Inside the training facility, the steady thump of a basketball hitting the hardwood echoed nonstop.
Link was drenched in sweat as the system's voice replayed in his mind.
[Task: Layups (Basic)]
[Training Requirements: 200 floaters in the paint, 200 underhand layups, 200 reverse layups, 200 hook layups.]
[Progress: 127/800]
[…]
No flashy moves—just the most basic, most repetitive drills.
Link started with floaters in the paint, over and over again, simulating the finishing touch after a backdoor cut.
At first, the ball kept clanging off the rim. Gradually, though, he found the rhythm.
Then came the tougher hook layups…
As the minutes ticked by, sweat quickly soaked through his practice gear, and his muscles began to ache.
Unlike shooting drills, which relied heavily on touch and timing, layup training demanded far greater body control.
It also required much more running—pure, old-fashioned physical grind.
After each set, he had to pause briefly to catch his breath and refuel.
There were two main reasons he chose to focus on finishing at the rim.
First, the advanced training modules required massive time investments—finishing just one could take a month or two, which was simply too costly time-wise.
Second, he wanted to diversify his offensive game. Beyond spot-up threes, improving his cutting and finishing would make him a much bigger threat.
…
When the clock finally passed 6:00 p.m., Link completed the last drill.
[Progress: 800/800]
[Congratulations, Host. Task completed.]
[Reward: Layup +10%. Skill unlocked — Soft Touch Lv. 1]
[Soft Touch Lv. 1: Slightly increases stability and contact resistance on close-range layups. Duration: 15 minutes. Cooldown: 6 hours.]
Link opened his attribute panel. His layup rating had jumped from C+ to B-.
His overall player rating, however, remained unchanged.
It seemed that breaking from C+ into the B tier was a massive hurdle.
After training, Link sat on the sideline, breathing hard.
Despite the exhaustion, he felt genuinely happy. He could clearly feel himself getting better.
On top of that, he had gradually started incorporating Amy's suggestions into his movement patterns and force generation.
The process was slow, but he could feel his body shifting toward a more efficient form.
Over the next few days, the Lakers resumed full team practices, preparing for upcoming games.
During several scrimmages, Link occasionally showed flashes of his improved finishing around the rim, which genuinely surprised Brian Shaw.
He never expected a player labeled as a pure shooter to improve this fast.
With Link's solid height and wingspan, his offensive versatility had clearly taken a step forward.
Time flew by.
In the blink of an eye, it was December 31—New Year's Eve.
When Link returned to the apartment, Andrew was shouting excitedly at his computer screen.
"Hey! Link ! Get over here and look at this!" Andrew waved his arms, his face a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Guess who we're playing in our first game of the new year?"
Link rubbed his still-damp hair from the shower and walked over to the screen.
On it was a young, powerfully built player wearing a No. 23 jersey, eyes intense, finishing a thunderous tomahawk dunk.
"It's the Cleveland Cavaliers!" Andrew practically yelled, pointing at the screen.
"It's him—LeBron James! My God, this schedule is insane!"
Link froze, staring at the familiar figure on the screen, his heartbeat unconsciously picking up.
LeBron James.
The young King.
A once-in-a-generation talent—the league's anointed future face.
A player whose body, skills, and basketball IQ were nothing short of monstrous.
In 2005, people still didn't know just how terrifying LeBron would become.
Over the next twenty years, he would constantly adapt—adjusting his style to new teammates and evolving league trends.
He was often misunderstood as just an athlete with no skill.
In reality, LeBron was one of the most complete players the NBA had ever seen.
Whether playing alongside Wade, Kyrie, Davis, or even Luka, he showed incredible adaptability.
In the years to come, one "impossible" record after another would fall to him.
Link took a deep breath. Facing an opponent like that was undeniably pressure-packed.
Yet strangely, an uncontrollable surge of excitement rose within him.
Competing on the same court as a generational talent like this—that was exactly the challenge he had dreamed of when he stepped into the NBA.
"Alright, Andrew, enough yelling," Amy's voice cut in, laced with an amused sigh.
"Even if we were playing God himself, we still need to eat first!"
Her perfectly timed entrance pulled them both out of their pregame nerves.
Soon, the apartment filled with the smell of food.
The three of them sat around the dining table, a generous New Year's Eve dinner spread out before them.
"To saying goodbye to the old year!" Andrew raised his glass, his face glowing with hope for the future.
"And to the official launch of Team Link!"
Amy raised her glass as well, smiling.
"To the team—and to someone strictly following the training plan."
She shot Link a pointed look.
Link laughed and clinked glasses with them. "To us. And to the new year."
He paused, then looked at his two partners with genuine gratitude.
"Thank you both. We're the best team there is."
In this unfamiliar timeline, Andrew's friendship and Amy's professionalism had become his strongest support.
That bond was priceless.
Dinner passed in a relaxed, cheerful atmosphere.
They chatted about recent stories, with Andrew enthusiastically plotting how to turn "Prophet Link " growing fame into business opportunities.
Amy shared new insights she'd read in recent sports science journals, already preparing to design a new improvement plan.
Link stayed quiet, smiling as he listened.
Outside the window, the city lights glittered, and the feeling of the new year grew stronger by the minute.
As midnight approached, Link picked up his phone, found a familiar number, and typed a short message.
"Happy New Year, Isabella. May you shine just as brightly in the year ahead."
Almost immediately, his phone lit up.
"Happy New Year, Link . Thank you for the wishes. The fireworks in New York are beautiful—but somehow, something feels missing…"
Reading the reply—especially that subtle hint of longing at the end—Link's lips curved into a warm smile.
The clock struck midnight, and cheers drifted in through the window.
The calendar officially turned to 2006.
"Happy New Year!" Andrew shouted excitedly.
"Happy New Year," Amy echoed with a smile.
Link looked out at the brilliant Los Angeles night skyline, his heart full of reflection on the past and anticipation for what lay ahead.
He raised his glass toward the unseen future and said softly,
"Happy New Year."