Butler is a fascinating player.
Unlike other superstars, even at his peak, few ever mentioned him in the same breath as the league's true elites.
But Butler carried a cruel nickname: the "Superstar Slayer."
Whenever he faced a team led by a superstar, his whole demeanor changed—he came alive, clearly savoring the role of the villain.
Nothing thrilled him more than trampling so-called superstars underfoot, turning them into stepping stones.
Giannis Antetokounmpo, Joel Embiid, Jayson Tatum—all had fallen victim to Butler before.
And now, Butler was already showing signs of that cold-blooded killer he would become. Tonight, his chosen prey was Russell Westbrook.
Butler took the inbound and pushed the ball to the top of the key. Calling for a screen, he set up an isolation against Westbrook.
"Hey!"
Butler smirked as he directed his teammates' movements, eyes locked on Westbrook.
"I'm not pulling up here. I'm going straight inside to take you down. Wanna see who hits the floor first?"
Hearing this, the prideful Westbrook immediately bristled.
"Bring it on! Show me what you've got!"
With his teammates in place, Butler sneered and suddenly attacked. Westbrook instantly slid over to cut him off.
But with a sharp half-spin, Butler slipped past and drove hard to the basket.
Even after losing a step, Westbrook—known for his blazing speed—wasn't going down that easily. He burst forward and caught up again.
The two barreled into the paint side by side. Butler ignored any help defense, rising straight toward the rim.
At that moment, Westbrook leapt too.
Blue and purple jerseys collided violently in mid-air.
Butler twisted mid-air, hooking his arm onto Westbrook's and forcing the ball toward the rim in an awkward release.
"Beep!"
The baseline referee's whistle shrieked—Westbrook had fouled on the arm.
Both lost balance and crashed hard to the floor.
The ball clanged off the rim, bounced a few times, then rolled out.
"You alright?" Durant rushed over, pulling Westbrook to his feet.
"Nothing serious." Westbrook grimaced, rubbing his chest. "Man, what's Butler made of? Felt like I ran into solid iron."
On the other side, Butler's teammates lifted him up. He straightened his jersey with a shrug, completely unfazed.
"See, Russell?"
Heading toward the free-throw line, Butler murmured just loud enough for him to hear. "This is what happens when you've got talent but settle for being second best. You'll never beat me."
That casual jab nearly made Westbrook boil over.
"You didn't even hit the shot! How does that count as beating me?"
Butler grinned slyly. "Not convinced? Then come again. I'll keep at you until you are."
Provoked, Westbrook crossed half-court and immediately called out Butler, ignoring even Durant waving wide open for the ball.
"Out of my way!"
Sensing trouble, Booker moved to help, but Butler bellowed at him.
"He's mine! Nobody touches him!"
Already fuming, Westbrook nearly lost it hearing himself labeled as "prey." Fueled by rage, he exploded toward the rim.
But Butler's defense was airtight. He cut off the drive completely.
"Nice try!"
Butler hauled in the rebound, fired it to Booker, and sneered a taunt right into Westbrook's ear.
"Something's off!"
Thunder head coach Billy Donovan instantly sensed danger from the sideline.
Though one of the younger NBA coaches, Donovan was still an NCAA legend. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what had shifted, but his instincts told him things weren't right.
After a Kings basket, he called timeout.
"Russell! What's going on? The way you handled those last few possessions was completely irrational."
On the bench, Westbrook took a sip of water. Donovan's reprimand was sharp and merciless.
"That Butler's unbearable," Westbrook snapped, swallowing. "Buzzing in my ear like a damn fly. He's driving me crazy."
"Are you even a professional?" Donovan shot back. "You really fell for such a cheap trick? He wants you to go at him every play, just to break our rhythm. Sit down and get your head straight."
Donovan then shot Durant a glance and went back to the clipboard.
Someone had to play bad cop—he'd done his part. Now it was Durant's turn to calm things down.
"Bro, you really lost it out there."
Durant draped a towel over his head and whispered to Westbrook.
"But don't worry. Catch your breath. I'll go get our momentum back."
And Durant backed it up. Returning to the floor, he immediately showcased his dominance. First, he broke free and drilled a three over Rudy Gay.
Then he cut inside and threw down a dunk right on Butler's head.
"How about that, huh? I'll play along."
Landing, Durant stared Butler down, tossing back his own trash talk.
Butler just chuckled coldly. "Beat the kid, now the vet steps up? Interesting."
But this time, Butler wasn't planning on using the same tricks.
With Westbrook on the bench, the Kings reverted to a zone defense.
Butler, Gay, Thaddeus Young, and the others rotated onto Durant in waves, giving him no room to breathe.
Little by little, the relentless pressure drained Durant's stamina.
"CJ, it's time. Go finish them."
Seeing the moment, Coach Malone leaned toward CJ, who was zoning out on the bench.
"Huh? Me?" CJ blinked, stunned, snapping out of his boredom.
"What are you waiting for? Get in!"
Casspi nudged him forward.
"Oh, oh!" Realizing, CJ grinned wide, tore off his warm-up, and revealed his jersey, ready to check in.
At that exact moment, the Kings' arena DJ's voice boomed across the loudspeakers:
"Let's welcome back our old friend—returning strong from injury—CJ McCollum!"
...