Listening to Brown's words, Chen Yilun realized something.
Next season, the Digital Men would be built around a twin-star core of "forward" and "center."
It was this somewhat abstract pairing that marked the start of Philadelphia's revival plan.
"Philadelphia's not a bad place,"
Chen Yilun nodded approvingly. He almost reminded Brown not to trade away his third overall pick in the upcoming draft, but then thought better of it.
Right now, Philadelphia was under the tight grip of the Colangelo family—Brown wouldn't have much say anyway. Better to leave it alone.
"They're overflowing with talent over there. You'll fit right in."
And Chen Yilun wasn't just saying that.
Different coaches had different strengths, and Brown's ability to develop young players was among the best in the league.
Nearly every rookie under his guidance that year had made noticeable progress.
In that sense, Brown and the Sixers were a perfect match.
"It just feels kind of awkward,"
Brown admitted, scratching his head.
"Brett worked so hard under all that pressure to cultivate these prospects. He never even got to use them, and now I'm the one picking the fruit."
"Don't overthink it,"
Chen Yilun said as he stepped off the golf cart.
"I'm sure Brett would understand. After all, it's still staying in the family."
"Speaking of which…"
Brown shifted his stocky frame.
"I heard this year's reunion got canceled."
Chen Yilun froze mid-swing.
"Seems like that's the case," he said casually.
"If they skip it this year, it'll be hard to bring it back later."
Brown continued, seemingly unaware of Chen Yilun's reaction.
"With the reunion gone, everyone will drift apart. Guess that's how it'll be from now on."
Blunt as it was, Brown wasn't wrong.
Canceling the Spurs alumni gathering was basically Popovich's way of quietly disbanding the Spurs coaching tree.
Relationships need maintenance.
The Spurs family had once stood united largely thanks to the Old Man's presence. Everyone felt a sense of belonging to that lineage.
Now that Popovich had let go, it was inevitable that the bonds between those protégés would fade—and even infighting wouldn't be surprising.
"Honestly, it might be for the best,"
Brown sighed.
"The coaching tree's been around too long. The higher-ups have been tired of us for years."
And if anyone was happy about the Spurs network dissolving, it was surely that sharp-minded Adam Silver.
Thwack!
Chen Yilun swung again, watching the ball arc across the sky.
"Missed."
He pursed his lips in mild frustration.
"There's something else I haven't told you,"
Brown said, his thoughts far from the game.
"That guy Chris Finch—he's got ambition. Just hasn't found the right opportunity yet. If any team throws him a lifeline, he'll take it."
"That's only natural,"
Chen Yilun waved it off.
"That old man Malone's been nagging me for days to find a new assistant coach."
The thought alone made Chen Yilun's head ache.
Building a coaching staff should be the head coach's job—yet Malone never stopped talking, leaving Chen to run around handling it himself. Finding good assistants wasn't easy.
Still, Chen already had a few names in mind for next season's staff.
"As long as you've got a plan,"
Brown nodded, then seemed to remember something.
"Oh, one more thing—remember David West?"
"Of course. What about him?"
Chen Yilun paused, turning curiously.
"Last year he wanted to join us on a minimum contract, but you turned him down. Now he's reached out again through connections, asking if we'll reconsider."
Chen Yilun couldn't help but laugh.
"He's really persistent."
He had a genuine fondness for the veteran. West was one of the few players who truly understood the bigger picture and carried a thoughtful, grounded perspective on the world.
But in this timeline, things simply hadn't gone well for him.
The old warrior had become almost obsessed with winning a championship ring.
He'd turned down a multimillion-dollar deal to join the Spurs for the minimum, then tried and failed to join the Kings, before signing another minimum deal with the Warriors.
And now, he was back again, asking Chen for a spot.
"Maybe we should just sign him,"
Brown said helplessly.
"He's getting old, and the last couple of seasons haven't been kind to him."
It was true—West had barely seen the floor last season, his minutes slashed, and his scoring down to single digits.
Hearing that, Chen Yilun felt a little guilty.
After all, the guy wasn't asking for much—just one shot at a ring.
"I'll take a look,"
Chen said, rubbing his nose.
"If there's still room before the season starts, I'll give him a spot."
Then a thought struck him.
"Hey, man, ask David something for me—does he have to win as an active player?"
Brown blinked in surprise.
"What else would he be?"
"If I'm not mistaken, he's just about ready to retire, isn't he?"
Chen asked casually.
"Yeah, probably in the next year or two."
Then Brown caught on.
"Wait—you mean…?"
"Talk to him," Chen said. "If there's a roster spot, great. But if not, see if he's interested in retiring and joining me as an assistant coach."
Chen Yilun had long admired the veteran's intelligence. Bringing someone like West onto the staff could only strengthen the team.
"Not a bad idea,"
Brown nodded thoughtfully.
"I'll talk to him about it."
He swung at his ball, sending it in a clean arc—straight into the pond.
"What terrible luck today,"
he grumbled, shoving the club back into his bag.
"I'm done. That's enough for me."
Seeing him quit, Chen Yilun also packed up his clubs.
"Alright, that's it for today. I've got work waiting anyway."
Then he chuckled.
"By the way, man—aren't you planning to bring anyone from my team over to Philly? A lot of those guys think of you as their mentor."
"Of course I want to!"
Brown laughed.
"But I figured you, the big boss, wouldn't let them go."
"Come on, I'm not that stingy,"
Chen Yilun grinned.
"Those guys with expiring contracts—if you want them, I won't stand in your way."