Oakley Announces His Departure, Met with Scorn from All of New York!

A breeze of the offseason began to blow from inside the Knicks' locker room.

At an upscale steakhouse in Midtown Manhattan, elegantly decorated in dark walnut and deep red leather, the lighting was dim, and the air was rich with the aroma of premium Wagyu sizzling over the grill.

Charles Oakley, the "Old Oak" who had spent ten years with the Knicks and was renowned for his iron elbows and tough-guy image, clumsily carved a 16-ounce T-bone steak with fingers as thick and gnarled as tree roots.

"Li." He looked up, his eyes complicated as he gazed at Li Fei across from him. "This meal is on me."

Li Fei smiled and raised his glass of Macallan 18-year single malt, the amber liquor shimmering under the lights. "Charles, you're too polite. You protected New York for so many years. We should be the ones seeing you off."

Oakley shook his head bitterly. Setting down his knife and fork, he raised his glass to lightly clink it against Li Fei's, then drained it in one gulp.

The fiery liquor slid down his throat like it had ignited a flame—and with it, the emotions he had been holding back.

"Sorry, Li."

Oakley's voice was slightly hoarse, tinged with guilt. "I know we just won the championship. I know we could've made a run at a dynasty. But... Toronto offered me a contract I couldn't refuse."

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You know, I'm already thirty-four. My body's covered in injuries. This is the last big contract of my career. I have to think about my family, about the rest of my life. I... I need this money."

Li Fei listened quietly without interrupting.

He understood Oakley's choice. For a blue-collar player nearing the end of his career, honors certainly mattered,