Paul was in a bad mood.
He didn't even play against Dallas, and somehow he still had to write a self-review.
He stared at the paper for a while, then glanced across the room.
Yao Ming was writing. Tracy McGrady was writing too.
Paul exhaled. "Alright… fair enough."
If those two weren't complaining, he wasn't going to be the one to start.
And honestly, he got it.
A loss in the regular season wasn't the end of the world. A loss in the playoffs was different. You don't get a reset button there.
All that talk about sticking together through wins and losses sounded nice, but it only went so far.
Lose once or twice, and people stay patient.
Keep losing, and nobody cares what you say.
. . .
The next day at practice, the scene caught everyone off guard.
Coaches stood to the side, unsure whether to step in. James Dolan had come by to check in, but even he just stood there, quiet, watching.
The team had just set the best record in league history.
And now they were lining up to criticize themselves.
In the middle of it all, Lin Yi stood with a clipboard, going through things as if it were a regular session.
Then a phone rang.
Everyone turned.
Dolan glanced at his screen, hesitated, then answered.
Lin Yi didn't raise his voice. He just looked over.
"Take it outside."
Dolan froze for a second.
Dolan nodded once, turned, and walked out without a word.
That was when it clicked for everyone.
This wasn't for show.
Wilson Chandler stepped forward first. "I'll go."
He took a breath and started reading. No jokes, no shortcuts.
One by one, the rest followed.
On the side, Dan leaned toward Mike D'Antoni. "He's twenty-three, right? Because this doesn't look like twenty-three."
D'Antoni didn't even look at him. He just tapped his arm lightly.
"Keep it down."
Dan blinked. "Seriously?"
D'Antoni finally glanced at him. "You want to join Dolan in the hallway?"
That was enough.
. . .
This wasn't about disrespect.
If anything, it was the opposite.
D'Antoni understood it clearly.
"You can joke around most days," he said quietly to one of the assistants. "But not when it matters."
He watched Lin Yi run the session, steady, focused.
"If this team just wanted to make the playoffs, none of this would matter," he added. "But that's not what they're aiming for."
A team chasing a title had to carry itself differently.
. . .
Out in the hallway, Donnie Walsh caught up to Dolan.
"Boss, you just picked up a call. That's all it was."
Dolan stopped and looked at him.
"Donnie," he said calmly, "don't say another word."
Walsh frowned. "I'm just saying, he—"
"Enough."
Dolan's tone didn't rise, but it settled the conversation.
"The fact that he told me to step out," Dolan continued, "that's exactly why he's where he is."
Walsh didn't respond.
"He knows what he wants," Dolan said. "And he doesn't bend on it."
He took a step closer.
"If you plan on staying in your role, don't get in his way."
Walsh stood there, trying to process it.
Dolan shook his head slightly. "You're looking at it wrong."
"Using me to set the tone?" he went on. "If that helps this team win, I don't have a problem with it."
Walsh let out a slow breath. "You're serious."
Dolan gave a small shrug. "We're winning. That's the job."
He glanced back toward the gym.
"Give him what he needs. Compared to what they're putting in, we're not doing much."
For years, the Knicks were a punchline.
Now, they weren't.
That shift didn't come from nowhere.
Dolan laughed, then slipped his phone into his pocket. "Next time, I'll just turn this off before I walk in."
. . .
Back inside, the session finally wrapped up.
Lin Yi let out a quiet breath.
"Keeping a straight face is harder than I thought," he muttered.
Watching Yao Ming and McGrady read those long, serious self-reviews almost broke him a few times.
He shook his head, then smiled faintly.
"Still worth it."
. . .
The effect showed up immediately.
On the 19th, the Knicks went on the road and ran through the Hawks.
From the opening minutes, something felt different.
"Did we do something to them?" one Hawks player muttered during a timeout.
Another shook his head. "Feels personal."
It wasn't.
It just looked that way.
Every Knicks player moved with purpose.
They were locked in.
And when this team locked in, offense wasn't the scariest.
Defense was.
Even with several key players out, their depth and defensive discipline were overwhelming. Atlanta tried to stay competitive, but the gap was obvious from the opening stretch.
The New York Knicks held the Atlanta Hawks to just 71 points, while putting up 125 of their own.
A 54-point win, on the road.
Seventy-four wins on the season.
No celebration followed.
. . .
Inside the locker room, the tone stayed grounded.
"Enjoy it tonight," one assistant said, clapping his hands once to get their attention. "Tomorrow, we're back to work."
Everyone nodded.
…
Two days later, they returned home and handled the Charlotte Hornets with the same control.
Another comfortable win. Another game where the result felt decided early.
That pushed the Knicks to 75 wins and 7 losses.
A new league record.
Historic, on paper.
Muted, in reality.
After the game, Lin Yi stepped to the podium. A reporter held the mic, steady, professional, though she still felt the weight of the moment.
"Seventy-five wins," she said. "That's history. What does that mean to you?"
