Location: Thomas & Mack Center, Las Vegas, Nevada.
When Link walked into the arena, luggage still slung over his shoulder, players were already on the floor getting shots up.
"Hey, Link! Over here!" a voice called out from down the court.
Link followed the sound. Kobe Bryant, decked out in black practice gear, was standing with a small group of people.
"Hey, Kobe!" Link waved back.
Kobe exchanged a few quick words with the people around him before jogging over. He scanned Link's face, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes.
"How you holding up? Need to catch a breather first?" Kobe asked.
Link had come straight to the gym from the airport; he looked like he'd been dragged through a wind tunnel.
"I'm good," Link shook his head. He handed his bags to a staff member who promised to drop them off at the hotel later.
The two walked side-by-side toward the designated rest area. Kobe had rented out the facility for a two-month training camp. Every year, college stars and even NBA pros would pay top dollar just for a chance to attend. But for this mid-season session, Kobe had personally invited Link.
And Link had shown up, just as promised.
"So, where'd we land on the contract?" Kobe asked, dribbling a ball as they walked. Sweat was already dripping from his jawline onto the hardwood.
"Still negotiating. The plan right now is a one-year deal, fully guaranteed for nine million," Link answered honestly. There was no point hiding things from the vet.
Kobe paused, catching the ball. He turned to look at Link. "One year?"
"One year," Link nodded, bending down to pick up a loose ball. "They were planning to match the Spurs' offer sheet, but I told Andrew to hold firm on the one-year term."
Kobe studied Link for a few seconds. He didn't ask why. His look was one of verification—he was checking to see if the kid in front of him really had the guts to make such a bold, borderline crazy bet on himself.
Kobe nodded slowly, then added, "How's management taking it? Do you need me to..." He made a 'phone call' gesture with his hand, offering to step in and apply some pressure.
"Appreciate it, but it's cool. Andrew will handle it," Link thanked him.
"Alright then," Kobe shrugged, flipping the switch instantly. "Forget about the business side. Let's get to work."
---
The two-month "Mamba Camp" was officially underway.
The schedule was grueling. Training kicked off at 6:00 AM sharp. Mornings were reserved for Kobe's curriculum—offensive and defensive technical breakdowns. Afternoons were open for players to work on their individual programs.
The facility was top-tier, stocked with advanced equipment and staffed by over a dozen professional trainers. It had everything a player could dream of.
Kobe started by demonstrating a few of his signature isolation moves.
"Watch this," Kobe said, holding the ball at the left elbow and signaling a trainer to guard him.
"A lot of guys think posting up is just about backing your man down to the rim. Wrong. It's about reading the defense." He gave a sharp shoulder fake.
"Feel his center of gravity. If he's leaning forward, trying to body you, you do this..." Kobe spun rapidly toward the baseline, took one dribble, and rose into a fadeaway. The motion was fluid, effortless.
"But if his weight is back, or you feel the help defender creeping in from the wing, then..."
He reset the move, this time spinning toward the middle of the lane while keeping his head up, scanning the floor.
"Your eyes need to see the whole court. See the open man. The post-up buys you the time and space to make a decision."
Next, Kobe had the group run drills focusing on making split-second reads under pressure—attacking, passing, or using footwork to create separation. He demanded that every move be executed with both speed and deception.
But as good as the offense was, Kobe's defensive breakdown was where the real masterclass happened.
He personally demonstrated how to slide your feet to cut off a driving lane, how to use your forearm to obstruct a shooter's vision without fouling, and how to anticipate passing lanes before the ball even left the handler's hands.
"Defense isn't a passive reaction. It's an active attack," Kobe said, his eyes intense. "You have to force your opponent into the spots he doesn't want to go. Make him make the choice he doesn't want to make."
"Study your matchups. If you're on Carmelo, you force him to the top of the key. Do not let him isolate on the wing—that's his kill zone. But if you're guarding LeBron? Totally different. The top of the key is where he's most comfortable running the show."
