In September, the Windy City's morning air carries the damp chill characteristic of Lake Michigan.
In the Berto Center, located in Phil, a western suburb of Chicago, the empty training hall echoed with the dull thud of basketballs hitting the wooden floor and the sharp screeching of rubber shoes as they came to an abrupt stop.
The wooden double doors on the side of the training hall were pushed open.
Lin Qi entered the venue wearing a dark trench coat, without any entourage. His assistant, Margaret, and Converse Gregg, remained in the outer corridor.
On the sidelines of the stadium, Rob Pelinka, dressed in a suit and tie, stood anxiously by a bench, clutching a crumpled fax in his hand, his eyes sunken deep.
Seeing Lin Qi walk in, Rob Pelinka quickly went to greet him, instinctively wanting to explain something, but Lin Qi simply waved his hand, indicating that he should stay on the sidelines, and walked straight to the center of the field.
At the free-throw line, Kobe Brian had just finished a high-intensity pull-up jump shot drill. He was hunched over, hands on his knees, panting heavily. Sweat streamed down his shaved head, dripping onto the floor and leaving dark marks. His Chicago Bulls ' crimson training vest was soaked through, and his right knee was tightly wrapped in a compression brace.
Hearing the sound of leather shoes on the wooden floor, Kobe slowly straightened up, grabbed a towel draped over the basketball hoop, and wiped his face.
When Kobe saw that the person standing a few steps away was Lin Qi, a clear sense of resistance and defensiveness flashed in his eyes as he stared coldly at Lin Qi.
The entire league knows that the owner of the Boston Celtics has been publicly criticizing the team a lot in the media over the past few years.
In interviews, Lin Qi echoed almost the same sentiment: Kobe's playing style was extreme "individual heroism," obsessed with difficult one-on-one plays, which clashed with Boston's emphasis on "team interests above all else." The media loves to stir up war of words between powerhouse teams and superstars, and for years, sports pages across the United States have repeatedly featured these comments as headlines; Kobe, of course, read them quite a bit.
"In the late 1980s, Pat Riley told reporters in front of a nationally televised broadcast that if Michael continued to score 35 points per game, the Chicago Bulls would never win a championship."
Lin Qi stopped beyond the three-point line, calmly breaking the silence. "Back in the 1990s, when he was repeatedly sent back home by Michael in New York, he changed his tune at a press conference, saying that as long as Michael didn't retire, no one in the league could win a championship."
Kobe paused for a moment, his brow furrowed, wondering what Lin Qi was up to.
"In the NBA, what management says to the public always depends solely on where they're currently standing," Lin Qi said, looking at Kobe with a calm tone. "The media sells newspapers through these mudslinging matches, and fans pass the time with these stories. If you're a smart person, you shouldn't let the media's hype dictate your judgment."
Kobe scoffed and tossed the towel onto the bench. "What's printed in black and white in the newspaper is all your exact words criticizing me. Did the reporter make that up?"
"I said those things," Lin Qi readily admitted, looking directly at him, "But that was during the NBA Finals. On the eve of Game 7, if I didn't use the media to provoke you, to lure you into a one-on-one trap, would I be teaching Phil Jackson how to break Boston's defensive system at the press conference?"
Kobe's jawline tightened slightly.
"The most important thing in competitive sports is winning." Lin Qi took a step forward. "Putting psychological pressure on the opponent's key player off the court, forcing you to make inefficient individual attacks in a state of anxiety, that's part of psychological warfare. The media loves to hype up the rivalry between you and me because conflict can boost newspaper sales and increase national broadcast ratings. If you take the psychological warfare during the NBA Finals as my personal malice towards you, it only shows that you're naively naive about the business league."
The only sound in the empty stadium was the faint hum of the ventilation system.
Kobe's fingers slowly loosened and tightened around the ball. Although the hostility in his eyes hadn't completely faded, his purely emotional resistance was clearly suppressed.
"By the way, here's something you might not know," Lin Qi continued calmly, "In June 1996, two weeks before the draft, Boston acquired the 13th overall pick in the first round through a trade involving two key starters."
Kobe's expression shifted slightly.
"I originally planned to bring you straight back to Boston," Lin Qi said, looking at him, "But Jerry West had a keen sense of smell; he moved to the eighth pick and snatched you up from Boston to Los Angeles."
Kobe's pupils constricted slightly.
"If West had been even a fraction slower back then, you would have won your first ring with the Celtics." Lin Qi's voice was very confident. "I have never doubted your individual ability. Those media comments are just tactical maneuvers stemming from differing perspectives. There has never been any irreconcilable personal animosity between us."
Kobe stood silently under the basket, his toes unconsciously grinding against the wooden floor.
