This Will Be My Final Season.

By mid-September, NBA teams were ramping up their training camps, signaling the end of a long offseason. For the Cavaliers, this year's camp carried a different energy.

On the first day, everyone showed up on time, ready to work. Unlike last year, Kevin Garnett didn't need to yell trash talk to fire up the team — the hunger was already there. After a summer filled with reflection and regret, the players were eager to get back to work and prove themselves.

Kyrie Irving, in particular, was laser-focused. His playmaking still needed time to develop through actual games, but his defensive effort stood out more than ever.

'Defense wins championships,' Han thought to himself, satisfied with the team's mindset.

When your star point guard starts putting in extra work on defense, it sets the tone for everyone else. Teams often reflect their leaders, and when those leaders show up and grind, the rest of the squad follows.

"Fire runs faster when the locomotive pulls hard," Han remembered hearing back in China.

In Cleveland, he was that locomotive.

What made Han even happier, though, was the transformation of Nikola Jokic.

Over the summer, while Han was traveling in Africa, Jokic's weight loss journey continued. He further dropped from 260 pounds (118kg) down to 250 (113kg) — a perfect weight for his 6'11" (210.82cm) frame.

The difference in his mobility and strength was already evident. His lateral movement was still a work in progress, but his interior defense and agility had noticeably improved.

What surprised Han even more was how quickly Jokic gelled with the team. He was no longer the shy, awkward rookie who barely spoke. Now, he was cracking jokes with Kevin Garnett and engaging with his teammates.

"He's finally settling in," Han observed with a smile.

Jokic's playful nature resurfaced. Before long, he became the team's resident jokester — always cracking up the locker room.

Of course, one thing hadn't changed: Jokic still had a habit of cutting it close with punctuality. He'd show up right on time for practice and always be the first to leave afterward.

"Gotta respect his consistency," Han chuckled.

As September came to a close, training camps across the league wound down, leading to one of the NBA's most anticipated events: Media Day.

Media Day, a tradition established by David Stern, marked the transition from preseason preparations to the official start of the season. Teams gathered for photos, promotional shoots, and press interviews.

For rookies like Jokic and Norman Powell, Media Day was a novelty. Jokic made a point to showcase his goofy side, posing for photos with wide eyes and a playful grin.

During interviews, he openly expressed his love for Cleveland.

"It reminds me of my hometown," Jokic shared. "The pace of life here, the comfort — it's very similar."

When asked about his rookie season expectations, Jokic smiled. "I'll do my best… even if that means just waving the towel."

The room erupted in laughter. Jokic had already won over the media with his quirky charm.

For Han, however, Media Day had become routine. Now entering his seventh season, he knew the drill.

When asked about his goals for the upcoming season, Han typically talked about chasing a championship. But this time, his answer was more pointed.

"To hang my No. 77 jersey in the rafters at AmericanAirlines Arena," he declared.

It wasn't just a personal goal. It was a message — a clear shot aimed at the Miami Heat.

The Cavaliers' true challenge in the East wasn't the Raptors, Hawks, Bulls, or Wizards.

It was the Heat.

Last season's win over Miami had been monumental, but Han knew it wasn't a definitive statement. Pat Riley's decision to return to coaching was proof enough that the Heat were ready for war.

Han's message was simple: The fight is far from over.

His bold statement instantly fueled the brewing rivalry between Cleveland and Miami.

But Han's comment wasn't the biggest headline of the day.

Over in Los Angeles, the Lakers were hosting their own Media Day. The room was packed with reporters eager to hear from the most talked-about team of the offseason.

LeBron James, as expected, kicked things off with confidence. "You're going to see the best version of me this season."

The media barely reacted. At this point, LeBron's declarations were seen as little more than entertainment. After years of switching teams and failing to secure a single title, his credibility had taken a hit.

But then came the real bombshell.

Kobe Bryant took the mic.

"I've decided this will be my final season."

The room froze.

Reporters scrambled to process what they'd just heard. Cameras clicked furiously, and hands shot up with follow-up questions.

Everyone knew Kobe was nearing the end of his career, but to hear him say it — to officially declare his retirement — was a moment that shook the entire league.

---

After finishing his interview, Han Sen glanced at his phone, only to be greeted by the shocking headline: Kobe Bryant had officially announced that this season would be his last.

Han sat down at the court's edge, processing the news. In his memories, Kobe did indeed start a farewell tour this season — but that was after a devastating Achilles injury.

This time, things were different. Kobe was still relatively healthy. In fact, his performance last season was better than most All-Stars. He might not have been top five anymore, but he was certainly still top ten. There was no reason, at least physically, why he couldn't play until he was 40.

As he sat there, Han's initial surprise began to fade, and the logic behind Kobe's decision became clearer.

For Kobe, this season was an all-or-nothing moment.

If the Lakers won the title, Kobe would finally have six rings — one more than Shaq. His legacy would be untouchable, and he'd have no reason to keep playing.

But if they lost?

There'd be no face-saving comeback. No redemption arc.

Because assembling a superteam, as Wade had once told Han, was a move without retreat. It was either triumph or humiliation.

