Although he had full confidence in his numbers and the team's dominance, Lin Yi understood exactly how difficult it was to win three consecutive MVPs.
Years later, after David Stern retired, Lin Yi would sit down with him for a private conversation.
Only then did he fully understand why that decision had been made on May 7, 2013.
Warning.
Warning.
Warning.
Something big was coming.
And yet, there was still a trace of regret.
"Let's congratulate LeBron James!"
"He just broke Lin Yi's unanimous MVP run!"
Then the final announcement followed.
The 2012–2013 NBA Regular Season MVP…
Was Lin Yi.
At that moment, even a thousand words would have felt insufficient.
LeBron had received plenty of votes. But did it matter?
Unanimous or not, the result was unchanged.
Three straight MVPs.
After Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, and Larry Bird, the league finally had its fourth player to reach that mark.
And this time, Michael Jordan was not part of the record.
Records exist to be broken.
Twenty-seven years later, Lin Yi had taken a bite out of the forbidden fruit Stern had kept sealed away.
Messages of congratulations flooded into New York from all over the world.
Four seasons in the league.
Three consecutive MVPs.
The man from New York had bent fiction into reality.
…
Early the next morning, Klay Thompson was still half-asleep as he scrolled through his phone.
A second later, he was wide awake.
Klay Thompson drove straight across the city to Long Island.
He didn't bother changing. Pajamas, slippers, keys in hand. That was enough.
By the time he reached the villa, he was already pressing the doorbell, knocking right after, not even waiting between attempts.
Inside, Olsen glanced at the security monitor.
She paused for a second when she saw who it was, then opened the door.
Klay stood there, slightly out of breath, hair a mess, still in his pajamas.
Olsen raised an eyebrow, amused. "Klay… what are you doing here this early?"
Klay straightened a little. "Morning."
"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "I'm making breakfast."
Klay nodded as he walked in. "Thanks. Is he up?"
Olsen pointed toward the living room. "He's on the couch."
Klay didn't waste another second.
He headed straight in.
There he was.
Lin Yi sat on the couch, relaxed, flipping through his phone as if it were any other day.
Klay stopped in front of him, still trying to process it.
"Three straight MVPs," he said, almost like he needed to hear it out loud. "And you're just… sitting here?"
Lin Yi looked up briefly. "Yeah."
That was it.
Klay stared at him.
No reaction. No excitement. Nothing.
From the living room entrance, Olsen leaned slightly against the arch, watching the scene unfold with a faint smile.
Then Lin Yi's eyes flicked in her direction.
Klay was still talking and gesturing, completely focused.
Lin Yi raised a finger to his lips, quick and subtle.
Olsen caught it immediately.
She held his gaze for a second, then shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
A few minutes ago, the same man had been jumping around the bedroom like he'd just won a championship.
Now he sat there as if nothing had happened.
Men really were something else.
She turned away quietly. "I'll leave you two to it," she said, heading back into the kitchen.
As she moved, a thought crossed her mind.
The lengths they go to just to keep up appearances.
She picked up where she left off with breakfast, then paused for a moment.
Right…
How did he say it last?
She frowned slightly, trying to recall.
Ah.
Gotta maintain the aura.
…
In Oakland, Stephen Curry paused mid-workout, dumbbells still in hand.
He had seen the news.
Three straight MVPs.
Curry quietly set the weights down, picked up his phone, then put it back again.
No call.
Not today.
He refused to give Lin Yi the chance to twist the knife.
"Ayesha...," he said after a few seconds, turning toward Ayesha Curry, "book me a ticket to New York."
Ayesha blinked.
For a moment, she thought he'd lost it.
If it hurts, let it hurt.
You get used to it eventually.
Still, Curry wasn't going to miss the ceremony.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought surfaced.
One day… I'll win one too.
…
In Houston, James Harden hadn't slept at all.
Maybe it was the excitement. Maybe something else.
"There's no night in Houston," he muttered to himself.
When the MVP news finally came out, he didn't even bother picking up his phone.
"What's there to check?"
"Isn't it always the same? Everyone competes, and Lin ends up winning."
He turned over, pulling the blanket tighter.
I'm not falling for that again.
"Sleep first," he mumbled.
"There's nothing a good sleep can't fix."
A pause.
"If one isn't enough, then I'll sleep twice."
. . .
In Los Angeles.
Blake Griffin looked at his phone in thought.
Where had things gone wrong?
Back then, he and Lin Yi were hailed as the twin pillars of the 2009 draft class.
Four years passed in what felt like a blink.
One championship.
Three consecutive MVPs.
Griffin didn't feel like talking.
