Chapter 52 – Dawn for Lakers Fans? A Massive Versailles Moment
As soon as Chen Yan clicked on the news, his jaw dropped.
No way…
Kobe and Garnett—those two cold-blooded killers—actually teamed up!
Just like the headline teased, this was a blockbuster deal involving seven players!
The Los Angeles Lakers had traded away their promising young center Andrew Bynum, star forward Lamar Odom, Jordan Farmar, Maurice Evans, and next year's first-round draft pick to the Minnesota Timberwolves.
In return?
They got The Big Ticket himself—Kevin Garnett!
Plus a couple of throw-ins: Marko Jaric and Justin Reed.
If the trade between the Mavericks and the SuperSonics had already shaken the league, then this? This was the nuclear bomb that blew everything sky-high!
Within minutes of the announcement, general managers across the league were in full-blown panic mode, filing formal protests.
"How the hell are we supposed to compete with this?" one exec reportedly shouted during a team meeting.
On paper, this duo was every fan's dream—and every team's nightmare. A seamless inside-outside combo of two of the most intense, versatile superstars the game had ever seen.
But NBA Commissioner David Stern wasn't having any of the complaints.
He dismissed all protests with a firm statement: "The deal stands. It's good for the league."
See, ratings for that year's NBA Finals had been dismal. The Spurs' slow-paced, grind-it-out style had bored fans into oblivion.
Stern knew something had to change.
He needed a shot of adrenaline—a storyline that could captivate the world. So when the Lakers and Timberwolves brought this deal to the table, Stern didn't hesitate.
He gave it the green light instantly.
So, in this alternate NBA timeline—this "what if" universe—Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett were no longer a fantasy pairing. It was reality.
Truth is, Garnett leaving Minnesota was inevitable. Even if it hadn't been the Lakers, he was bound to land somewhere that could chase a ring.
Years of dysfunction and poor management had drained his patience. The Timberwolves couldn't build around him, and KG knew it.
He needed a new home—somewhere that would give him a real shot at that elusive O'Brien trophy.
On the flip side, Kobe had been pressuring the Lakers' front office for years. He'd had enough of carrying scrubs while management fed him empty promises.
Remember when he wore a Bulls jersey in public? Or when he called out owner Jerry Buss, saying he "didn't know a damn thing about running a team"?
Yeah, it was that bad.
But can you blame him?
Since Shaq left for Miami, the Lakers had failed—miserably—to give Kobe any real support. They kept selling him pipe dreams, telling him to be patient while they built a contender.
And then what did they give him?
DJ Mbenga. Smush Parker. Josh Powell.
That's not a supporting cast. That's a G-League roster.
Hell, people used to joke that whenever the Lakers lost, it was because "Kobe dropped 40 and his teammates were on loan to the CBA."
Turns out… that wasn't a joke. A bunch of those guys actually did end up in the CBA a few years later.
The truth? Kobe and Garnett had been in contact behind the scenes for a long time.
They'd always wanted to team up. In the original timeline, Boston swooped in and grabbed KG. But in this alternate universe, the Celtics had no interest—they were looking to rebuild.
So the stars aligned.
Kobe and KG—the two most intense, uncompromising, win-at-all-costs maniacs in the league—were finally on the same team.
They were a perfect match, both mentally and on the hardwood.
These two didn't tolerate laziness. They didn't babysit teammates. They pushed everyone around them to the brink—and sometimes over it.
There'd be no Shaq-Kobe feud here. No Dwight Howard drama. Because Kobe and Garnett? They were cut from the same cloth.
And technically, they complemented each other beautifully.
From 1998 to 2007, Garnett's assist rate on two-point field goals was an incredible 63.8%.
Translation?
Most of KG's buckets came off the ball. He wasn't someone who needed to dominate possession—he thrived in motion, off cuts, in pick-and-pop sets.
That made him ideal to pair with Kobe, who loved to control the ball, read the floor, and break down defenses.
With Garnett's off-ball movement and elite defense, and Kobe's killer scoring instincts, this duo could create a modern-day dynasty.
