The Big Man's Awakening.

Hearing the crowd's chants and seeing the cameras zooming in on him, Kyrie's face darkened.

Han had made this chant famous long before Kyrie entered the league.

And ever since Han returned to Cleveland, it had resurfaced more than once—most recently at last year's championship parade, when Malone used it to taunt LeBron.

Kyrie knew exactly what it meant.

Before Han could take his free throw, Kyrie walked straight toward Dwight Howard.

Howard gave him a confused look.

Kyrie wasn't the type to communicate with teammates—at all.

He was so self-absorbed that he barely ever engaged in real conversations.

In fact, this was the first time Kyrie had ever approached Dwight on his own.

"Dwight, you need to stop Han."

Howard narrowed his eyes, immediately frowning.

Was this kid trying to teach him basketball?

Even Hoiberg didn't dare talk to him like that. But this young guy, who hadn't even been in the league that long, thought he could?

Back in the day, Howard had battled LeBron and kept him from making the Finals. Kyrie? He was still a teenager then.

Howard didn't even bother responding.

He just turned and walked toward the free-throw line, leaving Kyrie standing there awkwardly.

Taj Gibson, watching the whole thing unfold, could only shake his head.

With Deng, Rose, and Noah all gone, Gibson was the last remnant of that old Bulls era.

And from experience, he already knew how this would play out.

Kyrie wasn't wrong—Howard did need to step up defensively. That was part of Hoiberg's game plan.

But his tone?

That was the problem.

No veteran, let alone Howard, would accept being ordered around like that.

And that was the root of Kyrie's struggles—he wasn't unwilling to communicate.

He just had no idea how to talk to people.

While Han knocked down his free throw, Gibson tried to smooth things over with Howard.

But Dwight was already pissed.

He had just been told to focus on defense. But wasn't Hoiberg's game plan to attack Jokić in the post?

Howard wasn't going to adjust just because Kyrie said so.

The score was now 10-6, Cavs leading.

---

On the next Bulls possession, Howard posted up Jokić again.

This time, he completely sealed him off.

It was a perfect position. A golden opportunity.

And yet—Kyrie didn't pass the ball.

Instead, he called Sefolosha for a screen and forced a mid-range jumper.

Swish.

But before the ball even went through the net, the referee's whistle blew.

Offensive three seconds. No basket.

Kyrie blinked in confusion—then turned away and jogged back.

Howard?

Howard was livid.

Arms waving, shouting, cursing under his breath.

The message was clear—Kyrie had completely ignored him when he had a mismatch inside.

Meanwhile, Malone was enjoying the show.

He straightened up on the Cavs' bench, leaning forward toward the Bulls' sideline.

And when he saw Hoiberg rising from his seat with a deep frown, Malone couldn't help but chuckle.

Finally, someone else got to experience the 'Kyrie Treatment'.

Kyrie had once said he wasn't the problem in Cleveland.

That statement had aged like milk.

Because Howard had zero patience for Kyrie's antics.

Cleveland ran its next possession flawlessly.

Han cut to the rim, drawing the defense's attention.

Jokić, eyes on Han, fired a no-look pass to J.R. Smith, who had slipped along the baseline.

Kyrie and Howard?

Total miscommunication.

Neither switched, neither helped.

J.R. threw down an easy dunk.

The arena exploded.

Hoiberg immediately called timeout.

J.R. sprinted back toward Jokić, forcing a chest bump celebration that sent Jokić stumbling away.

Han, walking back to the bench, glanced at the Bulls' sideline.

He hadn't even done much yet.

But Chicago was already imploding.

Malone had said it best—winning a championship required sacrifices.

Just throwing talent together wasn't enough.

---

Coming out of the timeout, Hoiberg made a decision.

He benched Dwight.

Cristiano Felicio checked in.

Clearly, Hoiberg had chosen to side with Kyrie over Dwight.

It wasn't even a tough call—Kyrie was the offensive engine.

That was good news for the Cavs.

