Malone is confused, why are you defending me?

The next day, Windy City—Chicago.

At the United Center, this basketball cathedral known as the "Devil's Home Court" was swallowed by a sea of crimson.

More than twenty thousand Bulls fans wore home jerseys and waved rally towels, their roar like a tangible sonic weapon that nearly blew the roof off the arena.

There were still half an hour until tip-off, but the atmosphere had already reached a fever pitch.

At center court, the massive four-sided screen repeatedly played the footage of Jordan raising his arms and roaring after his Game 2 buzzer-beater. Every replay triggered thunderous cheers from the crowd.

"MVP! MVP! MVP!"

The unified chant was Chicago fans' hymn to their one and only God of Basketball.

At last, amid everyone's anticipation, the arena lights suddenly went dark, leaving only a single spotlight shining on the entrance to the players' tunnel.

The rousing entrance music, "Sirius," began to play, and its familiar melody instantly ignited everyone's passion.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Now, let's welcome—your Chicago—Bulls!"

The arena DJ roared in his signature, drawn-out voice.

The first player to burst out of the tunnel was starting point guard Ron Harper.

He raised both hands and waved to the fans around him, basking in a hero's welcome.

Next came Sam Cassell, striding out with his distinctive Alien walk and a confident smile on his face.

Third was center Luc Longley. The Australian tower ran toward center court with a smile, exchanging high-fives with his teammates one by one.

The fourth player introduced was The Mailman, Karl Malone. His head was lowered, his expression as resolute as ever, and he merely dribbled the basketball in silence as though he could not hear the surrounding uproar.

But when he reached the sideline, he still could not resist waving his signature iron elbow at