The game was over, and Chen Yilun stood up from the coach's seat without much enthusiasm, ready to leave with the team. Nothing about this game had caught his interest.
But just as he was packing up his things, he noticed a small figure.
Isaiah Thomas hadn't left the court right away. Instead, he stood quietly to the side, eyes locked on the faded banner hanging high above the Arco Arena.
It was a relic of the distant past, a legacy from the dark ages. Back then, the Kings were still called the Rochester Royals, and in 1951, they captured the only championship in franchise history.
During his time with the Kings, Isaiah often looked up at that flag. Deep down, he was a sensitive man with a fierce sense of pride. The doubts and criticism from the outside world weighed heavily on him, but he always managed to turn that pressure into fuel—a step on the ladder driving him forward.
"Isaiah!"
Chen Yilun walked over and called out. Thomas turned and looked at him, confusion flickering in his eyes.
He and Chen had never crossed paths. When he left, Chen hadn't even taken the stage yet. Why was this guy talking to him now?
"Not being able to work with you—that's one of my regrets."
After a few pleasantries, Chen continued, "You know, I've seen a lot of players, and some of them have qualities that really stand out. Something unique in their demeanor. I see that same quality in you." He locked eyes with Isaiah. "You were made for the big stage. Remember my words—your moment will come."
For a moment, Isaiah seriously wondered if the man in front of him was really a professional manager or just a suit-wearing fortune-teller.
It wasn't that Chen had any intention of bringing him back. Isaiah's style of play and his size set his ceiling—he could never be the cornerstone of a championship team, nor even the perfect second option.
But as a time traveler, Chen couldn't help but encourage him a little. After all, Isaiah's future carried more than a touch of tragedy.
Right now, though, it was clear Isaiah didn't take his words to heart. Seeing the look of disbelief on his face, Chen could only shake his head. Without revealing the future, he had already done all he could.
Whether Isaiah would one day join the Celtics and become the beloved "King of the Fourth" was beyond Chen's control. He could only hope Isaiah wouldn't repeat the same mistakes—sacrificing his health in the playoffs, only to drift from team to team.
...
The chat with Isaiah was just a small detour. The regular season schedule was always divided by the All-Star break. In simple terms, it was like a midterm exam for every team. Their performance before the All-Star Game determined roster moves and team strategy for the second half of the season.
And the Kings had only one goal: Run to the Top! Run to the Top! Run to the damn Top!
Holding the line in the upper half of the Western Conference, the Kings needed win after win to keep the hungry pack of contenders at bay.
Fortunately, the last few games of 2014 weren't too tough. On December 27, they beat the Knicks 135–127. Two days later, they brushed aside the Nets 109–98, trampling both New York teams underfoot.
Finally, on December 31, the Kings secured their place in the upper half of the standings with a 20–10 record.
The last game was against the Boston Celtics.
The TD Garden carried an old-world air compared to other arenas. The worn-out seats and patched wooden court all spoke of its deep history.
Sitting in the staff section, Chen Yilun scrolled through text messages on his phone, bored out of his mind.
He wasn't the least bit interested in this matchup. The Celtics were nothing more than a toothless tiger. Sure, they had guys like Evan Turner, Avery Bradley, Jae Crowder, and Marcus Smart, but they were either role players or still rookies. Against the ferocious Kings, they just weren't enough.
The one person worth noting, though, was Coach Stevens, sitting on the bench with a calm, refined look. It was only his second season, yet the "boy wonder" label was already attached to him. All he needed was that final spark before stepping fully into the spotlight as the leader of the Celtics.
"Should I step in and derail Boston's progress a bit?" Chen muttered, rubbing his chin as if stroking an imaginary beard.
The Celtics' rise was inevitable. Before the trade deadline, Danny Ainge would pull off a robbery of a deal, snatching Isaiah from the Suns and installing the vital engine this team needed.
From then on, this disciplined Celtics squad would become the biggest disruptor in the East. Even LeBron James, as dominant as he was, would have his share of trouble against them.
LeBron?
Suddenly it clicked, and Chen smacked his forehead.
What the hell am I doing worrying about an Eastern team? If they wear down LeBron, that only helps me. Why get in their way?
While Chen was lost in thought, the game wound to a close. As Cousins powered to the rim yet again, Stevens shook his head, subbing in his bench to wave the white flag.
Mike Malone understood and swapped in his own end-of-bench guys, sealing the victory.
Chen was in good spirits, ready to head home and celebrate New Year's. But then, a stocky man in a suit, smiling broadly, strolled over.
"Yilun, if you're not in a rush, how about dinner tonight?"
In that instant, Chen's guard shot to its highest level. The seemingly harmless old man in front of him was none other than Danny Ainge—the head of the Celtics, and one of the league's most notorious cold-blooded killers!
...
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