Chapter 232: Reaching the Summit (2)
“Daddy, where are we going?”
In the economy seats of a commercial flight, a young boy sat upright, looking curiously at his father.
“Be good.”
Hearing his son’s question, the man turned and gently ruffled his hair.
“We’re going to Cleveland, Ohio.”
“Cleveland? Isn’t that where LeBron plays?”
The boy’s eyes widened with excitement.
“Yeah,” the father said with a chuckle. “And tonight, our Kings are going to beat him.”
The man leaned back, eyes bright with anticipation.
“Tonight’s the Finals, kiddo. And we’re going to watch history—Sacramento’s first championship. I promised myself I’d be there when it happened.”
The boy’s mouth opened in awe. “Really? We’re going to see them win?”
“Exactly. You’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”
The father’s tone grew firm with pride.
“Someday, when people talk about where they were when the Kings finally won it all, you’ll be able to say—‘I was there.’”
He wasn’t alone in that thought. After seeing how unstoppable the Kings had been, countless fans were convinced they wouldn’t need to wait for another home game. Anyone who could afford the trip began heading for Cleveland.
Finals tickets were hard to come by, but with so many disheartened Cavaliers fans selling theirs, the secondary market was on fire these past two days.
The Kings organization spared no effort either. Even without a home game, the Golden 1 Center was packed with fans, ready to watch history unfold together. Across Sacramento, malls and public plazas had their big screens broadcasting the Finals live. The whole city seemed to pause for the Kings.
So when the Kings players entered the arena and saw the stands packed with purple, they all froze for a moment.
“If it weren’t for the Cavs logo on the floor, I’d swear we were back home,” Gay joked with his hands on his hips.
“Guys, all these fans came all this way to support us—let’s not let them down!”
“You got it!” Butler shouted from the sidelines. “Let’s wrap this up quick so we can start our vacation early!”
Amid the electric atmosphere, the game tipped off.
But soon after it began, the Kings realized something was off.
With the series already at 3–0, the Cavaliers’ will to win had hit rock bottom.
But as the saying goes, pride comes before the fall, and desperation brings out the fight.
Free of all pressure, Cleveland suddenly came alive.
Irving held the ball outside the arc, squaring up against CJ. He crossed hard to create space, then faked a hesitation move that sent CJ off balance.
The moment CJ lost position, Irving exploded forward. Butler rotated over to help, but before he could set his feet, Irving spun past him cleanly. Near the paint, he extended his arm and dropped in a soft floater.
The crowd erupted as the ball swished through.
“Irving’s on fire tonight.”
Watching him torch their defense again and again, Chen Yilun rubbed his cheek awkwardly.
This was getting out of hand.
Everyone was already seated, the meal was ready—and here came Irving, saying, Hold on, I’m not done playing yet.
“No way.”
Glancing toward the trembling figure of Old Man Russell sitting courtside, Chen Yilun made up his mind.
The poor old man—every Finals, as soon as there’s a potential clincher, he has to travel with both teams. Last year had been brutal.
They turned a 3–1 lead into a seven-game slog. The poor Lord of the Rings flew back and forth between Cleveland and Oakland four times.
Rumor had it, he nearly didn’t make it back one of those times.
Chen Yilun shook his head.
No, not again. They might not care, but he did.
It ends today. No more dragging this out.
With that thought, he called Coach Malone over during a timeout.
“What are you grinning at? Can’t you see we’re behind?”
Seeing Chen Yilun’s serious expression, Malone quickly straightened up.
“What’s the rush? It’s fine if they steal one. We’ll be gentlemen about it—and make some extra cash.”
In the playoffs, unless two teams had bad blood, stronger teams sometimes let one game slip—a so-called “gentleman’s sweep.”
It made for a polite finish, and better yet, a fifth game meant another home date—and another big payday.
A single Finals game could bring in millions, sometimes tens of millions.
Forget sportsmanship—this was a business league. You’d be crazy not to take the money.
“Forget the profits,” Chen Yilun said patiently. “This is our first title. Don’t think about money. I can make that back selling a couple of draft picks. Just win it.”
Malone blinked, then nodded, realizing he’d been overthinking it.
As he turned away, he muttered under his breath, “Man, Boss Chen’s really loaded now—just waving off millions like it’s pocket change.”
Still, he did exactly as told. Money wasn’t his concern anyway—that was Chen Yilun’s problem. His job was to win.
“Enough fooling around!”
Seeing the team still joking around, Malone’s patience snapped. He’d just been chewed out, and here they were grinning like kids.
“All of you still laughing?”
He slammed his tactical board hard.
Ever since he’d gone viral for punching one to pieces a while back, Malone had picked up the bad habit of venting on his boards.
“Chen just called me over and tore me a new one! Look at what you’re playing out there! What the hell is that?!”
“Get back out there and take it seriously—or see what happens this summer!”
After the outburst, the Kings players dropped their smiles. They huddled briefly to adjust their plan, then stormed back onto the court with renewed intensity.
“Here we go.”
Butler rubbed his hands together, staring straight at James.
“Kevin’s been carrying us long enough. My turn now. Let’s see how much ground I’ve closed since our last real fight.”
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