Playoffs in Full Swing, Sharp Edges Revealed!

Chicago, Chicago Bulls training facility.

As usual, Phil Jackson sat cross-legged at center court. Before him stood the players who had forged themselves together over an entire season, their eyes growing sharper by the day.

"Milwaukee, the 'Three Musketeers'—Ray Allen, Glenn Robinson, Sam Cassell."

The Zen Master's voice was calm and distant. "They're young, energetic, and accurate shooters. But they don't know what the playoffs are. They don't understand what every transition between offense and defense means."

His gaze swept over Jordan and Malone.

"Michael, Karl, you know. You understand better than anyone in this league that playoff basketball is forged through willpower and iron-blooded toughness. I don't want to see a flashy shootout. What I need to see is suffocation. Domination."

Jordan held a cigar between his lips and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze imperious. "Phil, tell those three young men: welcome to hell."

Karl Malone silently clenched his fists, his knotted muscles seeming to speak of raw power. He had waited far too long for this chance.

South Beach, Miami.

Pat Riley's slicked-back hair gleamed under the lights, and his voice was colder than the air conditioning in the practice facility.

"Detroit. Grant Hill. A fine young man, once my pupil."

There was not a trace of emotion in Riley's voice. "But now, he's our enemy. Other than him, the Pistons have no second reliable scorer. Alonzo." He looked at his favored player, Mourning. "Your mission is to turn their paint into a No-Fly Zone. Tim." He turned to Tim Hardaway. "Use your defense to make every one of Hill's catches difficult."

"Remember, what is our identity?" Riley raised his voice.

"Iron-blooded! Defense!" the entire team roared in unison, their voices shaking the roof.

Houston, in the Houston Rockets locker room, the atmosphere was somewhat...