Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 410: The Deepest Connection.

Once Tatum finally played up to his potential, fans got their first real glimpse of the Kings' true strength.

Or more accurately—their firepower.

With Han Sen, Donovan Mitchell, and Jayson Tatum relentlessly attacking the Warriors' interior, Golden State's defense had its hands full. They couldn't collapse fast enough, they couldn't rotate fast enough.

And with the Warriors scrambling, Buddy Hield found his rhythm from deep, drilling threes at will.

Of course, the Warriors weren't the top seed in the West for nothing.

With Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, and Paul George leading their offense, their firepower was just as overwhelming.

For fans in Golden 1 Center—and even for those Warriors fans who had driven down from the Bay Area—this game was turning into a classic.

A shootout.

The third quarter was a battle.

By the fourth quarter?

Still dead even.

With one minute left on the clock, the score was tied—135-135.

The crowd was on fire.

And in that final minute, everybody in the building understood why Han Sen was the greatest player in NBA history.

It wasn't just about his scoring.

It wasn't just about his championships.

It was about this.

Winning time.

When other players hesitated, Han closed.

- Curry hit a deep three? Han answered immediately with one of his own.

- Warriors tried to tighten up their defense? Han cut through them off the ball, drew a foul on Draymond, and sent him to the bench with six fouls.

- Game on the line? Han called his own number, got to his spot, and buried the dagger mid-range jumper.

The final buzzer sounded.

Kings 142, Warriors 137.

Golden 1 Center erupted.

This was their first time witnessing a game-winning performance like this.

Before tonight, Kings fans had only heard about Han's clutch dominance.

Before tonight, even when he was an opponent, they never got to see this version of him—because the Kings never played in games that mattered.

Now?

Now, they had Han Sen.

Now, they had hope.

The Kings players rushed Han in celebration.

Even Tatum, who had spent the first half getting publicly humiliated in the locker room, was screaming in excitement.

---

Postgame Press Conference

Han and Tatum sat together at the podium.

Han? 54 points, 10 rebounds, 11 assists.

Tatum? 26 points—a season high, with 18 in the second half.

When asked about Tatum's performance, Han didn't hold back.

"Jayson played an aggressive game. I've always believed he was the best player from the 2017 draft class. He's going to be an All-Star."

Tatum's eyes widened.

Just a few hours ago, this same guy had thrown his jersey at him, called him soft, and humiliated him in front of the entire team.

And now?

Now he was hyping him up?

Tatum quickly adjusted his expression and gave his own response.

"I just realized I needed to be more decisive and aggressive. The most important thing is—we won."

After the conference ended, Han noticed Tatum hadn't followed him out.

But he didn't care.

Like he had told Lue before—he didn't care what Tatum thought of him.

As long as Tatum played up to his potential, that was all that mattered.

That was the biggest change in Han Sen.

Back in his early years, when he wasn't the best player yet, he had to work hard to keep teammates engaged—even the difficult ones.

Now?

Now, he didn't need to beg anyone to do their jobs.

He wasn't arrogant.

He still treated Jokić and Mitchell warmly, because they deserved it.

But for guys like Tatum?

He wasn't about to waste time playing babysitter.

That was Lue's job now.

---

The Warriors loss was a headline-maker.

And, in typical fashion, the media did what they always did—exaggerate.

Yesterday?

The Kings were a doomed franchise.

Today?

"Are the Kings the Best Team in the West?"

"Han Sen and Sacramento Just Passed the Warriors, Pelicans, and Rockets as the Title Favorites!"

Of course, most fans weren't buying that hype.

But one stat stood out.

Han had played four out of five games.

In those four games?

Two 50+ point performances. One 60-point game. Averaging 52 points per game.

It was insane.

Sure, it was early in the season and the sample size was small.

And because it wasn't back-to-back 50-point games, it didn't feel as dramatic.

But still—

52 points per game.

That was historic.

