As the whistle blew to start the third quarter, Link stepped onto the hardwood.
His mind was still reeling from the trade news Andrew had just dropped on him.
He couldn't even process the last few things his agent had said.
Andrew had been dead certain: the trade negotiations were real, and they were happening right now.
Link took a deep breath. For some reason, the floor beneath his feet felt different than it had just moments ago.
Shawn Marion. The "Matrix."
One of the league's elite hybrid forwards, capable of guarding positions one through four.
In his past life, Link remembered this All-Star forward being shipped off to the Miami Heat.
Back then, the Phoenix Suns, loaded with Steve Nash and Amar'e Stoudemire on max contracts, were in salary cap hell. They couldn't afford to pay everyone.
He just hadn't expected that, in this timeline, the Suns would rope the Lakers into a three-team trade.
They were trying to leverage the Lakers to get a better haul for Marion.
And honestly, Marion's impact on both ends of the floor was exactly what the current Lakers roster was missing.
He was a defensive sweeper, a transition nightmare, and a reliable finisher and connector.
Having the Matrix on the floor would completely liberate Kobe Bryant on the defensive end.
The Black Mamba could focus entirely on getting buckets.
Getting a proven All-Star forward in exchange for a rookie shooter who had just started to make a name for himself?
There wasn't a front office in the league that would turn down that deal.
These chaotic thoughts made Link a half-step slow on his defensive rotations right out of the gate.
The Clippers, sensing blood, pounced on the mistake instantly.
Elton Brand ran a dribble hand-off with Corey Maggette at the top of the key.
Maggette curled around, caught the ball, and used his momentum to bully his way past Link's soft defense for a layup.
"Hey, Prophet! Your defense is softer than a cupcake!" Maggette trash-talked as he jogged back on defense.
Link didn't even look at him. His mind was still stuck in the trade scenarios.
---
For the next few minutes, Link played like a zombie.
His off-ball movement was sluggish, lacking its usual snap.
When he finally got an open look, he air-balled it completely.
On the other end, the Clippers punished him again.
It was Maggette again.
Seeing Link zone out for a split second, Maggette used a jab step to create half a foot of space.
He didn't drive this time. He just pulled up—a mid-range jumper right in Link's eye.
Swish.
59-54. The Clippers extended their lead to 5.
After the shot dropped, Maggette backpedaled on defense, wagging his finger at Link like Mutombo.
The Clippers fans in the stands erupted, their cheers mixed with scattered boos directed specifically at Link.
Seeing the game slipping away, the Zen Master immediately called a timeout.
Back on the bench, Link sat in silence, staring at the floor.
"Link," Phil Jackson's voice cut through the noise.
Link looked up, meeting the Zen Master's deep, unreadable gaze.
"I don't care what your agent told you. You need to finish this game first."
"You are a professional basketball player. And the most important trait of a pro is maturity. Do not let your emotions dictate your game."
"..."
"..."
In an instant, a wave of complex emotions washed over Link.
There was shame, but also the burning anger of feeling "betrayed" by the Lakers.
However, the Zen Master's words snapped him back to reality. He cooled down.
Rationally speaking, it didn't really matter which jersey he wore.
With the System in his possession, as long as he got minutes, he could carve out a career anywhere.
Even if he was shipped to the Phoenix Suns.
Phoenix had Steve Nash and Stoudemire.
They had Mike D'Antoni's "Seven Seconds or Less" offense.
In that system, Link's skill set would be maximized. He'd feast.
Thinking it through, Link stopped agonizing over it.
He scanned the fans filling the Staples Center and took a deep breath.
"I got it, Coach."
Timeout over. Lakers ball.
Farmar brought the ball up. Kobe posted up on the left wing, calling for the rock.
Link took a deep breath, clearing his mind of all the noise.
He started from the right corner, using Bynum's screen to curl up toward the top of the key.
His brain was firing on all cylinders now. He couldn't control the trade.
He couldn't interfere with whatever decisions GM Mitch Kupchak was making.
