65: The Original Sin of Leaders

This upset loss to the Sacramento Kings was like the first falling domino.

The subsequent road trip turned into a nightmare for the Lakers.

Minnesota, Target Center.

Lin Feng scored 35 points and recorded 8 assists.

But on the other side, Kevin Love grabbed 24 rebounds inside, dominating the paint.

The Lakers lost.

Dallas, American Airlines Center.

Lin Feng exploded for 40 points, including 18 in the final quarter.

But in the final moments, Dirk Nowitzki killed the game with a One-legged Fadeaway Jumper.

The Lakers lost again.

Phoenix, US Airways Center.

Lin Feng put up a triple-double with 28 points, 10 rebounds, and 12 assists.

But the Lakers' defense was riddled with holes under the Suns' fluid and relentless offense.

The team committed as many as 19 turnovers.

Three straight losses for the Lakers.

Counting the previous losses to the Rockets and Sacramento Kings, it was a brutal five-game losing streak.

The team's record plummeted from eighth in the Western Conference all the way to ninth.

They were overtaken by the Jazz Team behind them.

The playoff ticket was slipping through their fingers.

Online, criticism of Lin Feng evolved from questioning to overwhelming abuse.

“The King of Empty Stats!”

“Stat padder, team cancer!”

“The higher he scores, the worse the team loses. If that's not a cancer, what is?”

“Look at his assists; they're all useless passes, just passing the buck!”

Lin Feng's stat sheet was glamorous; averaging 30+ points per game placed him among the league's elite scorers.

But these stats had now become his greatest piece of incriminating evidence.

The internal atmosphere of the team also became strange.

A timeout in the third quarter of the game against the Suns.

The Lakers were already trailing by 15 points.

D'Antoni was drawing plays on the tactical board, his voice hoarse.

“Lin, you go from here...”

“Coach!”

A voice interrupted him.

It was Nick Young.

He ripped the headband off his head and threw it irritably to the ground.

“I've had enough!”

Everyone's eyes focused on him.

“The ball is always in his hands! He only thinks about shooting it himself!”

Nick Young's hand pointed straight at Lin Feng.

“That last possession, I was wide open in the corner! I waited for a full three seconds! By the time the ball was passed, the defender was already all over me!”

He roared at Lin Feng.

“Can't you just pass the ball earlier?!”

Lin Feng looked at him without saying a word, his eyes terrifyingly calm.

That kind of calm was more chilling than anger.

“Nick, calm down.”

Gasol stepped in to smooth things over.

“How can I be calm? We're losing! Running back and forth on the court like a bunch of idiots!”

Nick Young's emotions were running high.

“This isn't just his problem.”

Artest also spoke up, but he just stared at the floor, his voice muffled.

In the locker room, something called “division” was quietly festering.

Lin Feng felt isolated.

He stood at the center of the storm.

On one side was the condemnation from the media and fans.

On the other were the overt or subtle complaints from his teammates.

He was pushed into the position of commander, only to find he had nothing but a sword in his hand.

He could swing his sword to slay enemies and take countless heads.

But he didn't know how to command thousands of troops to win a war.

He scores, the team loses—he's a cancer.

He passes, makes a turnover—he's trash.

Scoring and playmaking were like an unsolvable knot, binding him tightly.

He began to suffer from insomnia.

In the dead of night, he lay in his luxury apartment in Beverly Hills, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

His mind was filled with images of the team losing.

It was Nowitzki's heart-piercing jumper.

It was the sight of Love's back as he grabbed rebounds over his head.

It was Nick Young's angry and distorted face.

And those words Kobe said to him on the stretcher.

“Win it!”

The words still rang in his ears, but they seemed so ironic now.

He also remembered what Kobe had once told him.

“Don't just be a dagger; you must be a Swiss Army knife.”

Lin Feng sat up from the bed and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

The Los Angeles night view was still brilliant, but his heart was a wasteland.

He possessed the two divine skills, “Midorima's Full-Court Three-Pointer” and “Aomine's Formless Shot.”

But he couldn't make Gasol tougher in the paint.

He couldn't make Howard give a hundred percent effort.

He couldn't make Nick Young's shot selection more reasonable.

For the first time, he realized that basketball was such a complex sport.

For the first time, he felt the confidence derived from the system being shattered bit by bit by reality.

An unprecedented sense of powerlessness swept over him.

Perhaps this was the original sin that one must bear to be a leader.

You must pay for everyone's mistakes... the team's most difficult moment.

The time when public opinion was at its worst.

The Lakers finished their road trip and returned to Los Angeles.

In the training facility, the atmosphere was lifeless.

The players practiced on their own, with no communication and not even eye contact.

D'Antoni stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, brow furrowed, at a complete loss.

This team had already fallen apart.

Just then, Team Manager Kupchak walked in hurriedly.

His face bore a complex expression of shock, worry, and a hint of fanaticism.

“Everyone, stop for a second!”

He clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention.

“There's some news to announce.”

The players gathered lazily, most of them listless.

They thought it was another player getting traded or an assistant coach being fired.

Kupchak cleared his throat.

“Just now, the team medical staff and Kobe's private medical team conducted a final joint evaluation.”

Hearing “Kobe's” name, everyone's spirits were lifted.

Lin Feng also looked up.

“The result of the evaluation is...”

Kupchak paused, seemingly searching for the right words.

“Kobe's Achilles recovery... has far exceeded expectations.”

“He has been cleared to participate in full-contact training.”

A chorus of gasps echoed through the locker room.

A ruptured Achilles! That's a major injury that can destroy a player's career!

How long has it been?

“So...”

Kupchak looked at everyone and said, word for word.

“The team has officially decided that Kobe Bryant will, in the next game...”

“Make an emergency comeback!”

The news exploded in the training facility like a nuclear bomb.

Everyone thought they had misheard.

“What?!”

“Is he crazy? His Achilles hasn't even fully healed yet!”

“This is gambling with his career!”

Gasol's face was written with worry.

Howard had a look of disbelief on his face.

Lin Feng stood there in a daze, his heart pounding.

He knew how obsessive Kobe was, but he didn't expect him to be obsessive to this extent.

This is gambling with his life!

Soon, this news spread throughout the league via major sports media outlets.

The world was shaken.

Everyone thought Kobe was crazy.

Forcing a comeback—if he got injured again, his career would be completely over.

The Lakers called an emergency press conference.

Kobe, wearing a black suit, sat under the spotlight.

His face was thin, but his eyes were startlingly bright.

Countless camera flashes went off in front of him.

The reporters, like sharks smelling blood, threw sharp questions at him.

“Kobe! Is your Achilles really fully recovered? Isn't this too risky a decision?”

“Are you gambling your career to save the Lakers' seemingly sunken season?”

“Do you really think your return can change anything?”

Kobe didn't answer immediately.

He just sat there quietly, letting the flashes flicker on his face.

The entire press conference fell silent.

Everyone was waiting for his answer.

Finally, he picked up the microphone.

His gaze passed through all the lenses, looking into the unknown distance.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable power that spread throughout the venue.

“This ship hasn't sunk yet.”

“I can't just stand by and watch it go down.”