace with whatever came next. Some even shouted,
“LeBron, you can leave! It’s okay!”
Thinking of those well-meaning fans, LeBron now wished he could go back in time and slap himself.
“What were you thinking, you idiot? Talking about bringing Cleveland a three-peat and building a dynasty? You weren’t even drunk that day!”
Every time he remembered it, embarrassment hit him like a wave.
Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? Hadn’t Miami taught him enough? He still owed Miami fans five championships!
But as they say—once words are spoken, they can’t be taken back.
He’d already cornered himself, so now he could only face it head-on.
“Let’s go, guys!”
After all that internal turmoil, that was all LeBron could say.
“Same rhythm as last game. I’ll control the pace, Kyrie backs me up. Come on, brothers—Sacramento’s not scary if we play like last year. We’ve got this!”
His words reignited the team’s fighting spirit. The Cavaliers players raised their right hands together.
“Let’s go!”
...
“Alright, we’re changing things up today.”
In the Kings’ locker room, Malone—holding a fresh whiteboard—gathered the team.
“Before, we ran a twin-post system with Jokić and Durant, while CJ and Booker spaced the floor.”
He began sketching quickly on the board.
“But today, here’s what we’re doing.”
“Jokić stays at the high post. Butler and CJ rotate as secondary ball-handlers.”
Then he pointed the marker at Booker.
“You set screens for Durant at the 45-degree angle. Durant won’t worry about playmaking today. You, kid, don’t hold anything back—attack full throttle!”
Compared to Malone’s usually intricate systems, today’s plan was almost brutally simple.
Its sole purpose: to fully unleash Durant’s scoring ability.
Malone had drawn up this plan because the last game had left him furious.
Now, he just wanted to end it fast.
Lock it down—unleash Kevin!
...
Right from the tip-off, Cleveland sensed something was off.
Unlike the calm, methodical Kings from the previous two games,
this version came out blazing.
Jokić took command at the high post, turning into a ruthless passing machine.
CJ and Booker alternated as ball-handlers, running plays before feeding Jokić for second passes.
Each crisp delivery sliced through Cleveland’s defense like a scalpel.
After LeBron forced his way inside for a hard-earned two, he glanced at the scoreboard—
and it felt like the world was collapsing.
Just one quarter in, it was already 24–13.
And those 13 points? He’d carried every single one himself.
While he was still reeling, Durant received another pinpoint pass from Jokić and calmly drained a mid-range jumper over Love.
That single play summed up the entire night. Against the fully unleashed Kings, the Cavaliers had no answers.
By the end of the third quarter, the deficit had ballooned to nearly 30.
At the start of the fourth, Coach Lue waved the white flag, sending in the bench.
LeBron sat on the sidelines, staring blankly ahead.
In all his long career, he’d faced countless great opponents—
but it had been years since he’d felt this powerless.
For a moment, he was back in 2007,
when a young, raw version of himself was crushed by the peak Spurs.
Tony Parker had carved up his defense like it was nothing.
That helpless feeling—it had been a long time.
...
“What are you two staring at? Get out there!”
Malone snapped at the two players zoning out at the end of the bench.
“Huh? Oh—oh!”
Josh and Bojan blinked, then realized what was happening—
they were being subbed in. Their faces instantly lit up with excitement.
Garbage time?
Who cares—it’s still the Finals!
The two rushed onto the court, eager to make an impression.
Talk about luck—this was what “choice over effort” looked like.
A second-year and a third-year second-rounder, doing almost nothing all season, and here they were in the Finals!
Then Richardson, feeling a little too hyped, fired off a flashy behind-the-back pass—
straight to Coach Lue standing on the sideline.
At that moment, Lue had completely zoned out, his mind blank.
But as a former player, instinct kicked in—he caught the ball and, without thinking, mimed a jumper.
Only after releasing it did he realize,
“Wait—I’m the coach! What the hell am I shooting for?!”
The crowd erupted in laughter. Grinning, Lue handed the ball back to the ref.
Richardson, mortified, hunched his shoulders and shuffled back on defense—
only to hear Malone’s furious roar right behind him.
“You little punk! Wrong time to mess around, huh? You’d better be ready after the game!”
...
After Richardson’s comic relief, the game ended 119–92.
When the series hit 3–0, the Kings’ locker room wasn’t filled with cheers.
Instead, the players calmly packed their bags, ready to leave.
“This feels weird,” Booker muttered as they walked out.
“What’s weird?” Butler asked, leaning closer.
The two had gone from rivals to friends, discovering they shared the same fire and pride.
It was no surprise they’d grown close.
“It just feels unreal,” Booker said, scratching his head.
“I thought this series would be a war, but it’s barely felt like one—and now we’re about to be champions.”
“Hahaha!” Butler burst out laughing.
“You haven’t had enough yet, huh?” He threw an arm around Booker’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry! The series isn’t over. Next game, I’ll make sure you get your fun!”
Author's Note
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