The Riley Doctrine.
As the third quarter ended, Raptors fans were left with both good and bad news.
The good? Dwane Casey made key adjustments, subbing out Luis Scola for Terrence Ross to stabilize the game. The Cavaliers hadn't managed to blow it open in the third.
The bad? The Raptors were still in the fight.
And that meant one thing—Han Sen, who had already racked up 51 points through three quarters, would be back on the floor in the fourth.
Another historic moment felt inevitable.
As Cory Joseph and Patrick Patterson led the Raptors in keeping the score close early in the quarter, some fans jokingly wished they could call Casey.
One playoff game was just that—a game.
But becoming the backdrop of NBA history?
That lasted forever.
Toronto had already been immortalized as the background for the NBA's highest-scoring regular season game.
Surely, the postseason record should belong to Miami.
Unfortunately, Casey wasn't picking up calls.
But when the starters returned, he adjusted the defensive approach, doubling Han again.
Even if he hadn't taken calls from the fans, he was clearly on the same wavelength.
From a tactical standpoint, this made sense. Cleveland's supporting cast hadn't been heavily involved in the first three quarters. With their rhythm likely off, forcing them to take shots was the Raptors' best chance at a comeback.
And for a while, it worked.
Cleveland's shooters started missing.
Toronto clawed back, cutting the deficit to single digits.
Just when it seemed they might get another glimmer of hope—Han changed tactics.
He went off-ball.
The first-round series against Indiana had seemed one-sided, but it had been a valuable learning experience for Cleveland.
One of Han's takeaways? Off-ball movement.
With Kyrie and Jokić as strong playmakers, the Cavaliers didn't need to run everything through Han. Even without the ball in his hands, he could create chaos.
Against Indiana, this strategy had been less effective due to Tony Allen and Paul George's defense.
But Toronto?
Neither DeMarre Carroll nor DeRozan could keep up with Han's movement.
With a minute left in the game, the crowd's expressions turned to despair.
Han shook off Carroll, cut to the rim, and finished a soaring layup—bringing his point total to 63.
That tied his own playoff scoring record from last year's series against the Heat.
But it wasn't over.
With seconds remaining, Terrence Ross fouled Han on a drive, sending him to the free-throw line.
Swish.
Swish.
A new NBA playoff scoring record—set in Toronto.
Adding insult to injury?
The player who had guarded Kobe when he set his 81-point game?
Jalen Rose.
And now, the man who allowed Han to break the playoff record?
Another Rose—Terrence.
The Toronto crowd clutched their heads in disbelief.
Not only had the Raptors lost, but they had officially become the only team in NBA history to serve as the background for both the regular season and postseason scoring records.
"Toronto might be an even better scoring haven than New York," even the legendary Mike Breen couldn't help but joke from the broadcast booth.
Final score: 114-106.
Cleveland took a 3-1 series lead—one step away from the Conference Finals.
---
Two days later, back in Cleveland, Casey went all-in on stopping Han.
He deployed a Box-and-One defense—essentially surrounding Han with a defensive cage, restricting both his movement and shot attempts.
It was an extreme approach, even more aggressive than the famed 'Jordan Rules.'
This strategy was usually seen in high school or middle school games—where teams only had one reliable scorer.
Clearly, Casey wasn't just trying to win. He was trying to save face.
But he overcorrected.
Han took only 13 shots, finishing with 23 points.
And Cleveland?
They destroyed Toronto, 113-87, closing out the series in five games.
Their next opponent had already been decided.
The Miami Heat had bulldozed their way to the Conference Finals, sweeping both Detroit and Boston without breaking a sweat.
The Celtics had been one of the East's best teams post-trade deadline, following the acquisition of Al Horford.
On paper, they were the third-strongest team in the conference.
Didn't matter.
They hadn't even won a single game against Miami.
That spoke volumes about the Heat's dominance.
And they had home-court advantage.
---
The night before the Eastern Conference Finals, the Cavaliers flew to Miami.
As their plane touched down at Miami International Airport, Han couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity.
This was the city he had battled in more than any other—outside of Memphis and Cleveland.
Once they landed, a breaking news alert popped up on his phone.
The Western Conference Finals were set.
In a Game 7 classic, Kobe Bryant turned back the clock, dropping 41 points to eliminate the San Antonio Spurs, sending the Lakers to face the Golden State Warriors in the Conference Finals.
Golden State had faced an early 2-1 scare against the Thunder, but Stephen Curry's return led to back-to-back blowouts, sealing the series in five games.
Now, it was Heat vs. Cavaliers in the East.
Lakers vs. Warriors in the West.
For fans, it felt like the NBA had rewound a decade, bringing back some classic matchups.
Once off the bus, Mike Malone wasted no time, taking the Cavaliers straight to American Airlines Arena.
He wasn't taking any chances.
The Heat were locked in—Cleveland needed to be, too.
As the team arrived, the Heat were just finishing their practice.
That's when Han spotted Dwyane Wade.