The only thing he could control was his next cut, his next defensive slide, his next shot.
Facing a double team, Kobe skipped the ball to Odom at the top of the arc.
Odom took one dribble to collapse the defense, then threw a bounce pass to Link, who had just flared out to the right corner off a screen.
Tim Thomas, coming off the bench for the Clippers, scrambled to close out.
Link caught it. Knees bent. Jump. Release.
His mechanics were back—fluid and decisive.
Even though the tension was still tight in his chest, his muscle memory and the thousands of hours of training took over.
Swish!
Three-pointer drilled!
59-57.
The bucket didn't bring him any joy.
Link just clenched his fist tight, as if crushing the distracting thoughts in his palm.
He sprinted back on defense, his eyes locking onto Corey Maggette moving without the ball.
Clippers possession.
After a few passes, the ball found Maggette on the wing again.
He seemed to think Link was still mentally checked out and decided to brute-force a drive off a screen.
But this time, Link didn't lose his position.
He navigated the screen like water and poked the ball away from behind.
Maggette lost the handle.
The ball bounced off his knee and rolled right to Luke Walton.
"Hey! Luke!"
Link screamed for the ball as he spun downcourt.
Luke Walton saw it instantly.
He launched a touchdown pass over half-court, dropping it right into Link's path.
Link hit the gas—transition offense!
But at the same time, he could hear heavy footsteps thundering behind him.
Maggette!
The muscle-bound forward was pissed off and sprinting back for the chase-down block.
The lane was wide open.
Link gathered every ounce of energy he had.
Thanks to the System's conditioning, his athleticism was miles ahead of where it used to be.
He checked Maggette's position in his peripheral vision.
Link gathered the ball, his legs coiling like compressed springs, and exploded off the floor!
Liftoff!
Simultaneously, Maggette launched himself from the side, roaring.
He extended his long arm, looking to swat Link out of the air with violent intent.
Two bodies collided in mid-air!
The dull thud of muscle on muscle sounded like a car crash, audible even to the fans in the front row.
The massive impact stalled Link's momentum for a split second.
But his core strength was incredible.
His midsection tightened like steel, absorbing the contact. He ignored the 225-pound man hanging on him.
His eyes were locked on the rim.
Link cocked the ball back with his right hand, reaching over Maggette's desperate, flailing fingers.
It was as if he was pouring all those complex emotions—the confusion, the anger, the ambition, the need to prove himself—into that ball.
And then...
With a kind of violent artistry, he hammered it through the hoop!
BOOM!!!!!
The rim groaned in agony, shaking violently!
The ball snapped through the net, slammed into the floor, and bounced high into the air.
Maggette, having lost his balance in the collision, tumbled awkwardly to the ground, sliding a few feet across the hardwood.
Link, however, hung on the rim with one hand to cushion his landing.
Every muscle fiber in his body was defined, radiating raw power.
He didn't let go immediately. He just hung there.
Looking down at Maggette sprawled on the floor, and listening to the arena instantly detonate with noise.
"AAAAHHH!!!"
As he landed, the emotions suppressed for the entire quarter erupted like a volcano.
Link clenched both fists and let out a primal roar in Maggette's direction.
Adrenaline flooded his veins.
He turned around, his chest heaving.
His gaze, however, cut through the chaos and locked onto a specific seat on the sidelines.
Lakers owner Jerry Buss.
Old Buss was sitting there, his eyes unreadable behind his signature glasses.
But this time, he wasn't chatting with anyone.
He was sitting still, staring at the court. Staring at Link, who had just completed the dunk of the night.
Their gazes met across the noisy arena.
Link's eyes held no confusion or anxiety anymore. Only calm defiance.
He knew Old Buss was aware of the trade talks.
Link didn't say a word, but his eyes screamed a statement loud and clear:
"Take a good look. THIS is my value!"
Link broke eye contact, ignored everyone else, kept a stone-cold face, and turned to run back on defense.
The game wasn't over.
The entire Staples Center was drowning in a sea of purple and gold cheers, the Clippers fans completely silenced.