He sat quietly on the couch, arms wrapped around his Shiba Inu, staring into nothing.
Sometimes, the worst kind of pain came without warning.
He let out a quiet laugh.
The Shiba Inu in his arms blinked, tilting its head before licking his face.
"You are my true friend." Griffin rubbed him on the neck, giving kisses to his face.
…
At Kobe Bryant's house.
Kobe was in the middle of teaching his daughter how to shoot when he suddenly went silent.
Three straight MVPs.
That kid really did it.
Kobe picked up his phone. He planned to send a simple message, something fitting for a veteran.
Then his screen lit up first.
A message from Lin Yi.
"Kob, my MVP count is three now. That's more than yours. When your contract with the Lakers ends, want to come to the Knicks and get a ring? It's on the house."
Kobe stared at the screen.
He slowly lowered the phone.
Forget the congratulations.
His expression darkened.
This was personal now.
…
Elsewhere in Los Angeles, Shaquille O'Neal was having a rare good dream.
In it, Kobe was polishing his shoes, finally admitting defeat.
The moment was perfect.
Then—
"Dad!"
O'Neal jolted awake.
Standing in front of him was Shareef O'Neal.
"Dad! Uncle Lin got three straight MVPs!"
O'Neal blinked.
"Dad! That's three times your MVP count!"
O'Neal's face froze.
"Dad! I've decided. This summer I'm training with Unc. You and Uncle Kobe combined don't even have as many MVPs as him."
Silence.
Long, heavy silence.
O'Neal slowly sat up.
"Damn Lin Yi…" he muttered.
He swung his legs off the bed. "I'm going to New York this afternoon."
His tone was calm, but there was weight behind it.
"This time, I'm dealing with him myself."
Just as he was about to leave, he noticed Shareef in the corner, sorting through a pile of jerseys.
"What are you doing?" O'Neal asked.
Shareef didn't even look up. "Putting yours and Uncle Kobe's jerseys in storage."
O'Neal paused.
"My closet's only keeping Knicks jerseys now."
A slow smile spread across O'Neal's face.
Not a pleasant one.
"Is that so…"
He cracked his knuckles lightly.
Too bad the Heat's roster was already set.
Otherwise…
He might have seriously considered coming back.
. . .
While the entire world was still buzzing over Lin Yi's MVP…
The rest of the 2012–2013 NBA awards were announced one after another.
Damian Lillard of the Portland Trail Blazers was named Rookie of the Year.
He averaged 20.5 points per game. The award was well deserved.
But Lillard wasn't happy.
At the press conference the Blazers arranged for him, only a handful of local reporters showed up.
The rest of the media?
They were all on their way to New York.
Three consecutive MVPs carried a different kind of weight.
Across the Pacific, the reaction was even louder.
China Central Television devoted a full ninety minutes on CCTV-1 to Lin Yi's highlights.
A first in Chinese broadcasting.
The moment the NBA made it official, television channels across China cut whatever they were airing.
For one minute and thirty seconds, everything stopped.
News, variety shows, commercials.
All replaced with a single announcement.
Lin Yi had won his third MVP.
Some viewers were not pleased.
A group of young fans, in the middle of watching their favorite shows, rushed to complain online.
The response was immediate.
And brutal.
"Attention-seeking at its finest."
"Stay in your lane."
"Trash. Get out."
"Mute it and move on. The whole country isn't pausing for your show."
"You picked the wrong day to complain. Read the room."
"Millions are celebrating, and you're upset about a TV slot?"
Meanwhile, another side of the internet was in full celebration.
"Three straight MVPs. That's history."
"Best player on the planet. No debate."
"Seventy-five wins and the MVP. What else is left to prove?"
"Unanimous or not, it was never close."
"They tried to vote against him. Still didn't matter."
"From now on, this era has a name."
"Remember this season. We won't see it again."
"Back to back to back. Say it again."
"Scoreboard doesn't lie. Neither do the trophies."
…
Back in the NBA.
The Sixth Man of the Year award went to Klay Thompson.
At last, he avoided another runner-up finish.
But the winner himself showed no excitement.
He had learned from Lin Yi.
Stay calm. Stay composed.
At the villa, both of them sat there with straight faces, doing their best to suppress the urge to celebrate.
Anyone walking in would think they were barely on speaking terms.
Olsen, however, was having a blast.
…
The Most Improved Player award went to Paul George of the Indiana Pacers.
James Harden was also among the nominees.
Harden's situation was… complicated.
Earlier in his career, he was told he needed team success to win MVP.
When he got the wins, he was told individual stats mattered more.