A year ago, Han had gotten some valuable insight from Wade about the Heat.
This time?
He was looking to pick up some more.
And Wade didn't hold back.
"Han, I've been waiting all year for this."
There was no hesitation in Wade's voice.
Last year's Eastern Conference Finals loss to Cleveland?
It haunted him more than any Finals defeat.
Because that was a series the Heat should have won.
That was their best chance at a championship.
And yet, they had let it slip away.
Han nodded, a knowing smile on his face.
"I've been waiting too."
He had known it all season long.
If the Cavaliers wanted the championship?
They had to go through Miami.
---
Before the series began, the league announced the All-NBA Teams.
No surprises—Han was once again First-Team All-NBA and First-Team All-Defense.
Kyrie Irving?
For the first time in his career, Third-Team All-NBA.
Last season, Kyrie was more name than game.
This season?
He had earned it.
And Jokić?
He landed on the All-Rookie First Team, making it clear Cleveland's young core was here to stay.
Han grinned at his big man.
"Well, Nikola, looks like I don't have to buy you that horse after all."
Jokić smirked.
"Horses are expensive in Sombor."
Han chuckled.
He wasn't going to back out of his promise.
But if Cleveland won it all?
He had something even better in mind for his rookie.
---
The following night, Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Finals tipped off.
From the start, Dwyane Wade and Kyrie Irving set the tone, attacking the rim and scoring in quick succession.
Then, it was Han Sen and Kevin Durant's turn—both finding their rhythm with mid-range jumpers.
The game had barely begun, yet the level of play already felt like the NBA Finals.
The Heat crowd was loud, but their eyes held surprise.
This wasn't the same Cavaliers team they had seen last year.
Kyrie was a different player now—the reckless young guard who only knew how to drive had transformed into a polished, all-around offensive weapon.
And Nikola Jokić? Despite being a rookie, he held his own against Pau Gasol, looking nothing like a first-year player.
Miami's firepower was relentless, but Cleveland didn't back down—the starting unit fought them to a standstill.
Then, the game took an unexpected turn.
---
In theory, Miami had the deeper rotation.
They had the personnel to run a fast-paced, high-energy game, maximizing their depth advantage.
But Pat Riley had other plans.
Instead of expanding the rotation, he tightened it.
Mario Chalmers played just two minutes in the first half.
Meanwhile, Miami's starters logged heavier minutes than usual.
It was a confusing approach, but its effect was clear—Mike Malone had to respond.
If Malone stuck to his usual rotation, Miami would blitz Cleveland's bench and break the game open.
So, he had no choice.
He extended his starters' minutes, mirroring Riley's strategy.
And because of that?
Cleveland couldn't unleash their small-ball lineup in the third quarter like they had planned.
Pushing the pace would have burned too much energy—they needed to save their legs for the fourth.
Even with all the adjustments, one major difference surfaced in crunch time.
Cleveland?
Only Han Sen could reliably score.
Miami?
Still had multiple weapons firing on all cylinders.
And that was the difference.
The Heat pulled away in the final minutes, securing a 126-116 win.
When the final buzzer sounded, Miami's players swarmed Pat Riley, celebrating around their legendary coach.
Just like Wade had said before the series—
They had been waiting all season for this moment.
A shot at revenge.
---
That night, Han Sen pored over Game 1's film, replaying key moments again and again.
And after hours of dissecting every possession, he saw what he had missed—something that wasn't obvious in the moment.
On paper, Miami hadn't changed much from last year.
Their only major moves?
- Nikola Vučević out. David West in.
- Joe Johnson added as a veteran scorer.
Nothing that should've swung the balance.
And it wasn't like Cleveland had regressed. If anything, they were stronger.
So why had Game 1 felt so different?
Execution.
The Heat were nearly flawless.
Every good look they created? They converted.
Every mistake Cleveland made? They punished.
And it wasn't just Durant and Wade.
Even Miami's role players—West, Joe Johnson—executed with machine-like precision.
Han dug deeper.
Joe Johnson had been washed in Brooklyn—11.8 points per game, 40.6% shooting, his worst season in years.
In Miami?
51.8% shooting. 41.7% from three.
David West?
His final season with the Pacers, he shot a career-low 47.1%.
Now? 54.5%.
Sure, playing with better teammates helped. But this wasn't just talent.
This was something else.
This was Pat Riley.
In NBA front offices, Riley was "The Godfather."
But as a coach?
He had a different nickname—The Devil.
And it wasn't because of his personality.
It was because of how he broke players and rebuilt them in his image.
Shaquille O'Neal had once called Riley's practices hell on earth—the moment he could, he bolted from Miami.
Because to Riley, talent wasn't enough.
To him, basketball wasn't just skill. It was conditioning. Discipline. Muscle memory.
Talent might win you games, but when a series turned into a war of attrition?
Fundamentals won championships.
That was Riley's philosophy.
Superstars could hit tough shots—but could they do it with exhaustion in their lungs, legs like lead, and the game on the line?
