The first day of 2006 dawned with a crystal-clear blue sky over Cleveland.
Unlike the warmth of Los Angeles, the weather here was bitterly cold. The moment Link stepped off the plane, he shivered.
The Lakers boarded their team bus and headed for the hotel where they'd be staying.
Looking out the window, Link saw rows of dark gray factory rooftops pass by.
Tall smokestacks stood silently in the distance.
They were deep scars left behind from the city's days as an industrial powerhouse.
Most of the residential areas consisted of low buildings, interwoven with these remnants of industry.
Wrapped in winter, the entire city felt unusually quiet.
This was Cleveland—so different from the glitz and noise of Los Angeles.
In his previous life, before 2016, for more than half a century, this city had failed to win a single championship across the four major North American professional sports leagues.
The label "the cursed city" weighed heavily on the hearts of every Cleveland sports fan.
But in 2003, Cleveland welcomed its savior.
An 18-year-old prodigy from St. Vincent–St. Mary High School—LeBron James.
For many years to come, that name would leave an unforgettable mark on basketball history.
James played with maturity far beyond his age, peaking the moment he entered the league.
So far this season, he was averaging an incredible 30.4 points, 8.7 rebounds, 6.5 assists, 1.6 steals, and 0.9 blocks per game.
The Cavaliers were sitting fourth in the Eastern Conference.
In the All-Star voting, James was running away with it among Eastern Conference frontcourt players.
Tomorrow, the young King was set to face Kobe Bryant in a true clash of titans.
The team bus pulled up in front of the hotel.
Players filed out one after another, eager to escape the cold and get inside.
After a brief rest and dinner, all the players were called into the hotel conference room at eight o'clock that evening.
The projector was already set up, and the screen showed Cavaliers game footage along with individual player breakdowns.
Drew Gooden. Larry Hughes. Anderson Varejão…
But no one was really paying attention to them.
Everyone's eyes were locked on a single name.
LeBron James.
With him, the Cavaliers were a playoff team.
Without him, they were bottom-feeders among bottom-feeders.
The air in the room was thick with focus and tension.
"All right, gentlemen," the Zen Master's voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone's attention.
"You've enjoyed the first day of the New Year. Now it's time to lock back in. Tomorrow's opponent is the Cleveland Cavaliers—and their core, LeBron."
He clicked the remote, and game footage of the Cavaliers began playing.
On the screen, James displayed his elite basketball IQ.
Sometimes bulldozing defenders with his tank-like body.
Sometimes finding open teammates with pinpoint passes.
Sometimes finishing fast breaks with thunderous, two-handed dunks.
"When you're guarding LeBron, you must be aware of his drive-and-kick game and his transition attacks," the Zen Master said, getting straight to the point.
Assistant coach Brian Shaw nodded and added,
"Our strategy has to be decisive. When he runs pick-and-roll, fight over the screen first. Set a wall for him around the free-throw line. Don't let him get to the rim easily."
"Exactly," Kobe said, his eyes sharp. "You can give him some space to shoot—but don't let him get his teammates going."
The atmosphere in the conference room was serious as every player absorbed the instructions.
Defending LeBron James was a system-wide challenge, demanding extreme focus and team coordination.
The Zen Master wrapped things up.
"Execute our defensive plan, protect the glass, limit turnovers. Get a good night's rest. Tomorrow, from the opening tip, we bring the intensity."
The meeting ended, and players left in small groups, still discussing the game.
Link didn't head straight back to his room. Instead, he went to the hotel's small gym for some light core work and stretching.
It was part of his pre-game routine, helping with recovery and keeping his body sharp.
About an hour later, towel over his shoulder, Link headed for the elevator—only to see a scene in the hotel lounge that nearly made him gasp.
Kobe Bryant was talking with two people.
One of them had a kind face and a calm, steady presence. Link recognized him immediately—it was former NBA player Dell Curry.
Dell had long since retired and was now working as a basketball analyst.
Standing beside him was a skinny, baby-faced young man.
It was his son—Stephen Curry, who was about to start his freshman year at Davidson College.
Link slowed his steps.
He hadn't expected to run into the future greatest three-point shooter in NBA history here.
Kobe noticed Link and waved him over.
Link walked up and nodded politely to everyone.
Dell Curry smiled. "Hey, Link . That game-winner on Christmas Day was incredible!"
He reached out to shake Link's hand, his tone warm and sincere.
"Thank you," Link replied modestly.
Then his gaze shifted to the young man in front of him.
"You must be Stephen Curry. I've heard about you—great shooter."
Stephen hadn't expected Link to know who he was and quickly said,
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Link ! Please, just call me Stephen."
Dell Curry had once played for the Cleveland Cavaliers.
And Stephen Curry was born in this city.
The father and son had come specifically to watch the Lakers-Cavaliers game the next day.
With his arms crossed, Kobe said to Link,
"Dell was telling me he's hoping I can train Stephen this summer."
His tone was casual, but his eyes were evaluating.
Dell picked up the conversation, his voice carrying a father's earnest hope.
"Yes, Kobe. Stephen has talent, but he needs higher-level guidance. I know your camps are tough—that's exactly what he needs."
Dell patted his son on the back. Young Stephen Curry looked a little nervous as he glanced at Kobe.
"That won't be a problem," Kobe said with a shrug. "But be ready—if you can't handle it, there are no refunds."
Stephen Curry's face instantly lit up with excitement.
"Thank you, Mr. Bryant! I'll be ready—I promise!"
Kobe Bryant held training camps every offseason.
They weren't cheap, but people lined up anyway.
And on top of that, you had to earn Kobe's personal approval to attend.
Hearing this, Dell Curry let out a sigh of relief and looked at Kobe with gratitude.
"Thank you so much, Kobe."
"Nice meeting you, Link . Good luck tomorrow," Dell said with a smile.
After that, the Curry father and son said their goodbyes.
Link smiled and nodded in return.
He then walked toward the elevator with Kobe.
Inside the elevator, Kobe suddenly spoke, as if it were just an afterthought.
"If you're free this summer, you can come too."
Link froze for a moment, then realized this was Kobe's way of acknowledging him.
He nodded solemnly.
"Thank you. It would be an honor, Kobe."