044: The New Sheriff and the Old Sheriff

The initial life in America did not bring Lynch any lasting sense of novelty.

The hangovers in night clubs were not all that interesting, and the pleasure of cruising down the streets in a luxury car was quickly shattered by severe traffic jams.

Moreover, Lynch had practically no friends here for the time being.

He could no longer lie in bed chatting about the future with Teodosic as he used to, nor could he discuss the philosophy of becoming a man during daytime training with someone like Herreros.

The person he had interacted with the most here was Sam Presti, the video coordinator for the San Antonio Spurs.

He had invited Presti's family on a trip to New York, put them up in the newly purchased luxury mansion he owned in Long Island, and covered all expenses required for the trip.

And all Sam Presti needed to do was watch game tape with Lynch at night and discuss basketball together.

Lynch had always firmly believed that court vision and tactical comprehension were the core elements distinguishing good players from top-tier ones.

This was fully revealed in the opening game of the Summer League—facing Dwight Howard, Lynch relied not only on a level of natural talent that was by no means inferior to his opponent's, but also achieved a crushing victory through mature tactical execution.

Lynch obviously understood how to play a game of basketball much better than Howard, who had only ever played high school basketball.

This was the biggest difference between young European players and young North American players.

However, deeply aware of the competitive chasm between European basketball and the NBA, Lynch understood that the level of the Summer League was not high, and if he wanted to maintain a dominant performance in the regular season, he had to reconstruct his own cognitive system of the game.

Presti, whom he had encountered during the league orientation period, offered tactical lessons that felt refreshingly new to him. The concise and clear style of dissecting complex tactics matched Lynch's learning needs perfectly, which ultimately led to the implementation of this New York special training program.

Sam Presti had no reason to turn Lynch down; this young man was so generous and very easy to get along with, so why refuse?

Most importantly, giving Lynch tactical lessons did not give Presti the feeling of "working overtime."

Whenever night fell, sitting together around the projector to analyze the dynamics of tactics felt more like like-minded basketball fans chatting about their passion in a coffee bar.

One night, while analyzing the games of the New York Knicks from the previous season, Presti, who was usually eloquent, unexpectedly fell silent.

The team on the tape seemed to have fallen into a vortex of disorder, with every offensive possession depending entirely on Stephon Marbury's improvised individual performance, and defensive discipline was as hard to find as snow in New York during spring.

Considering that the Knicks' primary objective last season was tanking, it was actually understandable. But sometimes, if a team tanks for too long, it easily grows habitually bad.

"They indeed needed to tank to fight for draft picks," Presti finally broke the silence, his laser pointer drawing a sharp red circle on the screen, "but allowing this chaos to continue fermenting is corroding the foundation of the locker room. If Stephon Marbury cannot change..." He turned his head to gaze at Lynch's sharp, chiseled profile, "Then it should be you who reshapes the DNA of this team."

Lynch's fingertips subconsciously stroked the pause button of the remote control, freezing the image on Marbury's signature crossover move. The arrogant declaration from that overseas phone call three days ago still lingered in his ears.

"Kid, come to Athens to watch the U.S. team play, and I'll show you what real professional basketball is," the Knicks' franchise point guard had said in a condescending tone back then, "I know your team is going to lose a lot of games at the Olympics, but there's no need to be jealous. Follow my lead next season, and you can be a winner too."

Lynch knew what Stephon Marbury was trying to do. A new sheriff had arrived in town, and of course, the old sheriff had to find a way to assert his sovereignty.

Gazing now at the number 3 on the tape who was chucking shots at will and was too lazy to even put his hands on his hips on the defensive end, the corners of Lynch's mouth curled into an imperceptible arc: "Let's hope our All-Star gentleman is ready for the baptism of the new rules."

"Take it easy, Lynch. I don't mean for you to start a locker room civil war. Stephon is the Son of New York. He became famous in New York back in elementary school. He is the basketball idol of New Yorkers and holds massive influence here. If something happens between you two, the media might not necessarily side with you. You should figure out a way to unite the forces you can unite, rather than making enemies."

"The Son of New York? New Yorkers only love winners. The Stephon of elementary and middle school was the pride of New York, but what about now? Was Stephon Marbury praised by the New York media last season? Don't worry, Sam, I'll handle him my way. I dealt with similar issues at Real Madrid; an MVP of the Greek League was also dissatisfied with me, but in the end, we worked together quite happily. As long as someone wants to win, we won't have any conflicts."

After tonight's session concluded, Lynch returned to his room and opened the system store.

Unsurprisingly, amidst the pale blue halo, the store inventory updated right on schedule.

[Upgrade shooting capability upper limit to Kyle Korver level, Price: 240 Talent Points. (Can be stacked with current shooting talent characteristics)]

[Upgrade defensive anticipation capability upper limit to Thabo Sefolosha level, Price: 220 Talent Points.]

[Upgrade clutch composure upper limit to Derek Fisher level, Price: 100 Talent Points.]

Lynch's gaze was practically welded to the very first line of text.

The chronic ailment of inconsistent shooting was like a tarsal parasite, biting at Lynch's offensive threat value whenever his driving lane was locked down.

Upon entering the NBA, facing higher-tier defense and the brutal rim protection of the dark defensive era, he could no longer constantly pin his hopes on his insufficiently stable jump shot.