After a long silence, he raised his head again, a scrutinizing glint in his eyes. "Even if what happened in the past was psychological warfare, what about now? Nike just froze the signing this morning, Adidas is laughing at me, and McDonald's's tore down all my billboards in Chicago overnight. Now I'm being avoided by everyone in the US, and you come here with Converse, what exactly are you trying to do?"
Seeing this, Rob Pelinka, who was standing some distance away, quickly stepped forward and handed Kobe a neatly bound letter of intent with both hands.
" Kobe, these are the terms Converse offered." Rob Pelinka lowered his voice, his excitement barely concealed. "A lifetime endorsement deal. A guaranteed annual salary of ten million US dollars, an independent signature shoe production line, and a high share of global net profits. And... there are no ethical termination clauses related to the Eagle County Incident."
Kobe glanced down at the bold text on the cover of the letter of intent, but didn't reach out to turn the page.
His gaze returned to Lin Qi's face, carrying his inherent arrogance and wariness. "All the major companies in America are treating me like a plague, and you're offering me a lifetime contract? Lin Qi, I don't like you. For the past three years, you've made me look worthless in the media. Why should I stake my business future on your company?"
Rob Pelinka stood by, his palms sweating with anxiety, fearing that Kobe's blunt remark would enrage the big boss on the spot.
However, Lin Qi remained calm and didn't even flinch.
"I never expected you to like me, Kobe."
Lin Qi looked him in the eye, his tone calm and straightforward. "In the business world, trust is never built on personal goodwill; it's only built on the absolute entanglement of interests. I'm a team owner, a businessman. The sole driving force behind any decision I make is whether it aligns with my interests."
Lin Qi held up one index finger. "Signing you is in my business interest. I've fully privatized Converse; without Wall Street's ethical scrutiny, I need a globally influential brand to expand into the global market. Nike is hampered by public opinion, and Adidas lacks decisiveness—this is my window of opportunity. What others see as trouble is, in my eyes, the asset with the lowest acquisition cost and the greatest potential return."
Kobe pursed his lips tightly and stared at Lin Qi.
"As for the case you're facing," Lin Qi continued, "Once you sign this contract, I will be fully involved and do everything I can to help you resolve the situation. Off the court, the protection I can offer is something no other sports brand in the entire United States can provide."
Lin Qi met Kobe's sharp gaze calmly. "I'm not talking about sentimentality, nor am I pretending to be friends. You need to preserve your career and commercial value when the whole of America turns its back on you, and I need your future peak years to expand the territory of my brand. This is a mutually beneficial deal."
The stadium was silent for a few seconds.
In this summer, tormented by lawsuits, Kobe witnessed far too many ugly faces.
Business partners who used to call him brother coldly terminated their contracts over the phone, Nike executives issued a blacklist order in the blink of an eye, and many people around him comforted him verbally, but their eyes were full of fear that they wanted to avoid him at all costs.
Only the Boston Celtics owner, who had been targeting him in the media for years, stood in the arena in the early morning, openly laying bare his interests, calculations, and ambitions.
Kobe's lips twitched slightly.
A faint self-deprecating smile appeared on that face that had been tense for weeks, followed by a low chuckle.
"Ha..."
Kobe casually tossed the basketball towards the hoop; it bounced twice on the metal rim before falling into the net.
" Lin Qi, you're a really interesting guy." Kobe turned around, wiping the sweat from his chin, the coldness in his expression finally melting away. "Back in Los Angeles, Jerry Buss always liked to talk to me about family, about how much he valued me, and then he traded me to Chicago. You, on the other hand, are so direct, you don't even bother to pretend."
"A false statement won't solve your problem, nor will it sell your sneakers," Lin Qi said calmly.
Kobe took the letter of intent from Rob Pelinka, flipped through it casually, and his eyes fell on the authorization terms on the last page.
" McGee and Harden ( Kobe's defense attorney) are having a really tough time in Denver; the prosecution just won't budge." Kobe looked up, a hint of deep anxiety in his eyes. "How do you plan to help me settle this? That district attorney is sticking to his guns and doesn't care about the defense's usual negotiations."
"You don't need to ask about the specifics of how to do it. Just focus on playing well." Lin Qi straightened his trench coat collar, turned around, and prepared to leave the court.
With his back to Kobe, he strode towards the side door of the arena, his voice echoing in the empty space.
"After leaving Chicago, I'll fly straight to Denver. There are some things I need to discuss in person to reach an agreement."
Kobe stood there, stunned, his fingers holding the letter of intent pausing slightly.
The side door closed softly, and Lin Qi's figure disappeared into the shadows of the corridor outside.
The first rays of morning light pierced through the windows above the training hall, spilling onto the empty floor.
Kobe looked down at the heavy document in his hands and remained silent for a long time.