Han chuckled to himself, imagining Kobe standing before LeBron and Love, essentially giving them an ultimatum: "This is my last season — and your last chance."

There was no doubt about it. Kobe would be more ruthless, more relentless than ever before.

And facing that version of Kobe in a playoff series? Against peak Curry and the Warriors?

Han could already see the Western Conference erupting into fireworks.

But Han also understood the cost. Kobe would be burning through the last reserves of his body's energy. After this season, there would be no more comebacks. No second chances.

As someone who had faced Kobe countless times on the court, Han couldn't help but feel reflective.

"Boss, you good?" Cunningham asked, noticing Han's contemplative look.

Han shook his head with a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking about a few things."

He wasn't just thinking about Kobe.

This season wouldn't only be Kobe's last dance. If things went as expected, the league's Stoic King — the 'Greatest of His Era' in Han's words — would also be hanging it up.

Unlike Kobe, Duncan wouldn't make a big deal out of it. He'd walk off the court quietly, just like he had played his entire career — understated, graceful, and effective.

And it wasn't just Duncan.

Kevin Garnett, still on the Cavaliers' roster, would likely call it a career after this season too. His body wasn't what it used to be, and Father Time always wins.

Han sighed, realizing this season wouldn't just be about chasing a title. It would be the end of an era — the final chapter for some of the game's fiercest competitors.

But instead of feeling sentimental, a fierce determination ignited within him.

Players like Kobe, Duncan, and Garnett didn't want pity.

They wanted battles.

Epic, memorable battles.

The best farewell gift Han could offer them?

Defeat them all. One by one.

---

Social media exploded with reactions to Kobe's announcement.

Although he was no longer the undisputed face of the league, fans who had grown up watching him couldn't fathom an NBA without Kobe Bryant.

Players around the league shared their thoughts, expressing disbelief and admiration for Kobe's career. Some teams even announced plans to honor Kobe with special tributes during their home games, as a gesture of respect.

Kobe's career hadn't been as mythic as Jordan's. He'd faced his share of controversies, both on and off the court. But the respect he earned through his relentless work ethic and on-court brilliance was undeniable.

Respect earned through action is always more powerful than respect demanded.

By late October, the NBA preseason had come to an end, and the Cavaliers had wrapped up their preparation.

The biggest revelation of the Cavaliers' preseason? Nikola Jokic.

Originally slated to be the team's third-string center, Jokic had completely leapfrogged Spencer Hawes on the depth chart.

To put it bluntly, Jokic could do everything Hawes could — and more.

Hawes was known for his three-point shooting and passing. Jokic had both of those skills, with a slight edge in passing. But what set Jokic apart was his low-post game — an area where Hawes offered little.

Of course, Jokic wasn't perfect. He committed too many fouls and had trouble setting solid screens during pick-and-rolls. Instead of properly sealing defenders, he often slipped too early, putting ballhandlers in difficult positions.

These flaws would take time to fix, but overall, the Cavaliers had landed a gem in Jokic.

David Griffin couldn't hide his astonishment.

"Honestly," Griffin confided to Han one day, "no one but you saw this coming. We basically stole him for a late first-round pick."

Han chuckled. "Sometimes you just gotta trust your gut."

After practice one afternoon, Han was sitting with Jokic, going over some pick-and-roll strategies, when Cunningham approached with a frustrated look.

"Boss, you see the power rankings?"

Han raised an eyebrow. "Nope. Haven't bothered."

"They've got us ranked fifth!" Cunningham fumed. "We made the Finals last year! We knocked out Miami!"

Han glanced at Jokic, who shrugged with a smile. "Fifth sounds pretty high."

Han couldn't help but laugh. "You don't know last season's rankings, do you?"

"Nope." Jokic scratched his head. "Where were we?"

"Before you joined? Tenth."

"Now we're fifth?" Jokic blinked. "Because of me?"

Han nodded with a grin. "Guess you're stronger than you thought."

Jokic rubbed his head sheepishly. "Didn't know I was that good."

Cunningham sighed. "Man, you're killing me."

He quickly rattled off the four teams ranked ahead of them: the Lakers, Heat, Warriors, and Rockets.

Han nodded. "Sounds about right."

"But did Bosh really recover?" Han asked, surprised. In his memory, Chris Bosh's career had ended due to blood clots.

"Yeah," Cunningham confirmed. "He played three preseason games. Looked solid."

Han leaned back, deep in thought. "Huh. That's unexpected."

Butterfly effect? Or was his memory off?

Regardless, power rankings were just for fun. Last season's Finals featured the 10th and 12th-ranked teams, after all.

Besides, Han had more pressing matters to think about.

The Cavaliers' season opener?

It was against the Warriors.

And it wasn't just any game.

Han would be standing courtside, watching the Warriors receive their championship rings — the ultimate reminder of what he'd lost last season.

And Draymond Green's words during the championship parade still echoed in his mind:

"We beat Han! The dynasty starts now!"

Han cracked his knuckles, the competitive fire burning in his eyes.

Time to prove him wrong.

-End of Chapter-