Kyrie Wants Out.

After defeating the Heat, the Cavaliers went on another winning streak.

Nikola Jokić was getting better with each game, and the media coverage around him continued to grow.

But at the same time, tension was brewing between Kyrie Irving and head coach Michael Malone.

Kyrie had started to ignore Malone's play calls—sometimes subtly, sometimes blatantly.

Malone was furious.

But since the team was rolling and in the middle of a winning streak, he didn't push the issue too hard.

Superstars always had some level of on-court autonomy—it came with the territory.

However, Malone's patience only gave Kyrie more room to do as he pleased.

And then it happened.

The Cavaliers lost to the Raptors.

After the game, Malone publicly criticized Kyrie in the press conference.

That was the final straw.

As soon as Malone finished speaking, Kyrie stormed out of the locker room.

Han Sen had planned to talk to him.

But before he could, Kyrie was gone.

Not just missing from the arena—completely unreachable.

Neither Han nor the Cavaliers' front office could get in touch with him.

For a moment, the team even worried something had happened to him. After all, Cleveland had a history of high-profile kidnapping cases.

But that night, Kyrie finally reached out—to GM David Griffin.

Griffin met with Han shortly after.

"Kyrie wants a trade," Griffin told him.

Han frowned.

"To Boston?"

"Not necessarily Boston. He just wants out," Griffin clarified.

That distinction didn't really matter.

What mattered was—why was Kyrie suddenly demanding a trade?

Because Malone called him out publicly?

Han couldn't understand it.

Kyrie was a grown man, not some sensitive teenager.

"Did he give a reason?" Han asked.

Griffin shook his head.

Han immediately tried calling Kyrie.

No answer.

But when Griffin dialed, Kyrie picked up.

The entire room went silent.

Han clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to grab the phone and curse Kyrie out on the spot.

Instead, he typed out a few questions on his screen and had Griffin ask them one by one.

"Is this because of Malone?"

Kyrie said no.

"Is this because of Han?"

Again, no.

Han sighed.

This was getting nowhere.

So he cut the act.

"Give me the damn phone," he signaled to Griffin.

Griffin hesitated, but passed it over.

Han didn't waste time.

"Get your ass to my house. Now. Or you're not leaving this team. Period."

A long silence.

Then—

"...Alright."

The call ended.

Han turned to Griffin.

"You can go. I'll handle this."

---

About half an hour later, Kyrie walked into Han's living room.

He couldn't even look Han in the eye.

He sat down, kept his head low, and said nothing.

"I Need to Know Why."

Han wasn't just mad because Kyrie ignored his calls.

The Cavaliers were rolling. They had just beaten the Warriors on Christmas. Their title defense looked promising.

And now, Kyrie pulls this?

Kyrie didn't answer immediately.

Han's patience was wearing thin.

Finally, Kyrie lifted his head.

"I want to see if I can lead a team on my own."

Han's blood boiled.

So he really listened to Draymond's bulls**t.

Han scoffed.

"I wasn't here before. Didn't you already try that?"

Kyrie didn't flinch.

"I didn't know how to be a leader back then. But being around you, I learned."

Han almost laughed.

Did Kyrie really just say that to his face?

"And that's why I didn't answer your calls," Kyrie admitted.

"I know I wouldn't be who I am without you. I didn't know how to face you."

Han shook his head.

"You're a damn idiot."

Kyrie didn't argue.

He just looked down again.

Han suddenly remembered that night in Chicago, when they stood outside the United Center.

When Han asked Kyrie how he felt seeing Jordan's statue.

Kyrie's answer?

He wanted to be like Jordan.

Kyrie had always been ambitious.

And after experiencing the highest level of success as a second option, now he wanted to see if he could do it as the first.

Draymond didn't give him that idea. It was already there—buried.

Dray just dragged it out into the open.

Han exhaled.

"You think you can do it?" His tone softened.