Because as much as Howard had lost a step, he was still dominating Jokić physically.

With him gone, Jokić was free to go to work.

And that's exactly what happened.

Jokić quickly took advantage of Felicio—a second-year international player with a big body but no real experience.

Felicio was built like Jokić, even heavier at 267 pounds (121kg), but he was six inches (15.2cm) shorter.

Jokić held all the advantages.

Meanwhile, Kyrie—without Howard's screens—had to work even harder to create shots.

After ten minutes, both teams began rotating their lineups.

Han and Jokić sat.

Kyrie took a seat as well—but Howard was brought back in.

Only Butler remained from the starters.

Butler was built differently—a product of the Tom Thibodeau school of hard minutes.

He could play nearly the entire game without slowing down.

And Malone?

He made his own adjustment.

He brought Nene into the rotation.

Nene had chosen to stay in Cleveland because he wanted a championship.

And now, he was the perfect counter to Dwight.

A true old-school bruiser.

---

Han waved Jokić over.

He patted the seat next to him. "Sit."

Jokić dropped down beside him, still catching his breath.

Han pointed toward the court. "Watch this."

This was a lesson.

Howard was strong—no doubt. But not like Shaq. Not like Yao.

His upper body? A tank.

But his lower body? Not nearly as sturdy.

Nene, though?

That man had tree trunks for legs.

So the moment Howard tried to back him down—nothing.

He hit a wall.

Han smirked. "See that?"

Jokić nodded, watching intently.

But Han wasn't just teaching him how to guard Howard.

He was showing him how to attack him.

Because on the very next possession—Wade put on a clinic.

Straight out of the timeout, he blew past his defender, drove hard at Howard, then faked a floater—only to spin back for a reverse layup.

Howard bit. Badly. Completely off balance.

Bucket.

Han nudged Jokić. "That's the problem with guys like him. He can block shots, sure. But one-on-one? He's got no discipline."

Jokić kept nodding, soaking it all in.

Howard was no Shaq.

No Yao.

Hell, even Al Jefferson had cooked him in the post.

Too reliant on athleticism. Not enough fundamentals.

Against guys like Wade?

He was just another highlight reel waiting to happen.

---

At the end of the first quarter, the Cavaliers held a 28-20 lead.

This was a promising sign. Despite the Bulls keeping Jimmy Butler and Dwight Howard on the floor during the bench rotation, Cleveland had managed to hold its ground.

As the second quarter began, Howard and Butler finally went to the bench for some rest, but Kyrie Irving checked back in.

It seemed like Hoiberg's strategy was to stagger Kyrie and Howard's minutes as much as possible.

Not an ideal solution, but given the situation, it was probably the only move he had.

Five minutes into the quarter, the starters began filtering back in.

By then, the score was 36-30, with Kyrie's individual brilliance helping the Bulls chip away at the lead.

Coming back into the game, Howard immediately went to the low post, calling for the ball.

Michael Carter-Williams fed it inside.

Jokić, having studied Nene's approach, focused on pressuring Howard's upper body—but ultimately, it wasn't enough.

Jokić, like Yao Ming, had a strong core and solid lower-body strength, but his upper-body strength was still developing. Against Howard, that made all the difference.

Even so, the extra pressure forced Howard into a tougher shot. As Howard spun for the hook, Jokić extended his arms and contested just enough to force a miss.

Cleveland ran the break.

Han caught Jokić's outlet pass, sprinted ahead, and blew past Carter-Williams for a layup—and the foul.

Carter-Williams, the former Rookie of the Year, had gone from a rising star to just another guy, his career stagnating due to his lack of a jumper.

---

Before stepping to the free-throw line, Han patted Jokić on the backside, acknowledging his defensive effort.

And as he stepped up for the and-one, the arena erupted again—

"WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!"

The cameras immediately zoomed in on Kyrie sitting on the bench.

That chant had history.

When Han first returned to Cleveland, it had been used against LeBron.

Most recently? Mike Malone had thrown it at LeBron during last year's championship parade.

