In the season opener, they smoothly took down the Chicago Bulls! Michael Jordan stood steadily at the free-throw line.
The eyes of tens of thousands of Bulls fans in the arena were locked tightly on him, and the oppressive atmosphere was almost suffocating.
There were no overwhelming boos, nor any unrestrained cheers—only an indescribably complicated silence.
Jordan raised his hand, bent his knees, and released the ball.
His motion was smooth and fluid, without a single unnecessary movement.
The basketball swished cleanly through the net as he calmly sank the free throw.
Four minutes into the game, Jordan had scored nine straight points, single-handedly tearing through the Bulls' entire perimeter defense.
In front of the Bulls' bench, Karl Malone's chest heaved violently.
Those eyes, usually filled with iron-blooded resolve and composure, were now burning crimson with rage.
No one understood the pain of betrayal better than he did.
Back when the Bulls Dynasty Forum came to an end, unrest had spread through the team, and everyone was calculating their way out.
Malone held a top-tier salary in the league and had countless championship contenders to choose from, yet he ultimately chose to remain in the Windy City.
He had been willing to shoulder the mess of a rebuild, willing to become Chicago's last iron backbone.
He had thought everyone was like him, holding an unwavering loyalty to this city and this team until death.
But Jordan's choice had completely torn apart his conviction.
You could retire, disappear from the game, go to the Western Conference to chase a championship, or even stay put and coast into retirement.
But you should not have turned around and embraced a mortal enemy, donned the jersey of a hated rival, and trampled on the glory of the Windy City.
In Malone's eyes, this was