"Got a minute, Yilun?"
After the celebration, Chen Yilun was alone in his office, sorting through some files, when he suddenly heard someone call his name.
He looked up to see a middle-aged man with curly blond hair and a slight paunch standing in the doorway, grinning. A name instantly came to mind—RC Buford!
The man who pulled the strings from behind the Spurs' silver banner. To the world, the Spurs' dominance came from the "Big Three" of Duncan, Parker, and Ginobili. But few knew that within the front office, there was another "Big Three":
Head coach Gregg Popovich, team owner Peter Holt, and the man standing before him—general manager RC Buford.
Buford's track record was legendary: landing French speedster Tony Parker late in the first round, grabbing Argentine "Manu the Magician" Ginobili near the end of the second, and turning castoffs like "Emperor Green" (back then still "Little Green") and "Australian Irving" Patty Mills into core rotation players.
Unlike other general managers who favored sweeping overhauls, Buford preferred slow cooking—rarely making moves, but never missing when he did. In San Antonio, they even called him "The Ghost Hand."
So why was Buford here today? A flicker of confusion crossed Yilun's mind. Sure, they were on good terms, but not close enough for a casual visit like this.
"Ahem, Yilun. I came to ask you something." Buford pulled up a chair and sat opposite him.
Wait… was this about to be the axe? Yilun's stomach tightened. In every workplace drama he'd ever seen, when the big boss suddenly got polite, it usually meant you were packing your things.
"Relax," Buford said, noticing the color drain from his face. "I just want to have a chat."
He took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one for himself, and offered the pack across the desk. "Want one?"
Yilun accepted with unsteady hands but forgot to light it. Buford took a long drag, then exhaled slowly.
"Yilun, you've been with the Spurs for almost three years now. How do you like it here?"
"Ah!" The cigarette slipped from Yilun's fingers onto the desk. This was bad. "Let's just talk." "Have a smoke." "Been here a while, huh?"—the three classic signs of a firing, all lined up.
His mind flashed over the past three years. No way… He'd worked hard, stayed humble, never made enemies. How had the chopping block found him?
Seeing his pale face, Buford quickly reassured him. "You've got it wrong. Everyone here sees the work you put in. We all value you. This is about a job offer, and I wanted your opinion."
A job offer? That wasn't what he'd expected.
"There's another team looking for someone in their uniform department," Buford continued. "They couldn't reach you, so they came to me." He took another slow drag, the smoke curling around his head and hiding his expression.
Another team? Yilun frowned. "Does Coach know?"
Indeed, Spurs owner Peter Holt had long been dead last among NBA owners in net worth—by a wide margin. Despite the team's consistent success, running the franchise meant squeezing every cent out of the budget.
"Then… which team is it?" Knowing Popovich was in on this steadied him. As a championship contributor with two old foxes as mentors, he trusted their guidance.
Buford's face tightened slightly. "Uh… Sacramento."
The Sacramento Kings? Yilun inhaled sharply. No wonder the old fox had looked uneasy—the Kings were a mess.
Since the breakup of the dazzling 2007 Kings, Sacramento had been stuck in a seven-year playoff drought, the only result of their rebuilding being DeMarcus Cousins, the so-called "All-Star from the Neck Down."
What Buford didn't know was that their misfortune would last until 2022, setting the NBA record with 16 straight years out of the playoffs. They burned high draft picks on bust after bust… until "You're running it like the Kings" became an insult in front office circles.
This was basically throwing him into the fire.
And the head coach? Mike Malone—the model case of a top assistant promoted to head coach. It was only his first season in 2013–14, but his years in the league gave him far more clout and experience than Yilun could match.
Sensing his hesitation, Buford added, "Of course, it's not to replace Mike. He's doing well. No plans to move him."
Good, good… at least he wouldn't be sent in as a scapegoat. But before he could breathe—
"They want you to be the general manager."
What?! Be the Kings' GM?!
Being head coach meant risking blame. Being GM of the Kings? That was career suicide. No one who'd taken that job had ever left unscathed. No way.
Watching Yilun shake his head furiously, Buford smiled faintly, as if expecting it. "Don't be so quick to refuse. Hear others out first."
Yilun immediately went on guard. Here came the pep talk. After three years in the Spurs' front office, he knew that look—it was Buford winding up to persuade.
"This offer from the Kings surprised me too," Buford said, unfazed by the skeptical glare. "Pop and I think the safest path is to keep you here a few more years, train you, then send you out."
He remembered the Belinelli deal—nights spent poring over film and data until he'd practically researched the Italian's whole family tree. And it had paid off: Belinelli perfectly filled the perimeter gap left by Gallinari's departure, becoming a crucial piece in the title run.
Still, at just 26, Yilun was young for management. Most people his age were still learning from the veterans. You only graduated when the rookie turned into a fox himself.
The warmth in Buford's voice wasn't lost on him. He knew exactly how much the two old foxes had looked out for him as the youngest in the department.
"Do you know Vivek Ranadive?" Buford's eyes locked on him like a predator's.
"Vivek Ranadive?" The name triggered a flood of memories—the battle to "Save the Kings"!
In 2014, Kings owners the Maloof brothers faced a financial crisis in their casino business. To stay afloat, they put the entire team up for sale.
Steve Ballmer, then CEO of Microsoft (and future Clippers owner), teamed up with a Seattle consortium to offer $500 million—on one condition: move the team to Seattle and resurrect the SuperSonics.
The news infuriated Sacramento, from the mayor down to the fans, sparking a massive "Save the Kings" movement.
At the same time, Warriors minority owner Vivek Ranadive jumped into the fight. To beat Ballmer, he sold all his Warriors shares, joined forces with a local group, and kept the Kings in town.
"After buying the Kings, Ranadive was desperate to turn them around," Buford said, lighting another cigarette. "Owners like that always think everyone before them was clueless and that they alone can revive a team."
He let out a short, dismissive laugh and muttered under his breath, "Naive capitalist."
---
For more chapters and to support the series, follow me on Ptreon (35+ Chapters Ahead!)
p-atreon.com/GhostParser (remove the dash in "p-atreon" to access the site)