A thunderclap rocked the NBA when LeBron James opted out of his contract and returned to Cleveland. Not long after, the Cavaliers traded the No. 1 overall pick to the Timberwolves for Kevin Love, one of the league's premier power forwards.
The news sent shockwaves through the entire league.
No one had predicted that the once-dominant Miami Heat would fall from the throne so suddenly. Just last season they were chasing a historic three-peat—now they had collapsed overnight.
In his office, Chen Yilun jumped to his feet as he read the headlines. As expected, history's pull was too strong—James had returned to the Cavaliers after all.
It was time to capitalize on the chaos. James' return had thrown many general managers' plans into disarray, and this was the perfect moment for him to make his move.
Soon, another breaking headline appeared: the Kings had traded Jimmer Fredette and a 2017 first-round pick protected through the top five to the Trail Blazers in exchange for second-year guard CJ McCollum.
The deal had fans and analysts laughing. The Kings had finally cut ties with Fredette, the poster child for their failed draft picks. He could shoot, sure, but was a defensive liability and physically below NBA standards. To move him, they'd even had to attach a first-rounder.
When CJ—still asleep at home—was woken by his agent and told he was heading to Sacramento, his mood soured instantly, like he'd just swallowed something rotten.
After all, when it came to wrecking rookie careers, the Blazers and Kings were like big brother and little brother. But the Blazers were still a powerhouse in the West. With Damian Lillard and LaMarcus Aldridge, they had knocked the Rockets out at the buzzer last season—though they were dismantled by the Spurs in the second round.
However you looked at it, Portland's future was brighter than Sacramento's. And with Cousins running the Kings without much discipline—how could he even compare to Aldridge?
Watching the Kings work out on the practice court, Chen Yilun began to feel more at ease. CJ McCollum was destined to become one half of the "Trail Blazers' twin guns" alongside Lillard. Later, after being traded to the Pelicans, he would become their offensive centerpiece when Zion was injured, leading them back into the playoffs.
As long as the head coach didn't drop the ball, CJ would thrive this year if given enough touches.
"Coach, I've got some ideas for next season's offense. Of course, the final call is yours—I'm just putting my thoughts out there."
Mike Malone, standing nearby, stared at him. No need for such politeness—after all, Yilun outranked him.
Truth be told, Malone was pleased with Yilun's recent moves. Timofey Mozgov had already shown, in a single scrimmage, his excellent rim protection and help defense. And CJ… Malone still couldn't believe Portland had let him go for Fredette and a pick.
One practice was enough for CJ to win him over—smooth shooting stroke, sharp ball-handling, and clear on-court leadership. Most importantly, CJ's perimeter threat created constant space for teammates.
That was great news for Ben McLemore, who had been miserable in Sacramento. Drafted the same year as CJ and picked higher, Ben had been wasted in the Kings' chaotic perimeter system. Last season had been a lost year for him, and without Yilun's arrival, he might have kept sinking until the team cut him.
Now, with CJ's arrival opening up the floor, Ben could finally let his shot fly.
It wasn't that Portland lacked vision—they were a playoff lock. Lillard and Aldridge dominated the offense, with key contributors like Nicolas Batum and Brook Lopez. In that setup, CJ had no offensive role. His breakout only came after Aldridge left, freeing up touches.
"This year's trade market is a mess. I've done what I can to add strength on paper, but how these guys perform is on you," Yilun said, instinctively reaching into his suit pocket for a cigarette—then remembering the no-smoking policy in the arena and pulling his hand back.
Malone noticed the small gesture. "Let's go talk in my office."
Yilun shot him a knowing look, patted his shoulder, and they walked off together.
On the court, Rudy Gay called out, "Hey! McLemore!"
Three heads turned. "You talking to me, bro?"
Gay blinked, confused. Next to him, Mozgov burst out laughing—there wasn't just one McLemore on the roster. They had Ben McLemore, Ray McCallum, and the newcomer CJ McCollum. Gay's shout had summoned all three.
With the trio staring at each other, Gay scratched his head. "Man, your names are too damn similar. We've gotta figure out a way to tell you apart—or we'll be calling out the wrong guy in a game."
That sparked the interest of the rest of the team. In basketball, nicknames matter—every player wants a cool one. Just ask Cousins: when he learned during a trip to China that fans there called him a nickname that translates to "Big Cousin," he stayed salty for days.
Meanwhile, unaware of the locker-room banter, Yilun followed Malone into his office, dragged the ashtray closer, and lit up.
He hadn't always smoked much, but the GM job brought enough stress to make cigarettes a habit.
"Mike, I want to talk about the upcoming draft."
That got Malone's attention. At first, he'd just been curious about Yilun—but now he saw him as a vital part of the front office.
Yilun's recent trades might have looked minor, without sweeping roster changes, but as head coach, Malone knew they had already made the team much stronger.
"With the 11th pick, I'm taking Zach LaVine."
Malone pictured him instantly—a lean, fresh-faced guard who didn't draw much contact, but who, during his workout, had thrown down a 360-degree dunk that stunned everyone.
"LaVine?" Malone considered. "Flashy game, but his jumper isn't consistent enough to be a steady perimeter weapon. Athleticism's his big strength. I think 11's a little early—he's more of a mid-to-late first-rounder."
Yilun gave him an invisible thumbs-up. Spot on. In his own timeline, LaVine had gone 13th to the Timberwolves, starting the post-Kobe trend of taking guards at that slot.
"You're right," Yilun nodded. "But I still want him. I trust my judgment. Ben and Ray are solid shooters, but that's all. Ben's got the tools to be a solid 3-and-D, but we need a second ball handler. I don't want Thornton running the offense when CJ's on the bench."
Malone smiled wryly. Thornton had shown flashes last season, but he wasn't a natural playmaker. Roster chaos was part of the problem, but he simply couldn't generate enough offense for the team.
"So next season, I want CJ as the focal point of our perimeter offense," Yilun continued. Malone nodded—he'd been planning that anyway. CJ was far ahead of Thornton.
"And if we get LaVine, I want you to give him some usage. Maybe draw up a couple of plays for him. We've got a bad rep with rookies—I want that to change starting now."
Malone thought for a moment. "If we do that, won't our backcourt be too crowded?" With three McLemores, LaVine, and Thornton, they'd have five guards.
"That's a problem," Yilun admitted. "I'll take care of it. Thornton still has some trade value—I'll see what we can get."
Just when Malone thought the conversation was over, Yilun added, "One more thing. I've got my eye on another rookie. Won't go high in the draft, but he's got a lot of upside. If I can, I'll bring him in for you to see."
He smirked. "You know—we like finding hidden gems where no one else is looking."
That made Malone laugh. "We," of course, meant the Spurs—famous for turning overlooked players into stars. Years of low draft positions and tight budgets had made it a habit, backed by one of the best development systems in the league.
"Alright, I get it. Happy hunting."
"I like the sound of that," Yilun said with a grin, grinding his cigarette out in the ashtray.
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