Chapter 93: Holding Back
LaVine caught Gay’s pass, squaring up against a wary Kemba Walker. He took a deep breath, then exploded forward.
“So fast!”
That was Walker’s first thought—LaVine’s sudden burst left him completely unprepared.
In just one stride, LaVine blew past him, pulled up, and buried the jumper.
“Great shot!”
Gay was the first to cheer. “Zach’s got it!”
Hearing his veteran teammate’s praise, LaVine blushed, scratched his head, and gave a sheepish grin as he ran back on defense.
“Don’t slow down—keep attacking!” Gay urged.
With LaVine in rhythm, Gay was happy to feed his younger teammate. It gave LaVine confidence and gave Gay a chance to catch his breath.
With Gay’s blessing, the rest of the Kings followed suit. Soon, the court turned into a strange sight: four players working to create opportunities for LaVine, who kept going at Walker again and again.
Walker was fuming. Damn it, he thought. I’m practically an All-Star—how am I letting some second-year kid push me around?
Eager to save face, Walker kept signaling for isolation plays.
But LaVine’s youth and length kept causing problems. Even when Walker used his speed and skill to slip past him, Crowder was already in position, following Malone’s instructions to cut off every driving lane.
“Damn it!”
Walker scowled when his shot clanged off the back rim.
The night was becoming a humiliation.
“Kemba, calm down.”
Watching Walker get stopped on multiple possessions, the Hornets’ other star, Al Jefferson, finally spoke up.
“I…” Walker started to protest, but the words stuck in his throat. A seasoned veteran, he knew when to back down. After a pause, he gave a reluctant nod.
“Interesting. Very interesting.”
In the stands, two middle-aged men in casual clothes watched the game.
“Mike Malone is using Kemba Walker as a stepping stone for LaVine.”
“The Hornets have given up. No point in watching this.”
One of them rose slowly to leave.
“Not staying?” the other asked.
“No need. The Hornets have already lost this battle. Just report back to the president—Chen Yilun can’t be touched.”
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“Mhm, understood. Head back for now.”
Inside NBA headquarters, in the commissioner’s lavish office, Adam Silver hung up the phone.
A desk lamp lit his workspace, but in the vast room, the glow seemed faint.
Silver studied the list laid out before him, filled with names. Some were crossed out, others circled in red.
Anyone else would have recognized the names instantly: every one of them belonged to the Spurs system, or to someone who had once benefited from Popovich’s mentorship.
“David, David… you retired to enjoy life and left me with a massive headache.”
Silver rubbed his temples, staring at the densely packed list.
David Stern’s era had been one of flourishing diversity, with legendary coaches stepping into the spotlight one after another: Phil Jackson, the “Zen Master”; Chuck Daly; the academic Larry Brown; the mad scientist Don Nelson; the mastermind Pat Riley; the iron-willed Jerry Sloan; and many more. It had been a vibrant clash of coaching philosophies.
But since the new millennium, the older generation had either retired or moved into the background.
And crucially, while each of those coaches had their strengths, they left behind few disciples and no systematic training pipeline.
That vacuum had allowed Popovich’s Spurs system to dominate.
If Popovich had simply built his own coaching tree, Silver might not have cared.
But the breaking point came this past summer, when Popovich, chasing LaMarcus Aldridge, shipped starting center Tiago Splitter straight to a protégé’s team to clear cap space. That blatant collusion wasn’t just an insult to Silver’s authority—it was a slap in the face to the entire league.
And so, Silver was determined to crack down on the Spurs system.
His eyes dropped to the last three names on the list: Mike Budenholzer, Sam Presti, and Chen Yilun.
“These three are the hardest to deal with.”
Silver’s stern features twisted into something even harsher.
Chen Yilun and the others had become his top priority.
Most protégés could at best speak on their mentors’ behalf. But these three—Chen Yilun, Presti, and Budenholzer—held real power over their teams.
Take them down, and the Spurs faction would be crippled.
“Chen Yilun just won GM of the Year, and this year he’s brought in the Chinese market. That cold-blooded capitalist Vivek won’t let him go.”
“Presti? Forget it. The man who landed Durant, Westbrook, and Harden—if the Thunder ever let him go, teams would line up for him.”
“That leaves Budenholzer as the only target.”
Silver had been preparing to curb the Spurs system for some time, but the reality was harsher than outsiders believed. Spurs-trained front office members weren’t just handpicked cronies—they were capable, respected professionals. Many owners specifically requested Spurs-system hires.
Silver, even as Commissioner, was ultimately just a high-ranking employee serving 30 owners.
If he wanted to curb the Spurs system, he needed those owners’ approval.
Fortunately, the owners weren’t united. By shifting alliances—backing one faction while opposing another—Silver had already pulled several into his camp.
“One step at a time.”
Silver fixed his gaze on the final name.
“Mike Budenholzer. You’ll be the first shot fired in my reform campaign.”
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