The reporters raised their hands, and he casually pointed at one.
"Carl, you played small forward today. It was the first time in your career that you played that position in the playoffs. How did it feel?"
Malone leaned back in his chair and fell silent for a moment.
"I just follow the team's arrangements," he said, his voice low and steady. "Whatever position the coach wants me to play, I play it. Small forward, power forward, center—it's all the same to me. When I'm on the court, I do what I'm supposed to do—rebound, defend, score, box out, set screens. The position doesn't matter. What matters is what you do on the court."
The reporter pressed on. "What did you think of the three-big lineup?"
Malone licked his lips. "I think we played pretty well. We were only down three in the first quarter, down thirteen at halftime, and we actually had plenty of chances throughout the game. The Knicks are a strong team, and Li Fei is one of the strongest players in the league. But we won't give up because of one loss. It's a best-of-seven series. We still have a chance."
His response was official and professional, without a single crack. But the reporters sitting below could all sense it—Malone's heart was no longer with this team.
His contract would expire after this season. There was a very good chance he would not remain with the Chicago Bulls. He was already thirty-four. This was his last chance at a major contract. He needed a team that could offer him long-term security, championship potential, and a chance to make the most of what he had left.
Chicago was not that place.
Jordan's return had made the Chicago Bulls the center of attention again, but this team's core