Wang Yi smiled and responded to each of them. His steps were much slower than usual.
At noon, he accepted Aiton's invitation to visit a local seafood restaurant in Los Angeles.
There was no team meeting or discussion of tactics. The two of them were just like ordinary friends, ordering enough lobster and oysters to fill the table.
"I'm finally done having to keep an eye on Wemby all day. I feel like I've lost two pounds."
Aiton pried open an oyster and stuffed it into his mouth, looking completely satisfied.
Wang Yi took a sip of chilled juice and leaned back in his chair with a smile.
"Our next opponents will only get tougher, but today, all we have to do is eat."
Relaxed jazz played in the restaurant, and sunlight fell across the table through the glass windows. Everything seemed to slow down.
In the afternoon, Wang Yi didn't go home. Instead, he drove to his son's basketball training ground.
He didn't offer advice as a player. He simply sat on a bench courtside, quietly watching the children run and shoot.
His son missed a layup, took three steps, and smacked the ball in frustration.
Wang Yi didn't go over to correct him. He just gave him an encouraging thumbs-up.
At that moment, he wasn't the veteran who gave opponents headaches on the court, just an ordinary father.
In the evening, Phil Jackson suddenly sent him a message, inviting him over for a glass of whiskey.
The old coach's villa was filled with championship trophies. The lights were warm, and the music was soothing.
"The Playoffs are like climbing a mountain. You climb for a while, then you have to stop and catch your breath."
Phil Jackson poured them both a drink and gently clinked his glass against