"Hi, ma'am, could I please get a coffee, no sugar."
"Sure thing, just a moment."
Link sat by the coffee shop window, watching Amy busy preparing his drink, and let out a soft sigh.
He had learned from Andrew that Amy worked at the campus coffee shop on the weekends to earn some extra money. Since the university wasn't far from their apartment and the team didn't have training scheduled today, Link came to UCLA to walk around and check in on Amy.
Seeing how busy she was, Link didn't want to bother her. He finished his drink, left a five-dollar tip, and headed out.
Walking through the vibrant, youthful college campus, the agitation in Link's heart settled a little.
The Spurs' offer was like a stone tossed into a calm pond. After the initial shock and euphoria faded, it turned into a deep sense of weariness.
Link hadn't immediately replied to Roger Ayers, nor had he disclosed the news to the team. He needed space—he needed to temporarily remove himself from the stress of the games and the pressure of making such a huge decision.
The sun filtered through the tall palm trees, casting dappled light and shadows on the clean walkways. Link walked aimlessly across the UCLA campus, hands in his pockets.
Unlike the high-stakes NBA world he usually inhabited, this place exuded a completely different atmosphere, soothing his nerves naturally. The fatigue from consecutive games seemed to dissipate somewhat. Here, he felt temporarily pulled out of the massive NBA whirlpool, regaining a semblance of peace.
---
Just as he walked through a tree-lined path, intending to find a bench and enjoy the tranquility, a familiar sound drifted faintly on the breeze.
"Thump... thump... thump..."
The sound of a basketball hitting the ground, carrying a unique rhythm, followed by the excited shouts of young men.
The noise was like a magnet, instantly capturing all of Link's attention—it was a passion and familiarity that came from instinct.
Link was drawn by the sound without realizing it.
Rounding a classroom building, an outdoor court appeared. A group of college players were gathered, warming up and shooting around. A large crowd lined the side of the court, erupting in excited cheers from time to time.
"Who is that kid? He can really jump!" a spectator nearby exclaimed.
"Russell Westbrook, from Leuzinger High. He's a spring! Plays with so much intensity!"
"A high schooler? That good?"
"I heard the school already offered him a spot. He's joining UCLA next year!"
"..."
Russell Westbrook? Link was stunned.
That name was legendary in his previous life—a future MVP, the historical King of Triple-Doubles, a superstar known for his sheer force and passion!
He couldn't believe he was running into him at this moment.
Link's curiosity was fully ignited. He squeezed to the front of the crowd and was surprised to spot another familiar face.
Jordan Farmar!
While his name wasn't as earth-shattering as Westbrook's, Farmar was a legitimate NBA first-round pick. Historically, Jordan Farmar would be selected by the Lakers with the 26th overall pick next year and would become a key player in the Lakers' future championship runs.
Link stopped at the edge of the court and watched quietly.
The two young men looked very green and skinny at this point, but without the commercial and self-interested layers of the professional game, their faces showed only the purest joy.
Just then, Westbrook seemed to spot something, and his eyes lit up.
"You... are you Link?" The young Westbrook walked up to Link, his tone full of enthusiasm. "I watched your game yesterday! You played great!"
The crowd seemed to notice the Asian man standing near them—it was indeed the Lakers' newly signed ten-day contract player.
"Thanks, Russell! And congrats on UCLA!" Link friendly high-fived the young man. This big kid was completely genuine and simple-minded.
The raw Westbrook smiled shyly, then offered an invitation to Link.
"How about it? Want to get a few runs in? We're short a guy."
"Sounds good. A casual game!" Link didn't refuse; he figured it was a good way to make friends with a future superstar.
"Alright, let's pick teams!" Jordan Farmar stepped up to organize the game, eager to see what Link could do.
After quickly dividing the players, a high-energy full-court scrimmage officially began! Link and Farmar teamed up against Westbrook's side.
Once on the court, Westbrook transformed, playing with an explosive, open style—like a wild horse let off its leash. He barely needed any plays; the moment he got the ball, his only thought was to attack the rim!
First possession: Westbrook dribbled at the top of the key, accelerated like lightning, used his pure explosive power to blow past Farmar, drove into the lane, and finished with his signature pull-back dunk!
"Wow!!!" The sideline erupted in gasps. This kind of raw, beautiful power was an absolute spectacle!
Link inwardly clicked his tongue. He had only watched him on TV in his past life. Feeling the incredible, ridiculous speed up close on the court was something else entirely.
On the return possession, Farmar calmly brought the ball up and initiated the offense.
Link didn't rush for the ball. He moved along the baseline and the wing, using a teammate's screen. A simple baseline back-cut gave him a moment of open space in the left corner.
The pass came immediately!
Link caught and shot without needing to adjust. His motion was fluid and seamless.
"Swish!"
In the following possessions, Westbrook's competitive streak was fully activated, and he played with even more excitement. He constantly attacked the paint, throwing the ball up to the rim after absorbing contact from multiple defenders. The ball bounced off the rim twice, but luckily fell through.
However, Link knew his own advantage: he would never compete with Westbrook physically. He played seamlessly with Farmar, moving constantly and wearing down the defenders.
The game became a collision of two extreme styles. Westbrook constantly bombed the rim with aggressive, brute-force drives, while Link played like a calm assassin, responding repeatedly with tireless movement and accurate long-range shooting, achieving stunning efficiency.
As the game progressed, Westbrook's team started having communication breakdowns on defense, while Link's team played smoother, with better ball movement.
In the final, deciding possession, Westbrook drove with the ball against Link's defense. Link knew he was at a speed disadvantage, so he gave him a half-step of space.
Westbrook, completely hyped up, drove toward the rim, trying to use his body to power through Link for a layup. Link chose not to brace for impact. The moment they made contact, he used a subtle shift to redirect the force and flashed to the side.
Westbrook lost his balance, stumbling, and the ball bounced high off the floor.
Farmar secured the possession and quickly drove down the court for a fast-break layup.
Game over! Link's team won!
Westbrook's face was filled with frustration, but his eyes held respect for Link.
"Man, you're money!" He walked up and high-fived Link hard. "Your shot is seriously on par with Ray Allen's!"
Link smiled and patted Westbrook's shoulder.
"Link, do you think I can play in the NBA right now?" Westbrook asked a bit shyly. Farmar next to him also leaned in to listen.
"Absolutely, your skill level is already better than a lot of guys in the NBA!" Link gave a thumbs up. Westbrook smiled sheepishly at the compliment.
"But... Russell, maybe you need to learn how to 'brake' sometimes!" Link suggested sincerely.
The Westbrook of his past life was incredibly dominant, relying on unbelievable athletic talent to charge forward relentlessly—it was his most defining characteristic. He succeeded because of it, but was also criticized for it, as his teams often underperformed in the playoffs during his solo leadership years.
Westbrook paused for a second, then grinned widely, showing his white teeth.
"Brake? Nah, man, 'brake' isn't in my dictionary. Only 'gas pedal'!" He thumped his chest, his reckless confidence fully displayed. "If I go fast enough, no one can catch me!"
Link looked at the confident, slightly stubborn young man before him. He knew that some paths had to be walked alone, and some experiences had to be learned firsthand.
He didn't say anything more, just smiled and shook his head. The storm of the future was already beginning to brew on this college court.
Just as he was about to say goodbye to everyone and leave the court, a voice came from behind him.
"Hey, Link, I wanted to talk to you about something!" Westbrook scratched his head and walked up to Link, looking a little awkward.