"Knock, knock, knock..."
The door was yanked open, and Peter Harris's impatient face appeared in the doorway. "Link? If you're here to beg, I suggest you save your breath..."
Link didn't say a word. He calmly reached into the inner pocket of his gym bag, pulled out a thick stack of cash he had just redeemed from the bank, and handed it straight over. The money was enough to cover the overdue rent, with plenty left over.
Peter Harris's rant cut off immediately. His eyes darted between the cash and Link's calm face, a look of shock and disbelief replacing his anger.
"Oh! Mr. Link! This... this is..."
Link didn't wait for him to finish. He pressed the cash into the landlord's hand, turned, and walked away.
Next, he stopped by a convenience store near the apartment to pick up some travel-sized toiletries. As he was browsing the aisle, a slightly dramatic, surprised voice rang out behind him.
"Well, well, look who we have here. Our MVP, Link?"
Link turned around and saw a young white guy in a flashy shirt with slicked-back hair, arm-in-arm with a female companion, a look of undisguised mockery on his face.
Tom Hansen. Link's acquaintance from college a few years back—a rich, boastful guy who also happened to be a bit of a bigot. Link had never liked him.
"Hey, Tom." Link nodded a brief greeting and turned back to his shopping.
But Tom wasn't done. He walked closer, looking Link and the cheap toiletries in his hand up and down with a judgmental stare.
"What, still holding onto that pipe dream of yours? Seriously, dude, it's time to get a real job. Hmm... maybe you can come work as a waiter at my dad's hotel?"
His female companion let out a cooperative little giggle.
Link ignored them and headed toward the checkout counter with his selections.
The repeated snubbing started to tick Tom off. He deliberately raised his voice, "Listen, Link stop daydreaming! Basketball isn't a sport for your kind, you yellow monkey! You could train until you drop dead and you'd still be nothing but a ball boy at a pickup game!"
Tom's racist insult made the clerk and the customers nearby frown.
Link's hand, holding the toiletries, froze.
He slowly turned around. For the first time, his eyes focused on Tom's face. His gaze was calm but held a simmering fury. He didn't yell angrily. Instead, he stared into Tom's eyes and said, word for word, "Tom, look at yourself before you judge anyone else. What can you actually do besides stand here showing off your dad's money?"
"You..." Tom's face instantly flushed red. The retort was like a silent slap, hitting his ego right on the mark.
Just as a furious Tom was about to lash out, the old TV in the corner of the convenience store started playing the day's sports news.
"First up, a headline from Seattle: The SuperSonics confirmed today that contract talks with their star player, Ray Allen, are progressing smoothly. The elite shooter is expected to finalize his extension this season..."
"...And just moments ago, the Lakers announced their opening night roster. In a surprise move, ten-day contract player, Link has made the final active roster and will travel with the team to Denver..."
The TV volume wasn't loud, but the words hit the small convenience store like a thunderclap.
The sneering smile on Tom Hansen's face instantly froze. He whipped his head around, staring intently at the TV screen.
The news showed a photo of Link wearing a Lakers practice jersey!
"Th-this can't be happening..." Tom's eyes were huge, as if he'd just witnessed the most absurd thing in the world.
He looked at the TV, then quickly back at Link, who was calmly paying for his items. His expression was a mix of complicated jealousy and disbelief. The broke Asian kid he looked down on had actually made it into the NBA. The feeling was worse than swallowing a bug.
Link didn't spare him another glance, treating him like irrelevant background noise. He paid, took his bag, and walked out.
---
The next morning, Link took his simple luggage and rode to Los Angeles International Airport to meet the team.
At the private terminal, he saw the team's exclusive chartered jet for the first time. Unlike the noise of a regular airport, this area was quiet and reserved.
Teammates arrived, exchanging greetings, though Smush Parker completely ignored him, walking up the ramp with massive headphones on and a blank expression.
Kobe was the last to arrive, looking intensely focused. He walked straight onto the plane, flanked by staff members.
Stepping inside the jet, Link saw spacious leather seats, with a dedicated spot for everyone. However, he noticed an awkward situation: Kobe was in his usual window seat in the first row, and the seat next to him was completely empty.
The other players were deliberately choosing seats far away from it, as if it were an invisible exclusion zone.
Link hesitated, but seeing no other empty seats, he carried his bag and sat down next to the empty one.
He could feel a few eyes instantly turn to him, with a hint of amusement, like they were waiting for a show.
Kobe merely flickered his eyes up when Link sat down, scanning him briefly without comment. He immediately looked back down, absorbed in the portable DVD player propped on his lap, which was showing footage of a previous game.
The plane roared and climbed into the sky.
Link sat quietly at first, but his gaze was unconsciously drawn to the screen. It was a tape of a Lakers-Nuggets game from the previous year, one the Lakers had lost badly.
"Damn it!" Kobe hit the pause button and cursed angrily after seeing a terrible defensive mistake.
"Maybe our big guy could flash out to the weak side a bit more..." Link muttered to himself.
Kobe's finger stopped. He turned his head slightly, showing a hint of annoyance at being interrupted.
"Uh... in this possession, when Carmelo sets up the wing screen, the real danger is actually the three-point shooter on the weak side." Link continued, oblivious to Kobe's expression.
"If our big man steps out to the weak side, when Devin comes up to help, the baseline shooter won't be open. As for the other side... Carmelo is great, but cross-court passing isn't his strong suit..."
As he spoke, Link drew an invisible line in the air with his hand, clearly illustrating the correct defensive position.
When he finished, Kobe silently stared at him for a full three seconds, then suddenly shot back, "How much of their film have you watched?"
"Not much," Link replied truthfully. "But their offensive choices follow a pattern."
Kobe didn't say anything else. He turned back and hit the play button again.
Link sheepishly stuck out his tongue and kept quiet.
The only sounds in the cabin were the engine's roar and the faint noise from the game footage.
The distance from Los Angeles to Denver wasn't great, and the plane soon made a smooth landing at Denver International Airport.
As the Lakers players walked through the terminal, they were instantly hit by a wall of sound.
"Kobe! Over here!"
A huge crowd of media and fans were waiting, holding up jerseys and signs. All eyes were focused almost entirely on Kobe Bryant. Flashbulbs went off everywhere, and cheers erupted one after another.
Kobe was clearly used to it. With a stone-cold expression, he walked quickly, protected by the staff.
Link followed in the middle-to-back of the line. But then, he happened to catch sight of a few smiling East Asian faces in the crowd.
"Go, Link!"
"Link, look here!"
A few fans were gathered outside the barrier, waving vigorously in his direction. November in the high altitude of Denver was already cold, and they were bundled up in heavy coats, their faces slightly red, but their eyes held an unstoppable joy.
There was always a strong sense of kinship among people.
A wave of warmth rushed through Link. He gave a slight nod in their direction, then quickly turned to catch up with the team.