With that dunk and that king-like aura, Link had set the building on fire!
---
For the next few minutes, Link was fully awake.
He stopped obsessing over the trade rumors and poured absolutely everything into the game.
On offense, he used his off-ball movement to shred the Clippers' defense repeatedly.
Catch-and-shoot, or pump-fake and drive to the rim—he was decisive.
On defense, he stuck to Maggette like glue.
Using his agile footwork and anticipation, he shut down the opponent's attacks one by one.
Led by Link, the Lakers went on a tear.
With 5 minutes left in the third, the Lakers led 68-62.
Link had scored another 7 points in that stretch.
He had 12 points in the quarter alone and had drawn Maggette's fourth foul.
Clippers coach Mike Dunleavy had no choice but to sub out the increasingly frustrated Maggette.
As he walked to the bench, Maggette slammed his towel onto the chair in a rage.
During the dead ball, Link stood at the free-throw line, sweat dripping from his temples.
The shock of the trade rumor had passed.
He knew that no matter if they were talking about Shawn Marion or anyone else on the other end of that phone line...
No matter what calculations were being made in Mitch Kupchak's office...
All of it depended on his performance right here, right now.
The better he played, the higher his value, and the more leverage he would have over his own destiny.
"Good work, brother," Odom walked over and bumped shoulders with him. "Let's crush them."
Kobe also shot him a look of approval.
The game continued.
Without Maggette as their main weapon, the Clippers' offense stalled out.
The Lakers seized the moment to widen the gap.
End of the third quarter: 82-69.
The Lakers took a 13-point lead into the final frame.
During the break, Link sat on the bench, chugging Gatorade.
The adrenaline was still pumping, but his mind was ice cold.
He had to do what he always did.
Play the game. Get better.
Get so good that any team thinking about trading him would have to think twice, three times, ten times.
"Fourth quarter. Keep the intensity," the Zen Master said simply.
"Link, keep applying pressure on defense. On offense, run more screen actions with Kobe. Use your shooting gravity."
Link nodded firmly.
The final battle began.
The Clippers didn't roll over. Elton Brand and Cuttino Mobley tried to rally the troops.
But the Lakers played steady basketball. Kobe hit consecutive high-difficulty shots to keep the momentum firmly in hand.
Link checked back in midway through the fourth.
He immediately executed a classic "Kobe-Link" connection.
Kobe drove, drawing three defenders. Just before the trap closed, he kicked it to Link on the left wing.
Link caught it. Set his feet. Jumped.
The motion was fluid, his mind clear.
The ball traced a high arc, like a precision-guided missile, and dropped straight through the heart of the net!
Three-pointer!
That was the dagger. The game was effectively over.
When the final buzzer sounded, the Lakers had defeated their crosstown rivals 108-94.
Link played 35 minutes.
He finished with 28 points, 5 rebounds, 3 assists, 3 steals, and 1 block.
The "Link Frenzy" continued!
---
In the post-game media scrum, the microphones were jammed into the faces of Kobe and Link.
"Link, congrats on the win. We're hearing rumors about a potential trade involving you. What's your take on that?"
A reporter with gold-rimmed glasses asked eagerly.
Link wiped the sweat from his forehead, his expression placid.
"I just finished a tough game fighting for a win with my teammates. As for everything else, that's for the front office to worry about."
His answer was watertight. He neither confirmed nor denied anything, pulling the focus right back to the basketball.
Back in the locker room.
By now, everyone knew the trade talks regarding Link were real.
The vibe was heavy. There was none of the usual post-win celebration.
Kobe didn't hide his position at all. "Link, trust me. I won't let this happen."
Link smiled and high-fived Kobe.
A moment later, the locker room door swung open.
It was Jonathan Robert.
Assistant to the General Manager, Mitch Kupchak.
Jonathan waved at Link, signaling him to come outside.
"Link, something's come up. Mitch and Dr. Buss are waiting for you in the office."
"Alright," Link said, his face calm.
Under the watchful eyes of his coaches and teammates, he walked out of the locker room
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