By the time he had both, he finally secured the award years later.
For now, he could only accept it.
Some nights, the only place he truly ruled was somewhere far from the court.
…
The Defensive Player of the Year award went to Tyson Chandler.
Moments after the announcement, Chandler rushed straight to Lin Yi's place.
Olsen let him in.
"We cleaned up this year!" he said the moment he walked in. "Lin got MVP, Klay got Sixth Man, I got DPOY…"
He stopped.
Something felt off.
Too quiet.
Lin Yi and Klay turned to him at the same time.
"Yeah," they said. "We know."
Chandler blinked.
He looked up at the ceiling, confused.
Wasn't this supposed to be a celebration?
Why did it feel like a funeral?
He pulled out his phone and called Chris Paul.
No answer.
Paul had already turned his phone off.
Lin Yi had an MVP.
Klay had Sixth Man.
Chandler had DPOY.
And him?
Assist leader. Steals leader.
It suddenly felt… underwhelming.
Paul lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Am I really going to be the fourth guy?"
After a long pause, he sighed.
Maybe third wasn't so bad.
…
With the Knicks sweeping up so many awards, the Coach of the Year was never going back to Mike D'Antoni.
This time, it went to Gregg Popovich.
The San Antonio Spurs had dominated the West.
A year earlier, D'Antoni had edged him out. Now, Popovich returned the favor.
The rivalry continued.
After receiving the award, Popovich kept it simple.
"It belongs to the players."
Then he added, almost casually,
"The Knicks have an MVP, a Defensive Player of the Year, an assist leader, and a Sixth Man. I don't see how we beat them."
Classic Popovich.
Win an award, then quietly apply pressure.
Lin Yi shook his head wryly.
They were still running their system at full speed, and this guy had time for mind games.
Popovich's philosophy was simple.
You can lose a game.
You can't lose the psychological battle.
…
One more quiet winner emerged.
Donnie Walsh.
Best General Manager.
Again.
Four straight.
In terms of winning without effort, he had reached another level.
Even Jerry West couldn't compare.
Of course, not many cared.
To Knicks fans, Walsh was just along for the ride.
From the moment Lin Yi was drafted, his career had already been secured.
As Charles Barkley once said,
"Some people work for greatness."
"Others just draft it."
For Walsh, that was enough.
. . .
In the 2012–2013 All-NBA selections, the New York Knicks once again placed multiple players on the list.
The All-NBA First Team:
Chris Paul, Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant, LeBron James, Lin Yi.
Kobe's shift toward a more controlled, efficient style earned widespread praise. Many felt this version of him was the most complete, and the Mamba returned to the First Team.
The Second Team:
Stephen Curry, Russell Westbrook, Carmelo Anthony, Blake Griffin, Tim Duncan.
Curry's rise came earlier than expected. As for Duncan, under normal circumstances, he would have had a strong case for the First Team. Lin Yi's presence changed that equation.
The Third Team:
Dwyane Wade, James Harden, Klay Thompson, Paul George, Tyson Chandler.
Klay's selection came ahead of schedule. If he maintained this level and secured another All-Star or All-NBA appearance next season, he would trigger the Rose Rule in his contract.
Many believed that once Klay's extension kicked in, the Knicks would be forced to break up the core. One of Chris Paul or Klay would have to go.
That assumption missed the bigger picture.
The salary cap was about to rise.
By the time it did, Klay's contract would look like a bargain.
. . .
On the defensive end, the Knicks' dominance showed again.
All-Defensive First Team:
Chris Paul, Lin Yi, Serge Ibaka, Joakim Noah, Tyson Chandler.
Second Team:
Mike Conley, Tony Allen, Danny Green, Paul George, Marc Gasol, Tim Duncan.
Four Knicks starters made the All-Defensive Teams.
Before the season, critics questioned whether this roster even fit together.
Now, the same people were left searching for answers.
Because this was a complete team on both ends of the floor.
…
As the awards settled, the reactions across the league were predictable.
Some celebrated. Others stayed quiet.
Kevin Durant smashed his burner phone...again.
LeBron James returned to the gym without a word.
…
In the end, May 7th belonged to the Knicks.
And to Lin Yi.
For one day, every basketball fan had the same focus.
"Let's congratulate Lin Yi once again!"
"The 2012–2013 Regular Season MVP!"
"The fourth player, after Larry Bird, to win three straight!"
"The best player in the league today!"
Charles Barkley's voice rang out across TNT.
Beside him, Shaquille O'Neal shifted slightly.
He really wanted to hit someone.
Say what you want.
But why are you nudging me while you say it?
Damn Barkley!
. . .
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