Countless golden and silver confetti fluttered down from above, clinging to Chen Yilun's shoulders and hair. He stared upward in a daze—the massive arena ceiling was completely hidden beneath a glittering storm of paper. Through gaps in the falling gold and silver, the high-frequency arena lights shone like a field of stars.
Where… am I?
As he hesitated, Chen Yilun suddenly felt someone's eyes on him. Turning, he saw an elderly white man, hair and beard completely snow-white, seated beside him in an old-fashioned suit, grinning mischievously.
Who is this old man? He looks so familiar…
Before he could figure it out, two tall men in basketball jerseys charged toward him—one with a thick European-style beard, the other with messy dreadlocks. The old man pointed straight at him, still grinning. "Get him! Get him!"
"Huh?" Chen Yilun suddenly felt his feet leave the ground as the two grabbed him from either side. "Pour it on him! Pour it on Ailen!"
Looking up, he saw a massive Gatorade cooler tipping toward him. In an instant, ice and sports drink came crashing over his head. The freezing shock jolted his thoughts into sudden clarity.
I think… I've been reborn!
Chen Yilun had been born into a wealthy family in southern China and had loved sports—especially basketball—since childhood. He had once dreamed of making it his career, but family opposition and the lack of opportunities in China had ended that dream.
But in this timeline, it seemed his family had supported him. He had come to the United States, studied at a basketball-focused university, and after graduating, spent two years as an assistant coach for the San Antonio Spurs.
Then it hit him—that smirking old man… wasn't that Gregg Popovich?
Chen Yilun looked again at the two players holding him. One was unmistakably Marco Belinelli, the other Patty Mills. And the tall, laughing white guy with the Gatorade cooler—wasn't that the Brazilian Tiago Splitter?
Wait… Belinelli and Splitter retired years ago, didn't they? And Mills was supposed to be with the Nets. What were they doing here?
Breaking free from their grip, Chen Yilun froze at the scene before him.
The huge basketball court was packed with celebrating players and staff, hugging in clusters, laughing and crying. Ginobili? Parker? And that tall-and-short pair embracing over there—wasn't that Duncan and Leonard?
A flood of tangled memories rushed through his mind. Not only had he been reborn, but the timeline had changed. This was 2014! The Spurs had just won the championship!
At some point, Popovich walked over, eyeing Chen Yilun's once-white shirt, now stained pale blue from Gatorade. "Good thing I pushed you out there," he said. "Otherwise, my shirt wouldn't have survived."
He patted Chen Yilun on the shoulder. "Go enjoy it. You've all worked hard this year. It's time to rest."
And it was true. The Spurs had been through a grueling season. In last year's Finals, Ray Allen's three-pointer hadn't just broken Duncan's streak of "Finals appearance means championship"—it had struck at the pride at the very heart of the Spurs. For a full year, they had fought like an army on a mission of revenge, dismantling the Miami Heat without mercy.
Chen Yilun had played his part in that grand "regicide" as an assistant coach.
Standing in the familiar yet strange AT&T Center, Chen Yilun clenched his fists. Once, circumstances had forced him to let go of basketball. Now, given a second chance, he wasn't going to waste it.
Summers in Texas were hot and brimming with energy, and San Antonio, with its unique geography and history, carried a strong Latin flavor.
To celebrate their first championship in seven years, the city held a grand parade. Sitting on a float decorated with giant plastic feathers, Chen Yilun watched Popovich, wearing a floral shirt, standing at the railing and flashing the "5" hand sign to the crowd, proudly showing off his fifth Larry O'Brien Championship Trophy.
If history here unfolded the way he remembered, this would be the last championship the Spurs would see for many years.
The return of the Kings, Curry's rise, Zaza Pachulia's infamous step, the betrayal of the young star—event by event, all would chip away at the 20 years of heritage the Spurs had built.
Forget it. No point thinking about that now.
Chen Yilun rubbed his still-dizzy head. He could think about the future later. For now, he'd just enjoy the moment. Slowly standing, he gazed at the endless sea of fans stretching toward the horizon. Whatever came next, he would leave to fate.
Because right now… we are champions!
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