"I don't know. But I want to try. Whether I succeed or fail, I can accept it."

Kyrie finally looked him in the eye.

That stubborn, 'I have to see it for myself' look.

Han studied him for a moment.

Then, he shook his head.

"You're lying."

Kyrie froze.

"If that's really all it was, you wouldn't want to go to Boston."

"They already have KD."

Silence.

Han saw it immediately—he was right.

Kyrie wasn't chasing a leadership role.

"Say it," Han pressed. "Or I'll tell David to shut down your trade talks."

"...Boss."

Kyrie took a deep breath.

And when he spoke next—his voice was different.

"Do you think I'm not as good as Nikola?"

Han went still.

He hadn't expected that.

If they were talking about right now, Kyrie was the better player.

But in the long run?

Kyrie wouldn't even be able to see Jokic's taillights.

So Kyrie didn't actually want to be a number-one option.

He knew he wasn't built for that.

What really got to him was Jokic's rising status.

His role in the offense.

The media attention.

The way Han openly favored him.

Han leaned forward.

"Have your touches gone down?"

Kyrie shook his head.

Jokic's offensive role had expanded, but he wasn't a volume scorer.

He could handle more possessions, but he wasn't taking more shots.

"If you two can co-exist, why does one of you have to be more important?"

Kyrie had no answer.

He let out a slow breath.

"I don't mind being your Scottie Pippen," he admitted. "Supporting the greatest player ever? That's something to be proud of."

"But..."

He hesitated.

"I can't accept being Toni Kukoc."

Han understood instantly.

It wasn't about ambition.

It was about his place on the team.

Kyrie was fine playing second fiddle to Han.

But it wasn't about leaving Han's shadow. It was about the new one forming next to him—Jokic's.

He was still only 24.

He wasn't stupid.

He could see where this was going.

Next season, he wouldn't even be the second-most important player anymore.

Han stayed silent.

Because this was an unsolvable problem.

Like when Ray Allen left Boston because Avery Bradley started taking his minutes.

And the worst part?

This was Han's fault.

If he hadn't drafted Jokic, Kyrie probably would've been content staying as his Pippen.

But if you're a guy with foresight and you get a chance to draft Jokic… what kind of idiot says no?

Han sighed.

"Nikola isn't someone who wants to take your spot."

"I know."

"You're still the second option on this team."

"I know," Kyrie muttered.

"But by next year, I won't be."

Silence.

Han understood.

Kyrie had already made up his mind.

He wasn't mad at Jokic.

He wasn't mad at Han.

But he wasn't staying either.

Han exhaled through his nose.

"You have two choices."

Kyrie's eyes flickered.

"One—finish this season."

"You know we have a great shot at defending the title. Play it out, then decide what to do in the offseason."

Han still wanted to keep him.

Because he fit perfectly.

A ball handler who could play on and off the ball, who had improved his defense, and could still take over when needed.

There wasn't a better point guard for this Cavaliers team.

And for Kyrie himself—another ring would elevate his legacy.

But—

"The second option doesn't need explaining," Han said flatly.

Kyrie nodded.

"If you push for a trade now, Boston isn't happening."

The Celtics were Cleveland's biggest rival in the East.

Unless Boston was sending Kevin Durant back, Griffin would never approve the deal.

Kyrie already knew that.

Still, he had to make a choice.

---

"There's one more reason I want to leave."

Kyrie didn't make his choice right away.

Han frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"They don't see me as irreplaceable."

By "they", Kyrie clearly meant the front office.

"I know for a fact… at the start of the season, they tried to trade me for Paul George."

Han froze.

That was news to him.

But he quickly shook his head.

"That has to be a misunderstanding."

If something that big had been on the table, there's no way Griffin wouldn't have told me.

Without hesitation, Han called Griffin.

A few minutes later, the Cavs' GM was in his living room.

Griffin hadn't left earlier—he had just been waiting in his car for an update.