Role players could knock down open threes—but could they still hit them after running defensive schemes to perfection for 40 minutes?
That wasn't skill.
That was reflex—drilled into them, rep by rep, until their bodies didn't know any other way.
That was why Miami didn't crumble in crunch time.
They were conditioned for it.
And it was why, even if their talent level hadn't changed much, they were more dangerous than last year.
Most superstars hated playing for Riley—his methods were too brutal.
But for the ones who endured?
He created killers.
And right now, Miami was one of them.
---
Han shut the laptop. He had seen enough.
Without a word, he grabbed his bag and headed to the gym.
Originally, he had thought this series would be easier than last year.
Cleveland had grown. They had improved.
But if they were going to win this series?
He had to be even better than last year.
Halfway through his late-night workout, his phone rang.
Mike Malone.
Han answered, told him where he was, then kept training.
By the time he finished, Malone was sitting courtside, arms crossed, staring at the hardwood in deep thought.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally, he sighed.
"…That guy. Riley."
He exhaled again, shaking his head.
"He's a goddamn devil."
Han glanced at his coach.
Malone wasn't frustrated.
He was uncertain.
Because this wasn't just about schemes or matchups.
It was about basketball philosophy.
Miami had spent an entire season forging themselves into an execution machine.
How do you adjust to that in a seven-game series?
Han looked away, staring at his reflection in the polished court.
He didn't have the answer.
But he'd been in moments like this before.
He knew what separated those who broke from those who found a way.
"Mike."
Han finally spoke, his voice steady.
"When you're up against the devil… humans only have one weapon."
Malone turned to him, waiting.
Han met his gaze.
"Courage."
Would courage guarantee victory?
No.
But without it, they had no chance.
Because courage pushed you beyond your limits.
It was like The Three-Body Problem had said—
"Courage is humanity's greatest anthem."
It had been Han's belief his entire career.
Malone studied him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
Because if there was one player who could make the impossible happen—
It was Han Sen.
Two days later, Game 2 tipped off in Miami.
Cleveland made their first move.
A starting lineup adjustment.
Kyrie, J.R. Smith, Han, P.J. Tucker, and Jokić.
Malone wasn't waiting to make changes mid-game.
This time, he was showing his best hand right from the start.
-End Of Chapter-
--------------------
Translator's note:
What Were the Jordan Rules?
The Jordan Rules were a defensive strategy used by the Detroit Pistons' "Bad Boys" in the late 1980s and early 1990s to slow down Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls.
How It Worked:
The Pistons' game plan was all about physicality and disruption.
- Hard Fouls & Physical Play – Every time Jordan drove inside, he got hit. No easy layups.
- Double & Triple Teams – As soon as Jordan touched the ball, he was swarmed.
- Forcing Jump Shots – The Pistons forced him to take contested jumpers instead of attacking the rim.
- Denying His Spots – Defenders positioned themselves to cut off his drives and force him into uncomfortable areas.
Why It Worked (For a While):
- The NBA was much more physical back then, and referees let them get away with it.
- The Bulls lacked strong secondary scorers, so shutting down Jordan hurt the whole team.
Why It Eventually Failed:
Jordan adapted. He got stronger, improved his mid-range game, and the Bulls added better teammates. By 1991, the Bulls swept the Pistons and never lost to them again.
What Is the Box-and-One Defense?
The Box-and-One is a defensive scheme where four defenders form a box-shaped zone near the paint, while one defender plays tight man-to-man defense on the opponent's best scorer.
How It Works:
- The "Box" – Four players cover the interior, protecting the rim and cutting off driving lanes.
- The "One" – A single defender sticks to the opposing star, denying them the ball at all costs.
Strengths:
- Shuts down a dominant scorer by forcing their teammates to make plays.
- Protects the paint while still applying perimeter pressure.
Weaknesses:
- Leaves the defense vulnerable if the offensive team has multiple shooters.
- The box defenders can be stretched out by good ball movement.
Both the Jordan Rules and Box-and-One are defensive strategies designed to shut down an elite player. But just like Jordan once did, Han Sen has the skills to break through.
What is The Three-Body Problem?
The Three-Body Problem "三体" is a famous Chinese sci-fi novel by Liu Cixin, known for its deep exploration of physics, philosophy, and human resilience. It won the Hugo Award for Best Novel in 2015, becoming the first Asian novel to do so.
The story revolves around humanity's contact with an advanced alien race, the Trisolarans, who come from a chaotic three-sun system where survival is unpredictable. Facing destruction, they set out to invade Earth—but because of the vast distance, the invasion will take 400 years to arrive. This creates a unique dilemma: how does humanity prepare for an enemy they can't fight yet?
One of the novel's key themes is how humans respond to impossible odds, with the famous quote:
"Courage is humanity's greatest anthem."
This means that even when faced with overwhelming threats, courage is what pushes humanity forward.
Han Sen's battle against Pat Riley's Miami Heat mirrors this concept—talent alone won't win; resilience and courage will decide everything.