Chapter 115: Home Game 2

"Swish!" Jake, standing on the sidelines and watching intently, was momentarily stunned. He looked around in confusion. "The move he just made was... Nowitzki's Golden Rooster Stand? You taught him this?"

Looking at Jake's astonished expression, Vlade Divac adjusted his suit sleeves awkwardly. "Uh... I really haven't taught him this," he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Divac nervously touched the tip of his nose. When did Jokic learn this move? Could it be that Nowitzki, the stubborn German, thinks my protege has the potential to be an emperor and wants to steal him away? Divac's mind raced, and an unsettling sense of competition began to grow inside him. No! He wouldn't let that happen! After all these years, Serbia had finally produced a player capable of carrying the banner. If Divac lost him, he would never be able to face his ancestors again!

Meanwhile, in Dallas, Nowitzki, preparing for the playoffs the next day, suddenly sneezed.

"What's wrong, Dirk? Are you feeling unwell?" Carlisle, noticing, rushed over with concern.

"I don't know. I just felt an itch in my nose and sneezed," Nowitzki replied, puzzled.

Back in the game, Jokic remained blissfully unaware that his vacation plans had just been hijacked by Divac. At that moment, he was fully immersed in displaying his offensive talents on the court. His combination of size, strength, and wingspan made him nearly unstoppable in the paint.

"Coach, why don't you let me go back out?" As Coach Joerger began to look frustrated, Randolph's hoarse voice broke his thoughts. Looking up, Joerger saw Randolph's determined face.

"Forget it, you should rest for now," Joerger said, knowing his team's situation. "If you go out again now, we won't have a chance in the second half."

Joerger, as the head coach, understood the predicament clearly. The Grizzlies had entered the playoffs primarily due to their strong start to the season. But their final stretch had been disastrous. Had they played a few more games, they might have missed the playoffs entirely. Their style—heavily reliant on physical interior play—was vulnerable to injuries. Now, with two core players sidelined, Randolph, the lone warrior, was battling through his own injuries. The knee brace restricted his movement, further impeding his effectiveness.

By halftime, the Kings' lead had ballooned to 20 points. In the locker room, Booker, wide-eyed with excitement, spoke up, "Is this the playoffs? It's not as tough as I thought."

But his words were met with silence and skeptical looks from his teammates.

"Huh!" Butler's iconic snort filled the room. "What's there to be proud of beating a sick bear with no claws or teeth? Winning one game isn't winning, winning 16 games is winning. And we haven't even won the first one yet."

Butler's cold words immediately deflated the mood. Realizing his mistake, Booker clammed up, busying himself with preparations.

In stark contrast to the Kings' confident locker room, the Grizzlies' atmosphere was grim. Their players sat dejectedly, waiting for Joerger to outline their strategy for the second half. Joerger stared at his tactical board, deep in thought, occasionally whispering to his assistant coach.

"Is it really gone?" Joerger asked in a low voice, only for the assistant coach to shake his head, resigned.

"It's really gone," the assistant coach confirmed, bitterly. "We only have a handful of players now, and many of them are just short-term call-ups from the Development League. What tactics can we play? And the Kings are clearly focused on a defensive counterattack today."

The assistant coach paused, realizing the grim reality. "Our defensive system, built on Conley and Tony Allen locking down the perimeter and forcing teams inside, is useless without them. Now, with only Randolph left, the paint is wide open. What can we do?"

Joerger sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the situation. "Is there no way out?"

The assistant coach, almost absentmindedly, suggested, "If Vince Carter suddenly finds his prime again, we might have a chance."

"Are you trying to be clever with me at this point?" Joerger snapped, irritated.

The second half unfolded without surprise. The Kings, confident and in control, dominated the court. The final score was 108–84, with the Kings easily securing their first home victory.

As the game neared its end, with the outcome well decided, Butler leaned over to his teammates, emphasizing, "Don't get too excited. Keep it cool. When we shake hands, do it like it's nothing. Then walk straight to the locker room. Got it?"

CJ, curious, leaned in. "Why?"

"Because the game isn't just about the 48 minutes on the court," Butler replied, taking a slow sip of Gatorade. "We have to make them feel like we haven't won enough. The Grizzlies' confidence is on the brink of collapse. Let's bury them with one last blow."

When the final whistle blew, the Kings shook hands with the Grizzlies, their expressions cold and detached. Without a word, they walked off the court and back to the locker room, leaving the Grizzlies in their wake.

Divac, watching from the sidelines, smiled. "This Butler, he's got a natural talent for this. Even now, he's putting pressure on the Grizzlies."

Jake, watching the same scene, nodded in approval. "It's teams like this that make you believe they have championship potential."