Stern's Call

Oklahoma City.

In a luxurious residential area, a young man with the look of a contractor sits in front of a computer, his fingers rapidly tapping the keyboard. His eyes are fixed on a particular post that has captured his attention. He swiftly switches between different accounts, leaving comments under the post with an intensity that matches his expression.

To an outsider, his gloomy demeanor might suggest he's embroiled in a heated argument over a work issue. But in truth, his frustration stems from the content on his screen:

"As long as Sickle maintains 60% of his current performance, he's a lock for this year's scoring title!"

The post, made by a fan of Lian Dao, whose username is "sickle～死神," featured a profile picture of someone wearing the No. 1 Knicks jersey. Clearly, a die-hard fan of Lian Dao.

It wasn't the username that irked the young man, but rather the post's content. Praising Lian Dao so highly? It didn't sit well with him at all.

What do they mean? He thought bitterly. I've waited two years for this—my third season, finally. My second season is over, I'm in better form than ever, and I'm ready to make a statement this season. But now this guy comes out of nowhere, and they're already calling him the scoring champ?

I've been patient, biding my time, and now it's supposed to be my turn. Supernova? Sure, "Supernova" sounds impressive, but back when I was a rookie, I was called the same thing.

At the beginning of the season, I boldly declared to my two younger teammates that I'd secure the scoring title and lead the Thunder to the playoffs. I still remember the admiration in their eyes.

But just as the season starts, this new guy shows up and steals the spotlight. It's like a slap in the face. In the past few days, even the way my teammates look at me has changed.

His irritation spilled over into his actions. Using his alias "The Strongest Durant," he left a series of comments under the post:

"Durant is the strongest small forward in the league, no question about it."

"Sickle? He just got lucky in the last couple of games. Durant is the future at the No. 3 spot."

"Sickle's just a stat-padder who happens to rack up triple-doubles!"

As he typed out the last comment, a nagging feeling told him something was off. But he ignored it and hit 'send' anyway.

What he didn't realize was that this account was part of a private group he shared with his Thunder teammates. Westbrook, who was casually scrolling through Twitter, stumbled upon the comment and raised an eyebrow.

Is Big Bro talking about Sickle? Westbrook wondered. Why does it sound like he's hinting at me? Have I done something to piss him off recently?

He replayed the last game in his mind. I did pass the ball to KD, but he missed the shot. I passed it to our other teammate, and he nailed it. So, what's the issue? Is it wrong for me to want a triple-double?

No, triple-doubles are awesome! This has to be our other teammate's fault!

It's not my fault; he's shooting so well that I keep passing to him. Now Big Bro's mad and throwing shade at me with his burner account.

Meanwhile, out on the streets of Oklahoma City at four in the morning, a bearded young man was leaving a nightclub, licking a strawberry-flavored ice cream cone. Why strawberry? Simply because he liked it. He had no idea that his second brother was already making assumptions about him.

As he walked, he muttered to himself, "Kobe said he got stronger because of those 4 a.m. workouts in Los Angeles. I've seen those mornings too, though not as often lately. But I do see a lot of 4 a.m's here in Oklahoma."

Slurp.

"Is there some kind of special power in L.A. at 4 a.m.?"

Slurp.

"I get it now! That's why Kobe and Sickle are so strong. They must've activated the L.A. 4 a.m. buff. But hey, I was born in L.A. too, right?"

"Maybe I'll be that strong one day... but maybe my buff just hasn't kicked in yet."

Slurp.

"Yeah, that must be it!"

...

New York, United States.

Lian Dao lay in a comfortable bed, deep in sleep. Two back-to-back games had drained all his energy. Although his physical fitness was impressive in the NCAA, the NBA's demands, especially with the significant playing time he was getting, were proving to be a new challenge.

Larry Hughes had advised him to manage his energy wisely and conserve it as much as possible—a valuable tip from someone with years of experience in the league. But with the Knicks lacking a consistent second scoring option, whenever they fell behind, the responsibility to carry the team's offense fell squarely on Lian Dao's shoulders.

After returning home yesterday, Lian Dao's senior sister had given him acupuncture and a full-body massage, helping his exhausted muscles to relax. The relief was so profound that he soon drifted into a deep sleep.

However, his restful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"Hey, if you can't give me a good reason for this, I'll pin you to the wall, and you won't even be able to unbutton yourself," Lian Dao grumbled groggily, still a bit irritable from being woken up.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, likely from the shock of his aggressive tone. The caller, realizing they may have disturbed him, responded carefully, "I'm David Stern."

"You're... anyone..." Lian Dao started to retort but stopped mid-sentence. "Wait, David Stern?" It suddenly dawned on him that the voice was indeed familiar—the NBA Commissioner.

Lian Dao snapped awake instantly.

Damn! I almost threatened the Commissioner. Am I about to get blacklisted?

"It's okay, you didn't know it was me, and I did call you unexpectedly. I should've considered that you just finished back-to-back games," Stern said kindly.

Lian Dao sighed in relief.

The two ended up chatting for a while, and from the tone of their conversation, it seemed to be a pleasant one.

After hanging up, Lian Dao sat on the bed, still processing the call. Stern had called to congratulate him on winning Player of the Week for the second time and Rookie of the Week. But Lian Dao knew there had to be more to it.

Sure enough, Stern brought up the fact that in seven games, Lian Dao had sent two players to the hospital. Lian Dao explained with a wry smile that it wasn't intentional and that they had fouled him first.

This put Stern in a difficult spot. There wasn't any legitimate reason to reprimand Lian Dao, but he needed reassurance. Lian Dao assured him that while he wouldn't initiate any unnecessary fouls, he wouldn't shy away from defending himself.

Satisfied with the response, Stern relaxed. His main concern was ensuring that Lian Dao's aggressive behavior didn't become a habit. But after hearing Lian Dao's reasoning, Stern understood that the young player simply lived by the motto: Don't mess with me, and I won't mess with you—a principle Stern could accept.

By the time the call ended, any traces of sleepiness had vanished. Lian Dao stretched, feeling his body still relaxed from the massage. That massage was really something. He felt good about having his senior sister around. Not only was she beautiful and skilled, but she was also a physical therapist, agent, business manager, and possibly his future girlfriend.

She had recently assembled a team to handle his endorsements, focusing her energy on Lian Dao's investment company. When Lian Dao finally got out of bed, he found that she had already left for work.

Not in the mood to cook, he decided to head to Tianyi Pavilion, his master's place, for a meal. It's been a while since I last visited, he thought.

His master's wife, a kind woman from the southern Jiangnan region, was in her 50s but looked much younger. Her gentle demeanor made Lian Dao feel at home, and she had always been particularly fond of him. Sometimes, his senior sister even got jealous of the attention he received.

Whenever Lian Dao was around, his master's wife would cook more frequently, and even his master, Guo Nianguo, would joke that he benefited from Lian Dao's presence.