Kobe's lectures, combined with real-world examples and live demonstrations, were a revelation for Link. It reinforced that basketball wasn't just about who could shoot straighter; it was high-speed chess.
---
The morning session wrapped up quickly. After lunch and a brief rest, the players returned to the court.
Since there were no formal classes in the afternoon, Link prepared to start his personal grind.
He focused inward, visualizing the interface in his mind's eye. The semi-transparent stats panel—his "System"—flickered into view.
[User: Link]
Age: 22
Height: 6'6" (1.99m) | Weight: 196 lbs (89kg) | Wingspan: 6'10" (2.08m) | Body Fat: 7.5%
[Shooting Attributes]
3-Point: A+
Mid-Range: B-
Free Throw: B+
Catch & Shoot: A-
[Athletic Attributes]
Speed: B
Agility: B
Strength: B-
Vertical: C+
Balance: A-
[Finishing Attributes]
Layups: A-
Off-Hand Layups: C-
Contact Finishing: C
Drawing Fouls: D
[Ball Handling]
Dribbling: C
Handles (Flashy): C-
Off-Hand Dribble: C-
Crossover/Change of Direction: C
[Defense]
Shot Contest: B-
Help Defense: C
Steals: C+
Blocks: D
[Completed Training Modules]
Open 3-Point (High)
Athleticism (Intermediate)
Catch & Shoot (Intermediate)
Layups (Intermediate)
[Unlocked Skills]
Sharpshooter Focus (Lv3)
Stamina Boost (Lv2)
Quick Release (Lv2)
Soft Touch (Lv2)
[Available Modules]
Deep Range 3s (Advanced)
Athleticism (Advanced)
Catch & Shoot (Advanced)...
Link thought for a moment and selected [Athleticism (Advanced)].
The ability to hit logos like a superstar wasn't practical for him right now. His goal for his sophomore season was to mold himself into the league's premier "3-and-D" player. He needed to max out his athleticism and defense so he could lock down the opposing team's best scorer without becoming a liability. Once he established that floor, he could slowly develop his shot creation.
[Mission Selected: Athleticism (Advanced)]
Regimen:
2,000 Full Court Sprint Layups
2,000 Resistance Band Lateral Slides
2,000 Deadlifts
2,000 Stability Ball Reps
2,000 Vertical Jump Touches
Progress: 0 / 10,000
It was, as always, an insane amount of volume.
Link took a deep breath. Time to grind.
---
Life in the training camp was monotonous and painful, yet incredibly fulfilling.
Kobe was a drill sergeant bordering on sadistic. If your footwork was off by an inch, he made you repeat the rep fifty times. But he also led from the front—always the first one in the gym and the last to leave, executing every movement with robotic precision.
About two weeks later, on a particularly grueling afternoon, Link had just finished a set of suicide sprints. He was sitting on the sideline, chest heaving, chugging electrolytes like his life depended on it.
The gym doors swung open. Two young guys walked in, their gym bags stuffed to the brim.
The one leading the way looked almost fragile, with a baby face that made him look like a high schooler. The guy trailing him was the opposite—built like a tank and practically vibrating with explosive energy.
Davidson's Stephen Curry.
And UCLA rookie Russell Westbrook.
School was out, and they had come straight to Vegas.
The two newcomers spotted Link immediately.
"Hey, Link! Long time no see. You killed it in the playoffs, man!" Westbrook walked over, beaming with that familiar intensity. They hadn't seen each other since that matchup at UCLA.
Curry also came over to say hello. He and Link had briefly crossed paths back in Cleveland.
"Hey guys, good to see you," Link said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Looking at the two of them, Link couldn't help but smile. In the original timeline of history, these two were destined to run the league. One would become the Triple-Double King; the other would single-handedly change how the game was played forever.
But right now? They were just like him—hungry young players standing at the threshold of greatness, desperate to get better.