On Christmas Eve, Klay Thompson had made himself a quiet promise.
Nothing dramatic. Just a small wish.
"If I can hit three or four threes a night consistently," he had said with a shrug earlier that week, "I'll be fine. And maybe, just once, I'll have a ten threes game. That's enough for me."
He said it half-jokingly, half-seriously.
In his mind, Lin Yi was on another level. Trying to match him felt unrealistic. So Klay kept his expectations simple.
Lin Yi, of course, had no idea about any of this.
If he had known, he probably would have laughed. Between Klay and Stephen Curry, the future of long-range shooting was already lining up behind him. Records were not going to be gently broken. They were going to be overwhelmed.
Another storyline was unfolding.
On the sideline, former Lakers center Mychal Thompson could not sit still.
"That's my son!" he shouted, pointing at the floor as Klay drilled another three. "You see that release? That's my kid!"
A few former Lakers players sitting nearby covered their faces, half laughing, half embarrassed.
"Mychal," one of them muttered, "tone it down. You're still in L.A."
He did not care. Pride overruled diplomacy.
What most people did not see was the history behind that pride.
When Klay was in high school, he drifted for a while. Wrong crowd. Too much free time. Too little focus. Mychal did not explode at him. He sat him down.
They talked through the night.
"No lectures," Mychal once said during an interview. "Just honesty. I told him who he could be. Then I asked him who he wanted to be."
He spent more time in the gym with his son. Treated him less like a child and more like a teammate.
Back in the present, that same kid was taking over Christmas.
Lin Yi was ready to ramp up his scoring.
Kobe Bryant was matching him shot for shot.
And then Klay quietly stepped between them.
Five straight threes off the bench in the first quarter.
In the second, it became something else.
Catch and shoot.
Curl off a screen.
Relocate to the corner.
Rise, release.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
The Lakers were already loading up to contain Lin Yi. Mike Brown had extra bodies shading toward him, ready to trap or switch. That left seams on the weak side.
Lin Yi noticed quickly.
"Run it for Klay," he told Paul. "If they collapse, swing it."
Klay blinked. "You sure?"
"Time for the baby eagle to fly," Lin Yi replied. "We'll handle the rest."
By halftime, the numbers did not look real.
Sixteen of seventeen from the field.
Eight of eight from three.
No free throws.
Forty points.
The Knicks had 88 at the break. The Lakers had 51.
Kobe had 29 on efficient shooting. It did not matter. The gap was 37.
. . .
In the locker room, the energy was high but controlled.
Coach Mike looked around. "Stay sharp. They'll push early in the third."
Lin Yi stepped in before anyone else spoke.
"We keep it simple," he said. "Set solid screens for Klay. Make clean reads. If he's open, he shoots. No second-guessing."
Klay hesitated. "Boss, what about your scoring average? You're chasing history this year."
Lin Yi smiled.
"Relax. Tonight, you're the priority."
Lin Yi understood something larger than a single stat line. If Klay found his rhythm and carried it forward, the team's ceiling changed.
A leader who guards every shot attempt like personal property limits the team. A leader who trusts his guys expands it.
No one had ever heard Tim Duncan blame Manu Ginobili or Tony Parker for taking big shots. That was not how winning cultures worked.
As the team prepared to head back out, Lin Yi ruffled Klay's hair.
"Go enjoy it," he said. "Don't think about records. Just play."
Klay nodded, eyes steady now.
Out on the floor, the crowd buzzed with a mix of disbelief and reluctant admiration.
. .
Third quarter. Staples Center felt different.
Lin Yi noticed it right away.
The edge in Kobe Bryant's eyes was gone. Not empty, but dimmed. The urgency from the first half had faded into something quieter. Dwight was no longer calling for the ball with that wide grin. He just jogged to his spots and waited.
The Lakers looked drained. Not tired in the physical sense. Just mentally done.
A few possessions in, a Laker fan with his jersey over his head muttered, "Counting down the clock already. I hate seeing Kobe like this."
It felt that way.
On TNT, Charles Barkley shook his head.
"I picked the Lakers tonight," he admitted. "Didn't think it'd look like this. The gap's real. Getting shafted at home is never easy."
Even so, belief does not disappear easily in Los Angeles. Some fans still clung to the idea that Kobe would drag them back into it.
Lin Yi understood that kind of loyalty. He also understood the matchup.
Basketball is not solved by stacking names on a roster. The old super team experiment had already shown that. Talent matters, but fit matters more. Speed matters. Wing defense matters.
The league was shifting faster than most front offices realized. Pace was rising. Spacing was stretching defenses to their limits. A slow lineup, no matter how decorated, would struggle to keep up.
On the floor, Klay did not care about any of that theory.
He just kept shooting.
Midway through the third, he curled off a screen, caught it at the wing, and released before the defender could even square up.
Splash.
Next trip, transition pull up.
Good again.
By the time Klay hit 20 points in the quarter, the margin was flirting with fifty.
D'Antoni called a timeout.
"Alright," he said. "That's enough. We're not here to embarrass anyone."
As Klay sat down, breathing hard but grinning.
"Sixty in three quarters," Lin Yi said. "You planned that?"
Klay shook his head, still half in disbelief. "I swear I didn't. I just kept seeing the rim."
He had played 30 minutes.
Twenty-five for thirty from the field.
Ten for eleven from three.
No free throws.
Just catch, rise, release.
After the game, ESPN would note something almost absurd. Klay scored 60 and held the ball for barely over a minute in total—around 85 seconds.
Earlier in the season, some critics had questioned whether Klay deserved to share the spotlight with Lin Yi. Social media was quieter now. A few posts were already circulating.
A team with two threats can be planned for. A team of three is a different problem. Plus, with one of those threats being Paul with his orchestration, and a healthy frontcourt anchoring the paint. The shape changes again.
After a while, the Lakers' bench slumped deeper into their seats. Once Kobe checked out, the resistance thinned even more. The Knicks' reserves were playing loose, not hunting points, yet the lead kept stretching.
Final score. 149 to 100.
A 49-point loss on Christmas.
The Grinch the form of Klay Thompson, just stole Christmas from Lakers' fans.
Up in the suite level, the mood was heavy. Jeanie Buss and Jim Buss exchanged a few quiet words. No one rushed to spin it.
In the hallway afterward, the Lakers players avoided eye contact. No shouting. No excuses. Just silence.
Reality has a way of landing without drama.
As Klay was guided toward the press conference by D'Antoni, still dazed by the stat sheet being handed to him, Lin Yi turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Kobe was sitting alone for a moment, staring at the floor.
Lin Yi stopped a few feet away.
"Hell of a first half," he said, voice steady.
Kobe looked up slowly. "Didn't feel like it."
Lin Yi gave a small nod. "He was in the zone."
A pause.
Kobe exhaled. "Yeah. He was."
There was no bitterness in it. Just recognition.
For one night, on a stage built for stars, someone new had taken the center of it.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a