"Last July, Larry Bird did reach out," Griffin admitted.

"He wanted to trade Paul George for Kyrie and Powell."

"But I turned him down immediately. We had just won a championship. There was no reason to make that move."

Since he had rejected it outright, Griffin hadn't felt the need to bring it up.

Han turned to Kyrie.

Now that Griffin had spoken in person, that second reason no longer existed.

If this was about feeling unwanted, then Kyrie should feel reassured.

But instead—

"I'm still leaving."

Han exhaled sharply.

Of course, Kyrie wasn't going to change his mind that easily.

Griffin was visibly frustrated.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but Han stopped him with a hand.

You can't force a player to stay.

Even if they don't get traded, their play on the court will never be the same.

Kyrie took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Boss."

That was the second time tonight he had called him that.

Then, he walked out—leaving Griffin looking helpless and Han with furrowed brows.

Han had pushed for Kyrie to wait until the summer for a reason.

Because Kyrie wasn't easily replaceable.

If they traded him now, they'd have to adjust their chemistry midseason.

They might not even get a good return.

That would make defending the title way harder.

Dynasties usually fell apart from the inside. The Cavs weren't even a dynasty yet— and cracks were already showing.

Han had never faced this kind of challenge in Memphis.

Griffin finally broke the silence.

"Should I reach out to Larry?"

Han glanced at him.

Paul George was a small forward, but the Cavs could figure out the point guard situation later.

"You can try," Han said. "But I doubt he'll go for it."

Last year's loss against the Cavs had motivated George to improve.

Now, he was averaging career-high shooting percentages—46.8% from the field, 39.3% from three.

And it wasn't just about on-court value.

When Bird originally wanted Kyrie, he wasn't the same player he was now.

Back then, Kyrie wasn't causing problems off the court.

Griffin checked the time and called Bird.

They kept it short.

Bird still wanted Kyrie—just not at the cost of Paul George.

"Anyone else on our roster is available," Bird said.

But outside of PG, the only real trade asset the Pacers had was Myles Turner—

And that wasn't what the Cavs needed.

Griffin rubbed his temple.

"Chicago's considering moving Jimmy Butler."

"And OKC's got Carmelo Anthony on the block."

Han let out a dry laugh.

"David… do you think Kyrie is a one-off case?"

Griffin frowned.

"You mean—you're worried other stars will have the same problem?"

Han nodded.

The names Griffin had mentioned—

These were all established superstars.

On paper, they could replace Kyrie.

But what happens when they get here?

Would they really accept being the second option?

Or would they want out too?

For most stars, it wasn't just about touches. It was about control—of their legacy, their stats, their next contract.

The NBA wasn't just about winning games.

It was about making money.

Look at Draymond. His numbers tanked, and when the season ended, so would his market value

His next contract?

It wasn't going to be anything close to what he could've gotten before.

Griffin sighed.

Han was right to be concerned.

If they didn't trade for another star, the Cavs would basically be Han and Jokic's team.

That wasn't unusual for a contender—most title teams had two main guys.

But the real question was—

Could Jokic handle that role?

If this were any other season, it wouldn't even be a debate.

Han alone was enough.

But this year?

With the Celtics in the East and the Warriors out West?

Could the Cavs still win it all?

And if they fell short? Griffin would be the one paying for it.

After a long pause, Griffin let out a heavy breath.

"Maybe I should try to talk to Kyrie again."

Han shook his head.

"He's gone."

It wasn't a guess.

It was a fact.

Kyrie's mind was made up.

"You start looking," Han said. "If there's no good return, just improve the bench."

Kyrie sat most of the fourth on Christmas— and the Cavs still held their own against the Warriors.

That meant the starting lineup was fine.

If they couldn't replace Kyrie, they could build depth instead.

Give Han and Jokic more rest, let the bench carry the load during stretches.

It wasn't a perfect solution—

But Memphis had won titles that way before.