"Defense! Stay glued to your man! Watch your feet!" Assistant Coach Brian Shaw's booming voice echoed throughout the practice facility.
The Lakers had just wrapped up a week with a 2-1 record.
Kobe had absolutely dominated, snagging the Western Conference Player of the Week award with averages of 37.6 points, 5.1 rebounds, and 5.7 assists.
Now, the Lakers were gearing up for a tough four-game road trip, facing the Hawks, Timberwolves, 76ers, and Knicks back-to-back.
Today was their final practice before hitting the road.
Brian Shaw was running a full-court scrimmage.
The intensity wasn't exactly through the roof, and after Lamar Odom nailed a buzzer-beater shot, the coach blew the whistle to end the game.
"Alright, guys, we're gonna add one more set of one-on-one drills today, rotation offense and defense," Shaw clapped his hands to gather everyone.
"King of the Court" style one-on-one!
This is one of the most common dueling drills for NBA players.
Each player gets one chance to attack with the ball, limited to three dribbles. If you score, you stay on offense; if you miss or get stopped, you rotate out.
The atmosphere instantly charged up—it was getting competitive.
The first man on the court was Kobe Bryant. He stood emotionless at the top of the arc, his eyes scanning the group. No one seemed eager to step up and be his first victim.
"Devin, you're up first," Shaw called out Devin George.
George grudgingly stepped forward.
Kobe didn't waste time with unnecessary flair. After a quick jab step, he violently slammed the ball and launched straight into a pull-up jumper.
"Swish!"
The shot dropped, absolutely pure and effortless!
Next up, players like Vujacic, Cook, and Mihm all went down in flames against Kobe's unstoppable offense.
It wasn't until Odom got on the court that he managed to use his height and wingspan to barely secure a defensive stop.
The players continued to cycle through, trading wins and losses.
After a few rounds, it was Link's turn on offense, and he was squared up against Smush Parker!
Seeing Link defending him, a sneaky, malicious glint flashed in Parker's eyes.
"Heard you just signed your contract, Mr. Eighty-Grand-a-Year," Parker said, chewing his gum, a look of undisguised contempt on his face.
Right away, he drove hard, initiating contact by ramming his shoulder into Link. The move was excessively aggressive—it was practically a shove.
Link quickly slid his feet, bracing with his chest to absorb the initial impact.
Feeling the resistance, Parker didn't back off. Instead, he drove his shoulder in harder. He also subtly extended his forearm, shoving Link in the side.
"What's the matter, Mr. Eighty-Grand? Already getting weak in the knees?"
Parker kept dribbling and spitting out trash talk, trying to mess with Link's head.
Link stayed locked in, refusing to be moved.
Seeing that the verbal jabs weren't working, Parker suddenly executed a sharp crossover dribble.
All of his momentum and power came crashing into Link's chest!
"Thud!"
With a dull sound of colliding muscle, Link gasped for air and staggered back a step.
Parker used the momentum to leap up, putting extra force into his move while in the air. He aggressively shoved his shoulder into Link's attempting block, contorted his body, and tossed the ball toward the hoop.
The ball bounced around the rim a few times and luckily fell in.
"You see that? That's what you call game!" Parker landed, spread his arms out cockily, and yelled at Link. "That tissue-paper defense of yours can't stop me!"
The spot on Link's chest where he'd been hit was throbbing, and a surge of anger rushed to his head.
When he got the ball back, facing Parker's defense, Link used his height and weight to power-dribble right to the hoop for a layup. Parker was helpless to stop him.
"Looks like you're nothing special either!" Link shrugged, flashing a 'too short' hand gesture at Parker.
"What did you say, Rook!" Parker was furious and charged at Link.
Link stood his ground. He knew that if you tolerate this kind of guy, he'll just take an inch and run a mile.
Seeing the situation heating up,
"BEEP!" Brian Shaw blew the whistle immediately. "Watch your language! Keep the drill going!"
When the final whistle of the day blew, everyone was nearly spent.
The players dragged their tired bodies toward the locker room. As Parker left, he didn't forget to shoot a provocative glare at Link, who was drinking water on the sideline.
Link ignored him. After a brief rest, he grabbed a ball and walked toward the other side of the court, which was now empty.
A day's worth of exhaustion didn't dampen his urge to put in extra work; it only made him realize he needed to get better, and fast, to earn more respect.
He focused his mind on the system, scanning the available training options. This time, Link didn't hesitate, choosing [Open Three-Pointers (Intermediate)].
After the first three games, Link had made up his mind.
As a player from 2025, he knew that maximizing your strength was far more important than trying to fix every single weakness in a short amount of time.
He had to hone one skill to perfection, making it a true game-changing weapon.
> [Mission: Open Three-Pointers (Intermediate Level)]
>
> [Requirement: Make 10,000 "swish" three-point shots (shots that do not touch the rim).]
>
> [Progress: 0/10000]
Ten thousand!
That training volume was more than three times the basic training requirement!
It was a number that would make any professional player hesitate.
Link's mouth twitched, showing a complex expression mixed with bitterness and excitement.
"Well, that's... a lot of faith in me," he muttered under his breath, his eyes growing serious.
"Ten thousand... Time to get to work!"
Without further thought, Link scooped up a bin of basketballs, adjusted the shooting machine, and walked to his most familiar spot: the corner.
The repetitive and monotonous shooting session began.
Every dip of the ball, every bend of the knee, every flick of the wrist—Link gave it his full concentration, striving for perfect form and a consistent rhythm.
"Clank..."
"Swish..."
"Swish..."
"......"
Time ticked by. Sweat quickly soaked through Link's practice gear, dripping down his temples. His arms were throbbing, and his legs felt like lead.
The high-intensity team scrimmage had already taken a huge toll on his body.
Doing this extremely focused shooting drill now was a brutal test of both his mental toughness and physical limits.
"Clang!"
One shot hit the back of the rim and bounced far away.
Link didn't rush the next shot. He stopped, leaned over with his hands on his knees, and took deep breaths.
He carefully replayed the feeling of the missed shot—was his jump not high enough, or was the power from his core inconsistent?
He closed his eyes, mentally replaying the slow-motion details of his movement.
After a minute,
"Swish!"
The crisp sound of the net echoed again.
Link kept repeating, adjusting, and repeating.
He did a hundred shots per set. After each set, he would take a short five-minute break to stretch his burning muscles, and then immediately jump into the next set.
The hands on the gym's wall clock quietly swept past hour after hour.
The sky outside the windows darkened from a bright afternoon into night. Link finally stopped his workout.
He felt completely drained, too exhausted to even walk back to the locker room. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his chest heaving.
He glanced at his system panel.
> [Progress: 1000/10000]
The first day, he completed one-tenth of the mission.
It took Link a full twenty minutes to finally struggle to his feet and slowly head toward the shower.
Today's work was done; he needed to save some strength for the four-game road trip.