"Look at this, look at this—my talent has finally been recognized."
In a coffee shop by the Sacramento River, Malone held a newspaper, reading with great enthusiasm.
"Derrick Rose scores 20+ in three straight games. Mike Malone knows how to utilize his players. The Windy City Rose may bloom again in Sacramento. See? Beautifully written!"
"Alright, alright."
Chen Yilun stirred the coffee in his cup.
"What age are we in? You're still reading a physical newspaper? Can't you just check your phone?"
"It's not the same."
Closing the newspaper, Malone answered seriously.
"News on a phone is fragmented—bits and pieces. Sure, it's convenient, but I have to dig and filter through everything myself. Print is different. What's on paper has already been curated. I can get exactly what I want without searching."
"But anyway…"
Malone suddenly shifted the topic. "Since Derrick joined the team, our locker-room atmosphere has improved a lot. After CJ left, those young perimeter guys were still quietly competing with each other. Now that Derrick is leading them, they've all settled down."
"That was the main reason I traded for Rose."
Chen Yilun murmured after taking a sip.
"Those young guys may have coaches guiding them, but the hierarchy is different. They were basically growing wild for a long time. Now that Rose is holding down the backcourt, they can really learn."
"You always see further ahead."
But Chen Yilun still hadn't told Malone everything. Trading for Rose wasn't just to stabilize the current roster—it was part of preparing for the team's long-term transformation.
He who plans for the ages can handle the present.
That old teaching had always shaped Chen Yilun's way of doing things. So unlike other General Managers who burn through the future to chase results in their own tenure, Chen Yilun made every move with both the present and the future in mind.
"What's everyone doing during the break anyway? You even had time to grab breakfast with me."
"Work-life balance."
Malone poked at the scrambled eggs on his plate, took a bite, and said:
"I gave them a short break. Heard that bunch dragged Derrick out for a BBQ."
With a three-day gap after yesterday's game, Malone was happy to let the players relax.
"BBQ? Rose, the ultimate introvert, actually going out to socialize?"
"They definitely blocked the door and dragged him out!"
...
...
"You make sure you grill that properly! Don't burn it again."
In his Sacramento mansion, Gay stood in the yard, hands on hips, directing everyone as the host.
"This is exhausting, every single day."
After shouting instructions, Gay finally exhaled heavily and dropped onto a camping chair in the garden.
Sitting beside him, Rose hesitated for a moment, then kept his mouth shut and drank from his cup.
You haven't lifted a finger since the start—just bossing everyone around. And you're tired?
Not far away, LeVert was covered in soot, frantically fumbling with a grill.
Nearby, the trash can already held several burnt pieces of chicken breast.
"Can you do anything right?"
Fred VanVleet, helping beside him, couldn't hold back anymore.
"This time I got it. It's the charcoal, you know? Doesn't burn well and smokes like crazy."
Before LeVert could finish, a teasing voice came from the side.
"Don't blame society for being ruthless—ask yourself if you're up to it."
Dejounte stepped into the yard.
"Oh, now you're quoting society? Fine, fine—here, you do it!"
Seeing Dejounte arrive, LeVert laughed and handed him the tongs. "You're the expert here. Let's see what you've got."
"It always goes smoother with me."
Dejounte took the tongs and made a few steady adjustments. The grill that had been billowing thick smoke moments ago instantly calmed down.
"Who's that?"
Rose, chewing on his straw, squinted at Dejounte working the grill.
After his major injury, Rose had withdrawn from everything. He barely knew any of the young players who had entered the league the past two years.
"Dejounte, last year's rookie. He was supposed to move into the starting lineup this season, but he tore his ligament right before the season began. Now he has to wait another year."
"There's something off about him."
Watching Dejounte chat casually with teammates, Rose suddenly said this.
"What do you mean off? Don't just say stuff. Dejounte's got a reputation here—team's good-natured punching bag."
Gay turned to him curiously.
"He's faking it."
Rose took a sip of water.
"I know that feeling too well. That's the smell of a street rat."
"Hss—!"
Gay was about to refute him, but then something clicked. He sucked in a breath.
"You know… now that you mention it… that kid did grow up on the streets of Seattle. I think he even spent time in juvie. But he's practically Crawford's godson. He hasn't been involved in street stuff for years."
"It's never that easy."
Rose lifted a hand and made a subtle gesture toward Gay.
"I never joined the streets in my life, but that smell still hasn't faded off me. You think he just walked away?"
Gay recognized the gesture—it was the old sign of a once-infamous Chicago gang.
"So what are you saying?"
"Just talking."
Rose waved his hand.
"Mr. Chen taught me something the other day: don't go by what someone says—go by what they do."
"Got it."
Gay nodded seriously.
While they talked, Dejounte had already finished grilling a tray of sausages.
"Food's ready!"
He called out, signaling the start of the feast.
That's American BBQ for you: a big group around the grill, standing, chatting, cooking, and eating all at once.
After everyone had eaten their fill, Dejounte suddenly approached Rose and Gay, cup in hand.
"Hello, guys!"
He greeted them respectfully.
"Nice to meet you, Rose. I'm Dejounte Murray—rookie, second year, from Seattle."
"Nice to meet you."
Rose nodded. It wasn't that he was acting high and mighty.
In age and résumé, Rose completely overshadowed Dejounte. Being overly friendly too quickly could disrupt the team's structure.
"I know it's not ideal to bring this up the first time we meet, but… I'm really anxious."
Dejounte hesitated, then finally spoke.
"Would you… consider being my mentor?"