Chapter 37: Small talk

After winning the championship, something changed. The fire, the drive—it wasn't the same anymore. Buford sensed it, the same way an old soldier knows when the battle is lost before it's even begun. His words hung in the air, heavy with a truth that no one wanted to face. "The league's a business," he said quietly. "And in business, once you've hit the peak, the hunger fades. People stop fighting for glory—they start chasing paychecks."

In a commercial league, where broadcasting fees skyrocketed and player salaries followed, the small-market teams like the Spurs found themselves squeezed tighter each season. Buford understood this reality better than anyone, but knowing the problem and solving it were two different things. Even if you had the solution, making it work was another mountain to climb. He was stuck in that third phase—the one where you can see the solution but have no way to act on it. "A cook can't prepare a feast without ingredients," he thought bitterly.

Jake, watching Buford's quiet turmoil, couldn't hold back. "You should sell Belinelli," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "While you can still get a good price."

Buford blinked, confused. "Belinelli? He's been solid for us. Why sell now?"

"Because he's hit his ceiling," Jake replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "We won the championship, but that doesn't change the fact that he's Italian. His future isn't here."

Jake didn't need to say more—Buford understood. Belinelli was the perfect role player, a plug-and-play guy with decent size, defense, and shooting. But role players like him had short windows. When their shooting touch faded, or their defense slipped, their value tanked. And unlike an American player who might drift from team to team, Belinelli had a home. When things stopped working out here, he'd head back to Italy, where he'd be treated like a star. Europe's lower taxes, less grueling schedule, and proximity to home would be far too tempting. He'd leave, and the Spurs would have nothing to show for it.

"The same goes for Splitter," Jake continued, not giving Buford time to protest. "He's only good as long as Duncan is still holding up. Once Duncan slows down, Splitter's weaknesses are going to be exposed. Better to move him while his value's high."

Buford frowned. Splitter was their starting center. Trading him wasn't as simple as offloading a backup like Belinelli. "And who do I play at center then?" he shot back. "Duncan's old bones?"

Jake sighed, spreading his hands. "I'm just being honest with you. Do with the advice what you will."

Buford's frown softened, and a sly grin crept onto his face—the grin of a man used to dealing with tough decisions. "You're one of us, Jake. Drink up."

…

Time passed quickly, and by the end of January, the Kings had hit some bumps in the road. Their record now stood at 29 wins and 17 losses, slipping to fifth in the Western Conference. But there was good news too. Cousins had made the All-Star team, thanks to relentless campaigning from Sacramento's fans—and Jake's shameless promotion back home. CJ had also squeezed into the backcourt lineup, taking advantage of an injury to Kobe.

Jake let out a long breath. "Finally," he muttered. "Mission accomplished."

The challenge had been grueling, but he'd pulled it off. The Kings had two players in the All-Star lineup, and Jake's system—which hadn't bothered him with tasks for a while—finally sprang back to life.

"Ding! Host has completed the mission: at least two players from the team in this year's All-Star lineup. Rewards are now being distributed!"

Jake grinned as the familiar electronic voice filled his mind. The long-awaited moment had come. "Give me something good," he whispered to himself.

The system's gift package opened with a flash of golden light. "Ding! Congratulations to the host for acquiring the 'Dribbling Veteran' silver badge and a Team Stamina Enhancement Card."

Jake's eyes lit up. The Dribbling Veteran badge was a game-changer, boosting a player's dribbling attribute by 12 points permanently. The Stamina Card was just as valuable, allowing him to restore 15% of five players' stamina during a game—reusable, too. These were the kinds of tools that could turn a tight game in his favor.

Jake's excitement spilled over as he mentally checked the rest of his stash. Three other badges—an All-Around Attribute Badge, an Open Shooter Badge, and another Dribbling Veteran Badge—along with two enhancement cards were still sitting in his inventory, waiting for the perfect moment.

But badges and buffs weren't enough to build a dynasty. Jake knew better than to invest blindly. Even CJ, a player he'd trained tirelessly, had limits. And as a time traveler with knowledge of how things played out in the future, Jake was all too aware of what those limits were.

The rise of a team wasn't a fairy tale. There was no magical trade or offseason move that would catapult them to a championship overnight. It took time, careful planning, and a willingness to make the hard choices.

"Alright," Jake said, glancing at the spreadsheets on his laptop. "Time to make some moves."

With his mind set, the final operation was about to begin.