"How is this somehow my fault?"
Kobe muttered under his breath, disbelief in his tone.
From beginning to end, he did not believe he had said a single wrong word.
The NBA Finals were the ultimate stage—brutal, rational, and unforgiving.
A loss was a loss. A weakness was a weakness. There were no excuses.
Throughout Game 2, the team had executed its tactics perfectly, and everyone had fought to the limit.
The only flaw, the only reason for defeat, was O'Neal's collapse at the free-throw line.
If O'Neal had maintained even basic touch on his free throws, the team would have won long ago.
Speaking the truth was not passing the buck or placing blame. It was facing the problem head-on.
In Kobe's basketball philosophy, competitive sports had no room for sentimentality.
If you wanted to win, if you wanted a championship, you had to confront your weaknesses.
If you did not dare face your shortcomings or admit your mistakes, you would never become stronger.
He could not understand where O'Neal's anger was coming from.
Were teammates supposed to blindly cover for one another and indulge each other's flaws?
Were they supposed to conceal the core reason for a loss for the sake of so-called brotherhood?
"What kind of attitude toward basketball does this guy even have?"
Kobe shook his head, a trace of disappointment flashing through his eyes.
He pursued the ultimate, perfection, victory in every detail.
But O'Neal was still hung up on so-called pride and so-called harmony within the team.
Even with the team down 0-2 and backed into a corner, he still refused to face his own problems.
At that moment, Kobe clearly realized that his philosophy and O'Neal's had diverged.
Their understanding of victory and their devotion to basketball were completely different.
A subtle yet