And as one of the purest snipers in the history of the league, Kyle Korver's wrists seemed to have been calibrated by God Himself, and his catch-and-shoot muscle memory was enough to strike terror into the heart of any defender.

Throughout his entire professional career, the lowest three-point percentage in a single season for him still reached 35%. Although shooting always depended on feel, Korver also had games where he was off target. But generally speaking, Korver's shooting consistency was not something John Paxson could compare to.

What was even more exciting was the stacking attribute noted by the system. When this gift resonated with John Paxson's clutch-gene, Lynch's shooting would simultaneously be engraved with Korver's precision and Paxson's ice-water veins.

This panacea not only directly targeted the ailment, but also elevated Lynch's long-range deterrence to a strategic-weapon level.

Although Lynch could not instantly and completely inherit Kyle Korver's consummate shooting artistry—which still required years of grinding and polishing—the breakthrough of his talent bottleneck had paved a smooth path toward qualitative transformation.

As the light screen flowed, the other two rewards looked rather like mere sweetening bonuses.

Lynch purchased the first item, and his 264 accumulated talent points instantly evaporated down to 24, but all of this was well worth it.

Admittedly, Lynch did not yet possess the fluid, off-the-dribble dominance of Kevin Durant, and the defensive pressure he had to bear as a primary offensive weapon destined his three-point percentage from easily reaching Korver's peak data as an elite spot-up shooter—spot-up shooters and franchise cornerstones undoubtedly faced completely different defensive coverages.

Yet one could still imagine how a Giannis Antetokounmpo with a more stable spot-up jump shot would subvert the entire court; Lynch at this moment was standing right at the evolutionary singularity that bred infinite imagination.

The dual evolution of mind and body had prepared Lynch to handle the trials of the NBA.

However, before that, he first had to don the red jersey and undergo a "warm-up" in Athens.

-----------------

Lynch sat in the stands. Stephon Marbury was hunched over with his face buried deep in his palms, while Coach Larry Brown's roar echoed beneath the arena's dome.

The U.S. team had lost, and it came even earlier than they had anticipated. Merely in the second game of the group stage, the Dream Team suffered defeat.

The Lithuanians used iron-clad team discipline to shred the arrogant myth of American basketball, extinguishing the glory of the Stars and Stripes.

Sarunas Jasikevicius, the Lithuanian God of War whom Lynch had previously defeated in Europe, erupted for 28 points throughout the game, completely overshadowing the American NBA stars.

The performances of Stephon Marbury and Allen Iverson were particularly unsightly; the former shot 2-for-14, while the latter shot 4-for-12.

The Son of New York occupied the team's highest number of shot attempts and playing time, yet finished with only 8 points—AI at least managed to reach double figures in scoring.

8, once again 8. The dark humor of the basketball world always bloomed in cycles.

As the game ended, Lynch walked into the player tunnel and caught sight of Stephon Marbury.

Surrounding the area were journalists, as this was the first meeting between the two New York luminaries.

Marbury looked at Lynch with a deeply furrowed brow. He was likely regretting why, of all games, he had given Lynch tickets to the second match.

"Stephon, tough luck," Lynch took the initiative to extend his hand, wearing a smile.

Little did he know, the New York Lone Wolf actually slapped away Lynch's hand suspended in mid-air: "Are you laughing at me? You guys lost to Italy too! Your China team couldn't even crack the Apennine pasta army!"

That was from the first group stage match that had just concluded, where China lost to Italy. Even Lynch could not stop the various Italian artillery pieces that had completely caught fire beyond the three-point arc.

Lynch certainly had no intention of mocking him, but Stephon Marbury—perhaps in a bad mood, or perhaps purely jealous of Lynch's star power—felt that the smile on Lynch's face carried constant malice.

Regardless, one does not strike a smiling person. The hint of a smile froze on Lynch's lips, turning into icicles: "At least I didn't score 8 points in a single game. In fact, I scored 18 points, a team-high, and threw in 4 blocks for good measure."

The veins bulging on Marbury's neck throbbed violently under the camera lights: "Shut up, kid. Today was just an accident. That's basketball. In the NBA, over a long season, there are plenty of damn nights like this, and you're going to run into plenty of accidents just like it."

"Oh, then have you ever considered that the China team and the U.S. team, both having already lost a game, might accidentally run into each other in the knockout stage?"

Marbury stopped in his tracks, turned his head to look at New York's new darling, pushed past a reporter holding a recording boom, and walked right back up to Lynch.

"Then you'd better pray to your country's God to make sure that kind of accident never happens, kid."

This initial encounter, charged with gunpowder, was sliced into countless pixels by cameras and transmitted around the world via satellite signals.

Isiah Thomas pressed his temples. He just knew that the empire's rise would not be that smooth.

He suddenly recalled what Assistant Director of Scouting Anderson Carter had said three weeks ago.

"Watch and see, Isiah. What you pulled out from the Brooklyn docks isn't a lifebuoy; it's a depth charge ready to blow the locker room deck wide open."

(Special thanks to book patrons Yuexia Wenyao Wenyao, Linlin, Jingxin Deyiyi, Qing Jiao Wo Lang Xiaoye, and other generous bigwigs for their tips and support. Thank you all!)