A week later, Lin Mo arrived with a U-Haul. The team gathered by the loading dock, curious, as he hauled out a dusty wooden crate. "What's in there?" Reaves asked, poking it with a finger. "Your secret stash of pre-game pancakes?"
"Better," Lin Mo said, prying open the lid. Inside, wrapped in old towels, sat Joe's sewing machine—rusted, dented, but still intact. The metal plate bore Joe's initials, carved deep: "J.M." The needle, bent but unbroken, glinted in the sun.
"Whoa," Davis said, leaning in. "This is the famous machine?"
"Famous for jamming when Joe yelled at it," Lin Mo said, grinning. He'd spent hours as a kid, watching Joe curse the machine, then coo at it like a pet: "C'mon, old girl. One more stitch."
They wheeled it into the locker room, setting it in the corner between Lin Mo's and LeBron's lockers. Lin Mo wiped it down with a rag, the rust flaking onto his hands, until the metal gleamed. "Joe always said good tools belong where they're loved," he said. "This place? It's got more love than his shop ever did."
LeBron tapped the foot pedal, and the machine whirred to life, creaky but determined. "Can it actually sew?"
"Watch." Lin Mo grabbed a scrap of purple-and-gold fabric—leftover from a practice jersey—and fed it under the needle. He pressed the pedal, and the machine stitched a lopsided heart, the thread looping over itself. "See? Still got it."
Over the next few days, the machine became a locker room mascot. Players posed with it for Instagram ("Newest Laker!"), left tiny offerings (a basketball keychain, a candy cane), and begged Lin Mo to teach them to sew.
"Mine looks like a spider web," Reaves groaned, holding up his attempt at a Lakers logo.
"Joe's first stitch looked like a snake," Lin Mo said, patting his back. "Practice."
By week's end, Lin Mo had a stack of tiny gifts:紫金-threaded wristbands, mini basketballs stitched from old socks, even a stuffed bear (Reaves's, lopsided but proud). He tucked one into each locker, smiling as the team discovered them.
Davis held up his bear, its eye askew. "This is… ugly. I love it."
"Good," Lin Mo said. "Ugly means it's yours."
C