The Kings–Rockets game came to an end in this strange atmosphere.
"Does everyone see it?"
In the dim conference room, a group of coaches stared fixedly at a single possession frozen on the projector.
"I can't tell. It's too weird."
Coach Monty smacked his lips and shook his head. "I really can't see it. Every tactical action follows a clear structure. Their defensive coverage also unfolds normally. There's nothing that obviously looks wrong."
"That's not right."
Finch stood up. "Rewind it a bit."
As he spoke, Finch pointed at a specific sequence.
"Look at this transition. Harden brings the ball past half court and hands it to Paul to initiate the offense. Watch this ball movement. A window already opened up—Paul just needed to use Capela's screen, get to this spot, and he'd have a great chance to attack the rim.
"But they didn't do that. Instead, they swung the ball laterally again and let Ariza finish the play."
"And over here—this possession was supposed to be a standard Jokić high-post hub action. Look closely."
Finch pointed at the screen.
"Capela has already been screened off here, and Harden is pulled to the weak side and can't recover in time.
"In theory, Paul only needed to take a step back to stay with Richardson. But he didn't. He just stood there, completely motionless."
As Finch continued, the coaches' brows gradually knitted together.
"Why would that happen?"
Ham stared at the footage in disbelief. These details all occurred during fast transitions. Without deliberately breaking them down, even top-level coaches might miss them.
"Chris Paul!"
Monty's voice suddenly rang out.
"There's something wrong with Chris Paul!"
The moment Monty finished speaking, everyone turned to look at him.
"Look."
Coach Monty stood up and took Finch's place. "What we couldn't figure out earlier was buried in these small, fragmented possessions. And all of them share one common issue."
His voice suddenly rose.
"Chris Paul has slowed down!"
The words hit like a sledgehammer.
Chris Paul had slowed down? How was that even possible?
But as they reviewed the footage again and again, the Kings' assistant coaches all reached the same conclusion—Paul really was slowing down.
When the conclusion was finalized, Malone let out a long breath.
During the game, he'd been worried that D'Antoni was deliberately throwing up a smokescreen. He never expected the answer to be this.
"Clap, clap, clap."
Malone clapped his hands to quiet the room.
"Regardless of the reason, this is good news for us. If he's still like this next game, even better. If he goes back to normal, that's fine too. We'll just stick to the original plan."
"But I think—"
Ham, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke.
"We can make some slight adjustments on top of our current plan. Next game, we can run more of the actions we haven't used much—like Richardson drive-and-kick sets, or Butler-led space-compression plays."
Space compression meant tighter areas, quicker changes of direction, and more physical contact. Whatever was wrong with Paul, it was clearly a lower-body issue.
Compressing the floor would only increase the strain on his legs.
Some people might think this kind of tactic is bullying, or unsportsmanlike.
But in reality, it's a form of respect.
Off the court, I respect you for your accomplishments and your résumé. I admire you for fighting through injuries. But once we step onto the court, you're just another opponent. I'll use every legal and reasonable method to defeat you.
...
...
"Ugh!"
Inside a Sacramento hotel room, Paul's legs were tightly wrapped in thick packs of ice.
"Chris, maybe we should stop."
Harden sat beside him, his face full of worry.
Paul's injury had actually started back in the first round. During the series against the Thunder, his right knee had already begun bothering him, but he still insisted on finishing every game.
By the second round, though, the pain suddenly intensified. Every movement on the court sent stabbing pain deep into his knee.
After an examination, the team doctors confirmed damage to his meniscus. In theory, he should've been placed under observation and ruled out. But after repeated insistence from Paul, the medical staff reluctantly allowed him to play.
Fighting spirit was one thing—physical limitations were another. Tonight, Paul committed mistake after mistake, missing balls he normally would have secured easily.
These plays didn't show up in the box score, but the damage they caused the team was very real.
"No!"
Before Harden could finish speaking, Paul cut him off sharply.
"We've worked this hard to get here. I'm not letting this chance slip away!"
Paul's eyes gleamed fiercely, like a wounded beast ready to lash out at any moment.
"Don't tunnel vision like this."
Seeing Paul on the verge of exploding, Harden swallowed and tried to calm him down.
"If worst comes to worst, we wait another year. But if something goes wrong with that leg, it could affect your entire career!"
"I can't wait anymore."
Paul shook his head. "The Kings' roster isn't complete this year. This is our best chance. If we can't get past them now, who knows what Chen Yilun will pull off this summer?"
He sighed and continued.
"With Chen Yilun's pull and level right now, I wouldn't be surprised no matter who he brings in."
Paul's thinking wasn't unique—many around the league felt the same way.
Over the past two years, Chen Yilun had dominated the league almost single-handedly, suffocating everyone else. Plenty of people already had PTSD just thinking about him.
"So what about you? Can you still play next game?"
"I can."
Paul nodded firmly.
"As long as this leg isn't broken, I'll die on the court if I have to!"
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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