"No, no! Don't hit my face!"
In the luxurious lobby of the Hilton Hotel in downtown San Antonio, tourists checking in and guests relaxing in the lounge quickly pulled out their phones to record the rare spectacle.
The gray-haired Popovich was moving surprisingly fast, chasing the disheveled Chen Yilun around the lobby.
Nearby, Buford stood with his arms crossed, showing no desire to intervene—he looked like he was enjoying the show.
The hotel security and lobby manager stood awkwardly to the side, unsure whether to step in or just let it play out.
San Antonio, the third-largest city in Texas, doesn't have many things it can boast about.
The Spurs, strong and steady for decades, are the city's pride. So naturally, Popovich was recognized the moment he walked into the hotel.
But no one expected this—
The old man hadn't come here on business. He had come for a fight.
And the target of his beating was none other than Chen Yilun, the red-hot General Manager of the Kings!
"RC, maybe… we should stop them. This is a public place."
The lobby manager, who recognized Buford, finally worked up the courage to speak after watching for a while.
"Stop them? Why don't you stop them?" Buford shot him a glance. "With the old man swinging like that, I'd end up catching a few punches too!"
"But this isn't good! People are filming!"
"What's there to worry about? It's not like the old man hasn't been on the trending list before. If he doesn't mind, why should I?"
While Buford and the lobby manager were talking, the brawl came to an end.
Chen Yilun had been thoroughly beaten, while Popovich, panting heavily, leaned against the counter to catch his breath.
"I just gave Coach Chip an offer with a higher salary. Is that really worth this kind of reaction?"
Chen Yilun sat on the floor, gasping for air, not caring how ridiculous he looked.
"You dare poach my shooting coach and think that's fine?" Popovich staggered back to his feet and raised his fist. "Sounds like you want another round!"
"No, no, no! I give up! I give up! Old man, you really don't hold back!" Chen Yilun frantically waved his hands, begging for mercy.
It wasn't unreasonable for Popovich to be this furious.
As mentioned before, the Spurs' longevity came from the unity between their owner, GM, and head coach.
Chip Engelland, meanwhile, was without question the fourth pillar of the Spurs' system—the irreplaceable piece that kept the machine running smoothly.
As one of the league's top shooting coaches, Chip's résumé was nothing short of stellar.
Since the Tim Duncan era, he had been part of the Spurs' staff, working with players like Steve Kerr, Shane Battier, Grant Hill, Tony Parker, and most recently Kawhi Leonard.
Every player who trained under him saw a massive leap in shooting ability.
Just look at Leonard—when he entered the league, he was a raw defender with no shooting touch. Now? "Kawhi Jordan," with a deadly mid-range jumper as his signature move.
Chip's contribution was undeniable.
"What can I say? Coach Chip already agreed to come with me. Even beating me won't change that!"
Chen Yilun had come to San Antonio specifically for Chip. No matter what Popovich said, he wasn't leaving without him.
So he simply flopped on the floor, acting shameless.
"Enough already!"
Seeing that the fight had turned into bickering, Buford finally walked over.
"Get up. Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough?"
He yanked Chen Yilun off the ground. "Kid, this is dirty. We're all supposed to be on the same side. How can you steal your own people?"
Hearing Buford's half-hearted scolding, Chen Yilun just grinned. "Can't help it. Out of all the shooting coaches in the league, the only one I trust is Coach Chip. Otherwise, why would I go after your guy?"
"That's it, I've seen enough."
Popovich glared at both Chen Yilun and Buford. "RC, I see you're siding with him too."
"Why am I getting dragged into this?!" Buford shouted, indignant.
"Anyway, it's come to this. Yilun, how are you going to make it up to your teacher?"
Normally, in the NBA, poaching was just part of the business. If you could steal someone, that was your skill; the team that got poached could only swallow the loss.
But not with Popovich. The Spurs' system was famous for its loyalty—disciples almost never turned on each other.
So what Chen Yilun had done was nothing short of betraying his teacher.
"I'd never let my teacher suffer a loss! But come on, I didn't even say anything before the old man started pounding me!"
Chen Yilun looked completely wronged.
"Listen up."
The two veterans and the younger one huddled together, whispering in low tones.
"You sure about this?"
Popovich narrowed his eyes at Chen Yilun.
"Would I tell you if I wasn't sure?" Chen Yilun widened his eyes, trying his best to look sincere.
"Fine. I'll trust you one more time!"
The old man waved his hand. "Now get out of my sight!"
"On it!"
Seeing he had finally been let off the hook, Chen Yilun scrambled away before Popovich could change his mind and give him another beating.
Back in his room, Chen Yilun had barely caught his breath when his phone rang.
The moment he picked up, Steve Kerr's booming voice blasted through the receiver.
"You've got some guts! You even dared to poach Coach Chip!"
"Don't joke with me. Teacher just gave me a serious beating."
Chen Yilun quickly poured out his grievances to Kerr.
"There's already a video online. How else would I know?"
"You deserved it!" Kerr roared with laughter. "I thought about poaching Coach Chip myself once. Just hinted at it to the teacher and got chewed out so bad he didn't talk to me for over a month."
Then Kerr suddenly changed the subject. "So how much are you paying Chip? I'll add 5%—how about letting me have him instead?"
"No way!"
Chen Yilun cut him off immediately. "If you get involved, I swear the teacher might die of a heart attack."
While the two joked back and forth, another call came in.
"Kerr, gotta go. Work call."
Afraid Kerr would trick him into another mess, Chen Yilun quickly hung up.
The caller was Peja.
"What's up?"
"Boss, didn't you ask me to find a defensive coach?" Peja stood by the roadside, watching the busy traffic.
"I think I found one, but he's not very well-known."
"What's his name?"
"I'm in Houston right now. Just met one of their assistant coaches."
"What's his name again…?"
Peja scrolled through his chat history.
"Oh right, Chris Finch!"
...
Campaign Notice
For every review left, I'll release 1 extra chapter (up to 10).
Reviews are the best way to support the story—so if you're enjoying it, leaving a positive one will really keep me motivated and push me to release even faster!