Kyrie knew exactly what it meant.

And he didn't take it lightly.

Before Han could even take his free throw, Kyrie stood up and went straight to Hoiberg.

"I wanna go back in."

Hoiberg gave a short nod.

Han knocked down the free throw. Cavs up 10.

Kyrie wasted no time. Calling for a screen from Gibson, he attacked immediately.

This time, Howard didn't park himself in the post. Instead, he drifted to the weak side.

It was a small adjustment, but it made a difference.

Using Gibson's screen, Kyrie sliced through the lane and went up for a crafty, twisting layup in traffic.

It was vintage Kyrie—solo mission, one-man army, threading through defenders.

Except…

Han was waiting.

SMACK!

Chasedown block.

The ball smacked against the backboard, and Han grabbed the rebound himself.

Cleveland ran again.

This time, Chicago's transition defense held strong, with Butler barking out commands as they got back.

No fast break? No problem.

Han immediately called for Jokić in the low post.

With Kyrie gone, Wade on the bench, and Howard dominating inside, Jokić's impact was more important than ever.

Because at the end of the day, the Cavs weren't just built to beat the Bulls.

They had bigger targets—Golden State and Boston.

And against teams like that?

Han couldn't do it alone.

---

Jokić battled Howard for position, planting himself in the post.

All game, Howard had been pushing him around.

But if there was one thing about Jokić, it was that he understood the assignment.

If this was his job, then he was gonna get it done.

The crowd buzzed.

The rookie was calling for the ball against Dwight Howard.

That took guts.

Howard, meanwhile, was hyped.

Jokić had spent most of the game dragging him out to the perimeter—now, he finally had him where he wanted.

And after getting stopped once by Jokić earlier?

He was out for revenge.

No double team came—Chicago trusted Howard to handle this.

Jokić caught the ball.

And went to work.

First, he backed Howard down, using his big frame to drive into his legs.

Han had already told him—Howard's upper body was a fortress, but his lower body? Not so much.

Howard adjusted, sinking his stance lower—

And Jokić immediately spun left, then countered back the other way.

Howard read the spin, jumping to block.

But Jokić wasn't done.

He faked again.

Howard bit—hard.

The moment he left his feet, Jokić stepped through and laid it in.

41-30. Double-digit lead.

Howard slammed the floor in frustration.

For a brief moment, as Jokić executed that footwork, Howard swore he saw shades of Yao Ming.

The crowd erupted.

Dunks and threes were one thing. But watching a young center go to work in the post? That was basketball artistry.

Han, grinning, slapped hands with Jokić as they jogged back.

"If we win another title this year," Han said, "I'm getting you the best racehorse in Serbia."

Jokić's eyes lit up instantly.

Forget money. Forget fame.

Another month and he'd be back in Serbia racing horses again.

Nothing in the world sounded better.

Rejuvenated, Jokić locked in on defense.

---

Kyrie ran another pick-and-roll, but Gibson's screen still couldn't free him.

Forced to pass, he dumped it to Butler, who drove inside—only for Jokić to poke the ball free.

A sneaky steal from the big man.

Jokić averaged 1.2 steals per game, more than he blocked shots.

If he wasn't the most athletic, he made up for it with positioning and instincts.

Butler protested for a foul.

No whistle.

Jokić snagged the loose ball and immediately kicked it ahead to Han.

Cleveland ran again.

The Bulls scrambled back, Han slowing down as he reached the frontcourt.

Everyone expected him to reset.

Instead—he accelerated.

Out of nowhere, Han cut straight toward the basket, forcing the defense to collapse.

And just as two defenders converged, he fired a bullet pass to the trailing Jokić.

Jokić never stopped running.

And when he caught the pass, he didn't hesitate.

Two steps. Jump. Slam.

BOOM!

The arena exploded.

For the first time in forever, Jokić let out a roar, flexing his arms.

Spit flew right into Butler's face.

But right now? Jokić didn't care.

Because that was the best Serbian horse on the line.

And there was no better championship bonus than that.