Champion Rules

Chapter 260, Section 256: You Yourself Are the Shortcut (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)
The final buzzer mercilessly cut off the last breath of the Palace of Auburn Hills.

The scoreboard coldly declared with a score of 102 to 106: the Detroit Pistons, the super team that carried the hopes of the entire league, had finally sunk in their own harbor!

With a 3-1 lead in the series, the Knicks have a match point. Furthermore, Game 5 of the series will return to Madison Square Garden, the basketball mecca that has remained unconquered by any opponent this season.

The game had ended long ago, but countless figures wearing Pistons blue T-shirts remained frozen in their seats, like a group of statues whose spines had been instantly removed.

They couldn't understand, couldn't swallow—this super piston team, which gathered the power of the stars, could be defeated so thoroughly, so nakedly, so without any dignity!

And that number 20.
He's practically the eternal god of New York, and Melo's eternal dad!
LBJ will always be our master and Wu Lan will always be our daughter!
When Melon was just starting out, Lynch was able to lock him down.

Carmelo Anthony is third in MVP voting this season, and Lynch can still shut him down.

Carmelo Anthony's inclusion in the MVP rankings is a complete waste!
LeBron James left without a word; his heavy silhouette conveyed the despair of a gladiator being dragged out of the arena by fate.

He neither shook hands with the Knicks players nor spoke to his own teammates.

Deron Williams stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes vacant. He couldn't believe that the legendary Melo hadn't been able to put up a single fight tonight.

Richard Hamilton walked up to the dejected Melon, patted him on the back, but didn't know what to say.

As the only one in this turbulent dynasty who has been by Carmelo Anthony's side since he took off his rookie jersey, he knows more deeply than anyone else what a thrilling epic of growth lies beneath that seemingly childish baby face.

From a green rookie searching for his moment on the bench, he has risen to the ranks of the All-Stars.

He transformed from a voiceless teenager in a locker room corner into a leader capable of carrying the steel flag of Detroit.

Even during the Pistons' darkest slump, they never completely fell apart under his protection.

But that's precisely the cruelest part.

Carmelo Anthony has improved so much, both in terms of his pure on-court skills and his locker room leadership.

But with Lynch, he could only look up to him, feel suffocated, and be helpless!
Aside from Lynch's rookie season, the Detroit Pistons, a team steeped in iron-blooded glory, have never beaten the Knicks in the playoffs.

Even now, with the formation of a super team, the Detroit Pistons are still in a noose.

Carmelo Anthony struggled to escape his fate, but fate showed him no mercy.

At this moment, any words of comfort are futile, for this is the ultimate and cruel interpretation of "dominance."

A truly dominant superstar is someone you can never catch up to, no matter how hard you try.

Did Charles Barkley not burn himself out in 1993?

Did Gary Payton not fight with an injured leg in 1992?

Didn't the Utah Jazz's duo give it their all in 1997 and 1998?

Didn't the man who risked his life in 1992 to create that iconic shrug moment for the world make any effort?

They all did their best, but none of them could truly beat Michael Jordan.

That dominance belonging to the unanimous MVP was embodied in the Palace of Auburn Hills tonight.

Jeff Van Gundy looked at the miserable Detroit Pistons and shook his head:
"It's terrible, but that's the price of defying the rulers. Melo shouldn't talk about Lynch's unanimous MVP award, just like I shouldn't have talked about the relationship between Michael Jordan and Patrick Ewing back then. You know, people like Lynch and Michael don't tolerate the slightest trampling of honor."

(During his time as Knicks head coach, Van Gundy made a lot of nonsense, saying that Jordan was hypocritical and that his friendship with Ewing was a ploy to lower his guard before destroying him. He was two-faced. MJ was furious and trash-talked Van Gundy relentlessly during the game. Because of the trash-talking, he was too distracted and only scored 51 points.)
No Pistons player shook hands with a Knicks player; Lionel Hollins was the only one to do so. He struggled to suppress a surge of bitterness, even deliberately avoiding looking at Flip Saunders' outstretched hand.

It's not that we disrespect our opponents, but this defeat is simply too heavy a burden for the Pistons, a team that has staked everything on huge salaries, endless expectations, and even their dignity.

So heavy that even the last bit of strength and composure needed for a handshake seemed to have been completely drained.

After most of the Pistons players had left the court, Lynch walked up to Steve Nash.

Son of the Wind, this aging engine that had exhausted its last drop of gasoline, lay slumped on the cold surface of the commentary table like a broken puppet from the moment the final whistle blew.

On the narration table in front of Reggie Miller, there was already a murky, wet stain that shimmered under the light; if you didn't know better, you would think it was the filming set of the art film "The Night at Dinner Table".

Of course, this level of discomfort wasn't enough to make the Wind Child urinate; instead, it was a series of hot, dripping marks from Steve Nash's soaked, disheveled hair, known as "Fight to the Death."

