Derrick Rose stepped off the plane and looked up at Sacramento's gray, murky sky.
Though it was already November, Sacramento wasn't nearly as bitter as Milwaukee or Minnesota.
Here, winter was damp and chilly—a long rainy season with faint, lingering winds.
The cold air, heavy with moisture, seeped into your clothes and straight through to your skin.
A gust of wind blew past, making Rose shiver. He lifted his head toward the gloomy sky and murmured to himself,
"Looks like it's going to rain."
Hearing him, Armstrong, who was trailing behind, spoke up.
"Yeah, that's how it is here. Winter overlaps with the rainy season, so Sacramento's winters are usually cold and damp."
Whether it was the weather or his own state of mind, Rose stayed quiet and heavy-hearted.
His best days had ended on that sweltering afternoon in Chicago last year, and ever since, his mood had rarely lifted.
"Don't overthink it."
Sensing Rose's mood, Armstrong offered a soft word of comfort.
"We're here now—just settle in. Before we came, Mr. Chen Yilun told me they're really happy to have you."
"Hope so."
Rose said quietly as he pulled his suitcase forward. But when they reached the arrivals area, the sight made Rose and the others freeze in place.
The gate was packed—cameras everywhere, flashes firing so quickly that Rose almost couldn't open his eyes.
"Welcome to Sacramento, Derrick!"
Standing at the front was the team's head coach, Mike Malone.
"Thanks."
Rose, somewhat dazed, shook Malone's hand. "Who are all these people?"
"These folks?"
Malone glanced at the packed crowd behind him. "No idea. They were here before I even arrived. Probably a mix of media and your fans."
Noticing the size of the crowd, Rose paused—then something clicked. Emotion surfaced in his eyes.
Sacramento might not sound like a major city today, but in the last century it was a legendary name.
As California's capital, it had long served as the western terminus of the great Transcontinental Railroad.
Only after the line extended to Oakland did Sacramento gradually fade from prominence.
With so many workers and railroad families settling here over the years, the city developed a uniquely tight-knit, tradition-heavy community—one that always rallied behind anything it claimed as its own.
What Rose didn't expect, though, was just how fiercely loyal Sacramento fans were.
During the Kings' unforgettable run in the early 2000s, the city became famous for having one of the loudest, most passionate home crowds in the league.
Even today, that spirit hasn't dimmed; Sacramento is the kind of place where a new player is greeted not just as an athlete, but as someone the whole city is ready to stand behind.
"Everyone's really excited you're here."
Malone gave Rose's arm a friendly shake.
"The young guys heard you were coming—they're all fired up and can't wait to learn from you."
Before Malone finished, another commotion rose from the side.
Butler came striding over in a flashy leather jacket and sunglasses.
"Man!"
Still a few meters away, Butler lunged forward and slammed Rose into a heavy bear hug.
"Ah! My back!"
Caught completely off guard, Rose was nearly knocked senseless by the impact.
"You're a grown man and still this reckless?"
Rose said, unable to hide the warmth in his voice.
"It hasn't even been that long since we met, and look at you—thriving."
"Thriving? Come on, I've always been your little brother!"
Butler had always deeply respected the first leader he ever had in the NBA.
"Mr. Chen really hit me with a surprise. I didn't even know you guys were traded until it was done. This is great! Having you here gives me way more confidence."
He pointed to his left knee. "Got clipped a while ago. Still recovering."
"I saw that."
At the mention of injuries, Rose frowned. "Kid played dirty. Too dirty."
"Dirty or not doesn't matter. It's just another little obstacle in our way."
Butler waved it off easily.
"Forget that. Too many eyes here. Hop in my car first. I checked out the apartment you'll be staying in—really nice, and close to my place. You can drop by anytime."
Before Rose could respond, Butler dragged his suitcase away.
"You're still injured and acting this reckless?"
Malone laughed, patting Butler's hand. He signaled his assistant to take Rose's luggage, and the group made their way out.
...
Once in the car, Butler kept chattering nonstop.
"Bro, listen—this team might look crowded, but guys with your level of experience? Not many. And our boss Gay doesn't really handle the day-to-day stuff. When he heard you were coming to share the load, he was thrilled."
The Kings weren't just strong—they were a team without a ball-dominant tyrant.
Veterans didn't pull rank, rookies didn't fight dirty. Everything was trending in the right direction.
Rose's expression didn't change much as he listened, but his whole presence slowly began to shift.
"Whoa—look, it's clearing up."
Butler murmured, staring out the window.
"Thought it'd rain when I left the house, but now the sun's out."
Rose glanced outside as well.
The thick clouds were peeling away, and rays of light forced their way through, shining down onto the ground.
"Looks like it won't rain after all," Butler said lightly. "Today's gonna be a good day."
The car sped down the highway, the spray of dust and water knocking over a late-blooming wildflower on the roadside.
But after the car passed, the little flower shook off the water and dust, straightened up again, and stretched its fragile stem into the Sacramento wind—
as if mocking fate for failing to knock it down.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser