To Miller, that choice was a naked betrayal and defection to the enemy.
As the meeting drew to a close, Larry Brown looked at Miller, his tone solemn.
"Reggie, you're our only reliable perimeter scorer."
"In this series, you need to carry the offense and draw Jordan's defensive attention."
Miller slowly raised his head, his gaze sharp as a blade, fighting spirit nearly bursting from his chest.
"Coach, don't worry."
"For three years, they've kept us down for three whole years."
"This year, I'm not just going to win the series. I'm going to destroy Jordan myself."
His brief words carried Miller's trademark arrogance and iron-blooded resolve.
When the meeting ended, the players filed out to continue their extra training.
Only Miller remained in the practice gym, beginning a grueling solo workout.
Catch-and-shoot threes, pull-up jumpers, drifting game-winners, heavily contested shots after contact.
He repeated them over and over, sweat soaking through his dark blue practice jersey.
Puddles of sweat dotted the court, while the sound of shots echoed through the empty arena.
He needed no teammates beside him and no coach to push him. His mind was filled only with an obsession for revenge.
Night had fully fallen, and Indiana's evening breeze brushed past the arena's floor-to-ceiling windows.
Miller finally stopped training, picked up a towel to wipe away his sweat, and slowly walked out of the arena.
Outside, dozens of prominent sports reporters from across the United States had been waiting for a long time.
Cameras, recording equipment, and microphones all turned toward the approaching Miller.
With the Eastern Conference Finals imminent, fans across the United States were waiting to hear from the Pacers' leader.
"Reggie, congratulations on reaching the Eastern Conference Finals, where you'll face the Dynasty Knicks."
"How do you assess your chances in this series?"