It turns out
Steve Nash is really unhygienic; he makes a mess of other people's tables!
Nash's chest heaved violently, and his rapid breathing had not yet subsided.

My defense against Richard Hamilton in the final moments almost caused him to explode.

Philip Sanders doesn't subscribe to the plantation tactics, especially since Nash is white. Even if the plantation tactics were to be used, Nash should be the one wielding the whip.

Philip Sanders didn't substitute Nash in the end, just to be on the safe side.

If the Knicks manage to seize the final opportunity for a decisive counterattack, Steve Nash will undoubtedly be the most accurate and lethal engine.

So, at the last minute, Steve Nash was forced to act as Richard Hamilton's dog and engage in an exhausting chase with him.

Of course, he was ultimately a little stronger than a dog.

At least he didn't vomit it out directly.

Seeing Lynch approach, Steve Nash laboriously raised his hand: "Next time, I really should have you guard Richard Hamilton."

Lynch gave him a high five, then laughed and asked, "So who are you guarding?" "Me? Probably LeBron James. He's very strong, but he might have already traveled before he even bumped into me."

After Nash finished speaking, he prepared to get up and leave.

But as soon as he was freed from the support of the commentary platform, his legs suddenly went weak.

Lin Qi quickly stepped forward to help him up.

"Damn Steve, have I become your Scottie Pippen?"

"Hahaha, sorry Lynch, let me catch my breath. Okay, you can let go now."

Seeing Steve Nash manage to steady himself, Lynch patted him on the shoulder:

"Your efforts will be rewarded, I guarantee it."

Steve Nash turned around and waved his hand:

"I'm not asking for anything in return. For me, the greatest reward right now is the companionship of my children."
I just want to be with you until the end, just like I promised.

Before achieving my goal, I'll try my best to appear somewhat useful.

Lin Qi didn't say much, but walked side by side with him into the players' tunnel.

This time, not a single paper cup fell when the Knicks players walked to the player tunnel.

Lin Qi glanced at the stands; the remaining fans there no longer had any murderous intent in their eyes, only empty despair.

The King of New York smiled with satisfaction.

It seems he taught the frenzied Detroit fans what civilized spectating is all about.

After attending the press conference, Lynch was about to board the team bus when he was stopped by Sam Presti in the player tunnel.

He looked very excited:
"Lin Qi, you're under too much offensive pressure right now, I have to help you out! I'm here to introduce you to someone, the fourth place winner of the 1997 Slam Dunk Contest!"

Lynch waved his hand: "You don't need to introduce anyone to me. I don't trust anyone but LeBron James. Only he can help me win without wearing a Knicks jersey. You have no idea how much energy he has inside!"

Lin Qi felt that the conversation was somewhat familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

It's still the playoffs, so Lynch really has no intention of making any signings.

In this world, there are only two people who would consider transferring during the playoffs.

One is the king, and the other is the prince.

Sam Presti hesitated, "He's already called me, you should at least meet him during the offseason. He's not asking for much, our mid-level exception is perfect for him."

"Okay, I'll meet him during the offseason. Fourth place in the 1997 Slam Dunk Contest? There were only six people in total that year!"

"That's true, but he's not a dunker; his favorite thing to do is shoot three-pointers."

Upon hearing this, Lin Qi immediately realized what was going on, and his expression turned serious: "Please, you absolutely must get him to join my team!"

"Have you heard his story?"

"No! But his three-pointers are full of stories!"

Sam Presti:
"What? I mean, you already know the story of why he called me first?"

"Huh? I don't know, what happened?"

Sam Presti smiled and handed over his phone—on the screen was a clip of Ray Allen's speech on his blog twenty minutes earlier:

"Next season's destination?" Ray Allen adjusted the microphone, his gaze piercing through the lens. "Man, to be honest, I was hesitant at first, and weighed the pros and cons for a long time."

He paused briefly, as if confirming a conviction that had finally been established, then his voice suddenly became resolute:
"But tonight, this real bloody battle made me realize one thing."

Never fucking be enemies with Lynch.

After this game, Ray Allen no longer wanted to watch the Lakers' performance in the Finals.

Because they'll all be finished too!
After the video finished playing, Lynch shrugged: "Fuck, am I taking a shortcut? I just beat him in the playoffs, and he just gave me some trouble in the playoffs. Now, he wants to join me?"

Sam Presti shook his head: "Take a shortcut? Lynch, you yourself are the shortcut!"

Last offseason, Sam Presti used the same maxim Ray Allen just said to persuade Ron Artest.

It made him give up the beautiful sunshine of California and choose New York.

This year, it's clear that Ray Allen is a smarter guy.

Even without Sam Presti saying it, he already knew this eternal truth in the world of basketball—

Never fucking be enemies with Lynch.

(End of this chapter)