For Lakers fans, this wasn't just a trade—it was the dawn of a dream they'd nearly given up on.
Kevin Garnett had long been known for his elite off-ball skills, but that same reliance had also held him back. For years, he couldn't carry the Timberwolves past the first round. Still, his unselfish play and ability to complement a ball-dominant star made him the perfect second piece in a winning formula.
And let's be real—was there a more ideal backcourt partner than Kobe Bryant?
Kobe's lethal perimeter threat would give Garnett the space he never had in Minnesota, while Garnett's selflessness could offset Kobe's infamous tunnel vision. Their flaws? They might just cancel each other out. Under Phil Jackson's triangle offense, Garnett's underrated playmaking would finally be unleashed, while Kobe would thrive in a more structured, high-IQ system.
You could feel the spark from the moment the trade went down.
The media ran wild with it. Every outlet blasted the headline like it was a blockbuster movie release. Social media exploded. Lakers fans in China went into a frenzy. Some were already declaring this team the 2007 - 2008 champs. Others were dreaming even bigger: a new three-peat.
Garnett's arrival in L.A. wasn't just big—it was seismic.
Even Kevin Durant picked up the phone and called Chen Yan.
"David Stern needs to veto this trade, man!" Durant said, half-joking, half-serious. "Are they trying to end the NBA storyline with these two teaming up?"
Chen Yan laughed but didn't react much. He got it—young stars like KD got hyped easily. But Chen, who had seen the Heat's Big Three and the Warriors' four-headed monster in his past life, kept his cool. This wasn't the end of the world. Just another challenge.
After hanging up, his thoughts shifted—back to his own team, the Phoenix Suns.
Sure, the Celtics' Big Three had been dismantled. But Dallas had reloaded, the Spurs were still a machine, the Hornets were maturing fast, the Yao-McGrady duo was healthy again, and Portland had a young core that was scary good.
The Western Conference? Absolutely stacked.
A war zone.
But Chen wasn't intimidated—he was fired up. This kind of pressure was exactly what he thrived on. If he could lead the Suns through that gauntlet and come out with the title, the respect he'd earn would be off the charts.
The competition was fierce, no doubt. But Chen didn't spend too much time worrying about them.
His focus was internal: Keep grinding, build chemistry, and leave everything on the floor.
He had a solid core around him—Stoudemire still had bounce, Grant Hill brought leadership, Raja Bell was a pitbull on defense, Boris Diaw had that Swiss Army Knife game, and of course… Steve Nash. The two-time MVP might be past his peak, but Chen was determined to squeeze every last ounce of greatness from him while he could.
Three days later, the Suns held their rookie press conference.
Chen Yan walked into the packed room holding up the Suns' No. 0 jersey, camera flashes going off like crazy. He was flanked by fellow rookies Alando Tucker and D.J. Strawberry, but you'd barely notice they were there. The media crowd swarmed Chen like he was already an All-Star.
He hadn't even played an NBA game yet, but the hype he'd built in college had carried over completely.
"Chen! Will you play in the Summer League?" a reporter called out, shoving a mic forward.
"Yeah," Chen nodded. "I need the reps to stay sharp."
"What's your reaction to the Lakers trade? Do you think they're the Suns' biggest threat this season?"
Chen gave a calm smile. "I'm only focused on us."
"Chen, what do you bring to this team?"
"Championship mentality," he said without hesitation. "The Suns have been knocking on the door for years. If I can't help us get over the hump, I'm not doing my job."
The room burst into applause. This was exactly what Phoenix wanted to hear.
Off to the side, Coach D'Antoni grinned in approval. Confidence in a young player? That was gold.
"Chen, why No. 0?" another reporter asked.
Chen shrugged. "I won the NCAA title, was named MOP, broke scoring records in the tournament and finals. But in the NBA? I'm starting from scratch. Zero. That's the meaning of this number—to remind myself that nothing I've done matters here. It's a new beginning."
The room fell silent for a moment. Reporters exchanged looks, some even chuckled in disbelief.
This wasn't a rookie presser.
It was a one-man show—a full-on Versailles flex, delivered with ice in his veins.
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