Lin Yi met her eyes briefly, then shrugged.
"It means we had a good regular season."
She paused, expecting more. When it didn't come, she pressed again.
"And the playoffs?"
This time, his expression sharpened.
"We've got one goal," he said. "That hasn't changed."
She hesitated. "Which is?"
Lin Yi gave a small, almost amused exhale.
"You already know."
…
As the regular season wrapped, attention shifted to the standings.
In the East, the hierarchy was clear.
The Knicks sat at the top, followed by the Miami Heat, then the Indiana Pacers, and the Brooklyn Nets.
Matchups came quickly.
Knicks versus the Washington Wizards.
Heat against the Chicago Bulls.
Pacers facing the Boston Celtics.
Nets against the Hawks.
In the film room, Lin Yi leaned back in his chair, watching clips loop on the screen.
"The Heat won't get a free pass," he said. "Chicago's still physical. They'll make it ugly."
An assistant nodded. "Even without Derrick Rose, they grind."
"Exactly."
He tapped the screen as it switched to another matchup.
"Indiana should handle Boston," he added. "As long as they don't overthink it."
Then came the series he cared about.
Nets. Hawks.
He paused the clip.
"I'd rather see Brooklyn," he said.
A teammate glanced over. "After what we just did to Atlanta?"
Lin Yi shook his head.
"Regular season doesn't carry over like that. They've got Al Horford and Josh Smith. That's a lot of work over a series."
"And Brooklyn?"
A faint smile.
"I know how to deal with Brook Lopez."
A few guys laughed. Playing against the Nets, Lin Yi, who eats, sleeps, and beats Brook Lopez, they weren't worried at all.
…
The 2012 to 2013 Western Conference standings settled into a brutal hierarchy:
Spurs
Thunder
Warriors
Mavericks
Grizzlies
Lakers
Rockets
Clippers
Nuggets
Jazz
Blazers
Timberwolves
Kings
Hornets
Suns
The bracket came out, and the reaction was immediate.
This is just the first round?
Spurs vs Clippers. Thunder vs Rockets. Warriors vs Lakers. Mavericks vs Grizzlies.
There were no warmups in the West. Every matchup felt like a series you should be seeing in May.
The Spurs and Clippers had split their regular-season meetings 2 to 2. That alone was enough to raise eyebrows. The Clippers were young, explosive, and not intimidated by San Antonio's system.
Blake Griffin going straight at Tim Duncan. Eric Bledsoe hounding Tony Parker. Pure energy against experience and control.
Lin Yi already knew how this kind of matchup usually ended. Even if the Spurs advanced, it would cost them. The Clippers were not some fragile contender. They had real weight behind them.
He even caught himself wondering if Duncan would still say those words to Griffin after the series.
The future is yours.
Maybe. Maybe not this time.
On the other side, Oklahoma City versus Houston carried a different kind of tension.
James Harden's return to face his former team turned the whole series into something personal. Every possession would feel heavier.
If Harden struggled, people would question the trade again. If he dominated, it would feel worse for Thunder fans, like watching a decision unravel in real time.
Houston's roster did not look deep on paper, but Lin Yi remembered how dangerous they could be in stretches. Harden could take over games. Chandler Parsons had a habit of showing up in big moments.
That series had the feel of something unpredictable. The kind where momentum could swing without warning.
Warriors versus Lakers was even harder to read.
After a private talk with Jim Buss, Dwight Howard had steadied himself, at least a little. Not fully dominant, but still a problem in the paint.
Kobe Bryant had not gone down with an injury. That alone changed everything.
Stephen Curry would not have an easy path either. Patrick Beverley would make sure of that. At this stage, Kawhi Leonard and Khris Middleton were still developing. They were not yet the defensive anchors they would become.
The Warriors had talent, but also inexperience. Against a team led by Kobe, that mattered.
Lin Yi could not call it.
Then there was Dallas against Memphis.
He paused for a second.
Three seconds of silence for Dirk Nowitzki.
Drawing the Grizzlies in the first round was about as rough as it gets. Memphis brought size, defense, and a style that dragged every game into the mud.
At least Rick Carlisle had managed the rotation well during the regular season. The Mavericks would come in with some energy left. Without that, this could have been over quickly.
Even so, getting through Memphis would leave scars.
Lin Yi leaned back, a faint smile on his face.
Serves you right.
Whether it was the disciplined Spurs or the Mavericks, nobody was getting out of the West clean.
And the Lakers?
Once seen as title favorites, they now looked more like a wildcard. Dangerous, unpredictable, capable of ruining someone else's run without necessarily finishing their own.
"The West really is brutal."
Compared to that chaos, the East felt almost calm.
The Knicks had not exactly stayed under the radar this season, but their playoff path before the Conference Finals was far more manageable.
Because if they wanted to take down Miami, they would need everything they had left.
The regular season was over.
The playoffs had arrived.
What Lin Yi did not realize yet was simple.
This postseason was not going to follow any script.
It was about to get even messier.
. . .
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