Chapter 314: The First Playoff Game
“Great! This is perfect!”
Chen Yilun sat in his office, staring at the freshly released financial report, his eyes narrowing into happy slits as he smiled.
Tickets for the first playoff game sold out the moment they went on sale. Even though the team had already anticipated the frenzy and raised prices significantly, the fans’ enthusiasm was completely unstoppable.
“You know what—seriously,”
Chen Yilun muttered as he looked over the numbers.
“Our fan market is even better than I expected.”
“That’s only natural,”
Divac said with a grin from across the desk.
“Fans are always like this. As long as you’re winning, all kinds of ‘ten-year diehard fans’ crawl out from every corner. Worshipping strength is human nature.”
Chen Yilun barely heard him. His eyes were locked on the bright surplus figures in the report, feverishly calculating how much he stood to earn.
He had to admit—Ranadivé’s method really worked. Lately, he’d been paying much closer attention to the team’s profitability. After all, this was money going straight into his own pocket. Of course he cared.
“But this year’s playoffs are really worth watching,”
Divac continued cheerfully.
“After all, the Timberwolves are that famous young guard unit from the West. Everyone’s curious how far they can go.”
This season, under the strict guidance of the old Wolf King Kevin Garnett, Andrew Wiggins and Karl-Anthony Towns had finally toughened up.
But the bigger reason was that Towns’ Kentucky junior, Fox, had joined the team.
Fox’s favorite type of partner was a big man who could facilitate from the high post and space the floor.
In the original timeline, Fox had languished in Sacramento for years until the Kings’ management finally couldn’t take it anymore and traded Tyrese Haliburton to the Pacers for Domantas Sabonis, which kickstarted their rise.
Now, rookie Fox encountered an older brother in Towns who lacked ambition but was happy to mentor him, along with a second-generation master of coasting—Wiggins.
So the Timberwolves let Fox handle the ball freely, and the team unexpectedly began playing with real rhythm.
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“Here they come!”
Amid wave after wave of thunderous cheers, the Kings players jogged out to the sidelines one by one.
“Feeling it yet?”
Booker, with Finals experience under his belt, struck a veteran pose as he pointed and gestured at the rookies playing in their first playoffs.
“I feel it—I really do!”
VanVleet couldn’t help but exclaim.
“This atmosphere is insane. It’s nothing like the regular season.”
Even newcomers like Zubac and Covington, who hadn’t played many games yet, felt their blood boiling.
Every professional athlete dreams of games like this.
“Enough chatting.”
Butler walked over with a towel draped over his head.
“Coach Malone says we go straight into 7-second fast-break defense after tip-off. Aim to blow them out by the third quarter.”
He smiled slightly.
“Coach is looking out for you guys—build a big lead early so you can get some playoff minutes.”
On the other side of the court, the Timberwolves players remained calm.
“Just play solid basketball and treat this as experience,”
head coach Thibodeau said lightly from the bench.
“We’re a young team with nothing to lose. Losing’s fine—consider it a taste of playoff intensity.”
Standing across from Thibodeau were the Timberwolves’ current Big Three: Towns, Wiggins, and Fox.
“We’re still running wide ball movement today,”
Thibodeau said.
“You three better be ready to play heavy minutes.”
“Huh?”
Wiggins’ eyes widened.
“Coach, that’s a bit much, isn’t it? Don’t the others get a chance to show something?”
“Cut the nonsense,”
Thibodeau snapped without hesitation.
“Plenty of people would kill for this opportunity. You’re the only one complaining.”
The game tipped off with both teams remarkably composed.
Everyone knew the gap in strength, so there was no need for theatrics.
“How’ve you been lately?”
As the teams lined up for the jump ball, Butler adjusted his jersey and walked over to the Timberwolves’ starting power forward, Taj Gibson.
“What else can I say? Just getting by,”
Gibson replied, shaking his head as his graying beard caught the light.
“Time really doesn’t wait for anyone. You’ve grown up. We’ve grown old.”
As he spoke, Gibson turned and waved toward Derrick Rose on the bench. Just like that, three generations of the Bulls’ Rose era met again.
The Timberwolves had first possession.
Point guard Fox brought the ball across half court and passed it to Wiggins, who had popped out to the weak-side forty-five.
The Kings ran a simple 3–2 zone defense. With Butler and Durant anchoring the wings, the perimeter looked like an iron wall.
Wiggins caught the ball, saw Butler close in, and scanned the floor. With no clear option, he chose to isolate.
He dribbled slowly on the perimeter.
Wiggins’ handle was different from most players’.
Many players rely on rapid between-the-legs dribbles or flashy stationary crossovers. That kind of “show dribbling” might confuse rookies, but against experienced defenders, it has no real bite.
The essence of dribble penetration is shifting your center of gravity. No matter how fancy it looks, if your weight doesn’t move, it means nothing to a defender.
Wiggins’ dribble, on the other hand, wasn’t fast—but every move involved a clear and significant shift in balance.
That kind of dribble puts enormous pressure on defenders, because they can’t predict the direction of the drive.
Butler stood half a step inside the three-point line, constantly adjusting his feet to keep his balance.
After several changes of direction, Wiggins suddenly crossed over, creating half a step of separation and driving inside.
Butler reacted instantly, stepping forward and leaning into Wiggins as he followed him.
Wiggins’ physical gifts were truly historic. Even against the fitness-obsessed Butler, he stayed stable, his driving line never wavering.
As they charged shoulder to shoulder into the mid-range, Wiggins suddenly gathered the ball and rose for a quick pull-up jumper.
Butler, caught in the physical battle, didn’t expect the sudden shot. He lost his position, and Wiggins knocked it down cleanly.
“Did you see that?”
Rose said from the bench, pursing his lips as he explained to Murray.
“A heavy sword doesn’t need an edge—true skill looks simple. That shot right there is exactly what I’ve been trying to teach you: a pull-up jumper without slowing down.”
“He was moving through contact, but when he shot, his body wasn’t drifting at all—perfectly upright, just like a catch-and-shoot. Master that, and you’ll always have a place in this league.”
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