---

Time flew by, and by mid-December, over a month of NBA basketball had already been played.

And in that month?

The way fans viewed the game had been completely shaken.

Once upon a time, a 130+ point game was a rarity—something you'd see only a handful of times per season.

Now?

It had become commonplace.

The rule change that shortened the offensive rebound shot clock from 24 to 14 seconds seemed minor on the surface.

But in practice?

It had completely transformed how teams approached the game.

Originally, basketball didn't even have a shot clock.

Even today, the NCAA still uses a 40-second shot clock, which allows teams to drain time by passing the ball aimlessly when holding a lead.

The NBA's 24-second rule was meant to balance the game—giving teams just enough time to run two full plays per possession if necessary.

It's why clutch shots are typically taken with 10 seconds or less on the clock.

But now, with the second-chance clock cut to 14 seconds, offenses had only two options:

1. Execute a successful play immediately.

2. Run two quick plays in rapid succession.

In theory, option #1 was ideal.

But in reality?

Coaches couldn't guarantee it—because defenses could read and disrupt set plays.

As a result, teams started simplifying their offenses—relying more on:

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- Pick-and-rolls

- Mismatch isolations

- Off-ball three-point shooting

And this didn't just impact second-chance possessions.

Teams didn't train their offenses to only focus on second chances—they adjusted their entire game plan.

So what happened?

1. Simplified plays → More possessions.

2. More possessions → Faster pace.

3. Faster pace → A league-wide scoring explosion.

For nearly two decades, the 10th highest scorer in the NBA averaged 23 to 24 points per game.

This season?

The 10th highest scorer—Damian Lillard—was averaging 26.0 PPG.

The last time scoring jumped this much in a single season?

2004-05.

That was the year the no-hand-check rule was introduced—completely altering perimeter defense.

And at the top?

It was pure madness.

---

3rd Place – Russell Westbrook

Westbrook was playing at a level that shattered what people thought was possible.

- 31.6 PPG

- 10.7 RPG

- 10.4 APG

Averaging a triple-double for the third straight season.

And in doing so?

He broke LeBron fans.

The same LeBron fans who spent years pushing the "all-around" narrative suddenly had no argument left.

Because Westbrook had just proven that if a player was given enough ball dominance, they could put up better box scores than Jordan himself.

2nd Place – James Harden

Harden had become a basketball scientist.

- 36.0 PPG

- 11 free throws per game (88% FT)

- 13.2 three-point attempts per game (36.8%)

Those two stats alone?

They accounted for 25 points per game.

Individually, neither was unheard of.

- Corey Maggette & Allen Iverson had lived at the free-throw line.

- Steph Curry & Damian Lillard had jacked up threes at a high volume.

But combining both into one playstyle?

It was unprecedented.

And yet—Harden still wasn't the scoring leader.

Because the top spot?

That belonged to him.

1st Place – Han Sen (40.6 PPG)

Han was averaging 40.6 points per game.

For context—

In 2005-06, when Kobe Bryant went on his legendary scoring run (9 straight 40+ point games, 4 50+ point games), the media ran headlines like:

"Kobe only scores 40."

It was insane.

And now?

That was exactly what was happening with Han Sen.

Whenever Han dropped under 40, it was a story—because it was dragging his average down.

---

Despite Han's dominance, the Kings weren't running away with the conference.

Their record?

14-8.

Fourth in the West—behind the Warriors, Pelicans, and Rockets.

Basketball wasn't a one-man sport.

And Sacramento had plenty of problems:

- Mitchell's inconsistency

- Sabonis struggling against physical bigs

- Cauley-Stein's mental lapses

- No reliable backup point guard

But the biggest issue?

Jayson Tatum.

---

Tatum's breakout against the Warriors had given fans hope.

But since then?

He had faded back into mediocrity.

Yes, his shot selection had improved—but he felt more and more like an empty-calorie player.

