"But!" Li Fei abruptly changed tack, his gaze turning razor-sharp. "Are two championships enough?"
"Not enough!!!" Millions of fans answered in unison, their roar shaking the sky.
"That's right! Not enough!"
Li Fei roared, "The Knicks, this holy ground of basketball, have never had a three-peat! They have never truly built a dynasty of their own!"
"Next year! We'll stand here again! We'll bring the third trophy back to Madison! Right here, we'll build an unprecedented—Knicks Dynasty!"
"Dynasty! Dynasty! Dynasty!"
Amid the frenzied chants, the hopes of every New York fan were pushed to their peak. They knew that as long as this man was still here, anything was possible.
Meanwhile, far away in Chicago, inside a mansion in Highland Park.
Michael Jordan turned off the television expressionlessly.
On the screen, Li Fei's image, holding the trophy aloft, froze on the final frame.
The room was silent. Only the four championship trophies mounted on the wall reflected a cold glint beneath the afternoon sunlight.
At thirty-seven, he was no longer young. Being personally eliminated by a man fifteen years his junior on the Eastern Conference Finals stage for two straight years tasted even more bitter than losing in the Finals.
He had just spoken with general manager Jerry Krause on the phone.
In an impersonal, businesslike tone, Krause had informed him that the team would not renew Phil Jackson's contract next season, nor would it renew Karl Malone's expiring deal.
"We need to rebuild, Michael. For the Bulls' future."
Those were Krause's exact words.
Jordan had not gotten angry, nor had he argued.
He had merely hung up calmly.
Rebuild?
That meant losing the coach he trusted most, along with the most capable help by his side over the past two years.
His player-option contract now felt like a ticket