The next second, he dialed his personal agent.
The moment the call connected, Jordan spoke rapidly, without the slightest hesitation.
"Book me the fastest flight to New York immediately."
"Any class, any price—just get me on the earliest departing flight."
His agent was instantly stunned on the other end, completely caught off guard.
"Michael? We were scheduled to leave for New York tomorrow morning."
"There's still a huge amount of post-signing work tonight, and the media arrangements haven't been handled."
"Besides, your private jet can be ready at any time. There's no need to rush for a commercial flight."
Jordan frowned deeply, his tone carrying impatience and urgency.
"Don't mention the private jet. I regret not having it dispatched and ready beforehand."
"Book the ticket now. I'm leaving for the airport in ten minutes."
"Push back all follow-up work. Delay all media arrangements."
"I have to be on the court at Madison Square Garden tonight."
His agent had never seen Jordan this anxious before and did not dare ask any more questions.
He immediately agreed and hurriedly began checking flights and booking the ticket.
Jordan casually slipped the phone from the table into his pocket. He took nothing else.
No packing, no changing out of his formal clothes, no organizing his belongings.
A tracksuit, a pair of basketball shoes, and a phone. That was all.
At that moment, there was only one thought in his mind.
Li Fei dared question his attitude toward training, so he had to answer with action.
Even at thirty-seven, he would never lose to any young player when it came to discipline.
And he certainly would not lose to the old rival who had overshadowed him for four years.
Ten minutes later, a black luxury sedan sped out of the villa courtyard.
It raced through