He could do everything:

- Dribble

- Pass

- Shoot

- Defend

But at the same time?

He had no go-to move.

- Mediocre athleticism.

- Slow first step.

- Inconsistent jumper.

- Lack of playmaking creativity.

And worst of all?

He and Han had zero chemistry.

---

As the season progressed, Han started having flashbacks—

It felt like his rookie season all over again.

Except this time?

It wasn't LeBron.

It was Tatum.

And the constant comparisons to Luka Dončić weren't helping.

After getting unceremoniously fired, former Kings GM Vlade Divac had exposed some behind-the-scenes drama.

One of the bombshells?

The trade negotiations with Cleveland.

Divac had originally wanted to trade Tatum.

But Han had chosen to send Dončić instead.

And now?

Luka had taken full advantage of Dejounte Murray's injury—thriving in Cleveland alongside Jokić.

His numbers?

- 21.2 PPG

- 7.2 RPG

- 6.4 APG

He had already won Eastern Conference Rookie of the Month.

Tatum's only advantage over Luka?

His age.

Which meant one thing.

Han had made a mistake.

But did Han care?

Not really.

He had chosen Sacramento knowing it wouldn't be easy.

If one month in, the entire team had magically become contenders overnight—

That wouldn't be realistic.

Even Jokić had taken three years to become a franchise player.

If Han had been impatient, he would've just forced Divac to trade for Kawhi.

---

That day, Han Sen received an unexpected visitor at his estate—Larry Hughes, whom he had briefly met at Henry Thomas' funeral.

Back then, Han had barely listened to Hughes' praises, letting them go in one ear and out the other. But out of courtesy, he had given him his contact information.

Now?

Hughes had come all the way to Sacramento after hearing about Tatum's struggles with the Kings.

It was clear—Hughes took his role as Tatum's mentor very seriously.

At first, Han wasn't planning to meet Hughes.

He was busy.

Literally.

Ever since he had decided to become an NBA owner after retirement, he had been making moves off the court, expanding his business interests.

Most players waited until the final years of their careers before preparing for life after basketball.

Han wasn't like most players.

Even in the best-case scenario, his Kings' ownership stake would only be worth around $1 billion by the time he retired—not nearly enough to buy a franchise.

So right now?

Han was living the life of a working-class American—except his version of "multiple jobs" involved dominating on the court and handling multi-million-dollar investments.

His real estate empire was expanding—high-end properties in Los Angeles, commercial real estate in Miami, and a developing project in Shanghai.

His endorsement portfolio had grown beyond sneakers and sports brands—he had stakes in TikTok, growing influence in tech, and was quietly making moves in the private equity space.

And after securing a massive Bitcoin investment earlier in the year, he had doubled down—allocating even more funds to crypto and blockchain ventures, positioning himself for the next financial wave before the mainstream caught up.

With all of that in motion?

A conversation about Jayson Tatum wasn't exactly at the top of his priorities.

But when Hughes mentioned that he had important information about Tatum, Han decided to make time.

The two met in the grand living room of Han's estate, by the fireplace.

Sacramento wasn't a northern city like Cleveland—it didn't get that cold.

But with Christmas approaching, this was as close to winter weather as it got.

Hughes got straight to the point.

"I spoke with Jayson. He's just immature, that's all."

Han waved a hand dismissively.

He'd heard that excuse before.

Lue had said the same thing.

And yet?

Tatum was already a father—he wasn't some naive kid anymore.

Hughes immediately noticed Han's reaction.

After a brief pause, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo.

Han took it, glancing down.

And for a moment?

He froze.

It was an old picture—a young boy, about 8 or 9 years old, dressed in a Kobe Bryant All-Star jersey (No. 8).

It was clearly Tatum.

But the person standing next to him?

He looked younger, less polished—but still instantly recognizable.

Han had never seen this version of him before.

But there was no mistaking it.

LeBron James.