The Kings' home arena, Golden 1 Center, was electric for the team's first playoff game.
"Nervous?"
Gay strolled past each locker like a streetwise veteran, his tone casual but his presence steady. That was the purpose of a locker room leader—to keep everyone composed before tip-off.
"Nervous? Hell no!"
Booker burst out laughing.
"We've played those Denver guys before. We could beat them with our eyes closed."
Truthfully, Gay didn't need to give any speeches tonight. The whole locker room was already burning with energy, everyone eager to defend their home court.
Meanwhile, in the Nuggets' locker room, silence hung in the air.
Starting point guard Emmanuel Mudiay scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"Bro, why isn't anyone talking?"
Rookie Jamal Murray leaned in and whispered.
"What's there to say?"
Mudiay gave a bitter smile. "We can't beat them, and we can't quit either. What else can we do? Just ride it out."
Their former head coach, Mike Malone, was now firmly rooted in Sacramento, so the Nuggets were still led by the old-school, thousand-win veteran George Karl.
Old Karl walked in holding his tactics board.
"All right, you punks—get over here and listen up!"
He quickly drew a few rough lines across the board.
"There are two things that matter most in this game."
Known for his hard-nosed, disciplined style, George Karl valued structure above all else.
"First, attack the Kings' perimeter defense. Their weakest point is CJ—his one-on-one defense isn't great—and Booker's still a green kid. That's where our best chances lie."
"Second, keep Jokić moving. Make him run, tire him out."
To be fair, as a coach with over a thousand wins, Karl's understanding of the game was still sharp.
This season, Jokić averaged only about 26 minutes per game, and even when he was on the floor, he moved as little as possible.
Given his bulky build, Karl was convinced Jokić had major stamina problems.
But that was pure wishful thinking.
The reason Jokić played fewer minutes was simple—Oden was a better fit for the bench unit.
And as for Jokić's lack of movement? That was just because the big guy was lazy.
Malone had actually tested Jokić's conditioning before.
He'd start huffing after just five minutes on the floor—but strangely, even after thirty minutes, he'd still be in the exact same state.
Jokić's stamina was like a bug in the system—once it hit a certain level, it never seemed to drop any further.
…
Amidst the noise and chaos, Game 1 tipped off.
"Whoa, our fans are going wild too, huh?"
Chen Yilun, dressed sharply in a fitted suit and a flashy shirt, looked every bit the playboy. His eyes were fixed on a shirtless fan in the stands, body completely covered in purple paint.
"What's going on with this? Everyone into performance art now?"
Following Chen Yilun's gaze, Malone spotted the same fan and chuckled.
"He's just having fun. Let him enjoy himself."
He even gave the fan a friendly wave.
The Kings' starting lineup was the same as in the regular season: CJ, Booker, Butler, Durant, and Jokić.
The Nuggets fielded their strongest five: Emmanuel Mudiay, Will Barton, Wilson Chandler, Gallinari, and Faried.
Just seeing the two lineups side by side made the gap obvious.
As Denver's starting center, "The Manimal" Faried stood only 2.03 meters tall—half a head shorter than Jokić, and even shorter than his own power forward, Danilo Gallinari.
Usually, a center that size had to possess a special skill to make it work.
Faried was no exception. True to his nickname, "The Manimal," he had once earned his place in the league with raw athleticism and explosive leaping ability.
But in recent years, age had caught up to him, and his athletic edge had faded fast.
On the bench, Chen Yilun caught a glimpse of Malone's spotless, practically new-looking tactics board.
"You didn't draw up any plays for them?" he asked curiously.
"Nope," Malone replied casually. "Told them to run our regular-season sets. They've drilled those so many times it's second nature by now."
Sure enough, after the opening tip, the Kings took the first possession.
CJ dribbled along the perimeter, signaling for movement to create space for Jokić to isolate inside.
He lobbed the ball into the post.
Jokić caught it, leaned back to feel Faried's resistance, then powered forward, nudging him back a step.
In his prime, The Manimal wouldn't have been fazed by Jokić's strength.
But the once high-flying beast was now deep into the back half of his career.
Youth beats age, as they say.
The moment he created space, Jokić spun like a massive creature burrowing toward the paint.
On the weak side, Gallinari thought about rotating over—but one glance at Durant waiting, eyes sharp and ready, made him think twice. He stayed put.
Jokić turned into the lane and lofted a smooth, easy shot.
Faried, out of position and outmatched, could only watch helplessly as the ball left Jokić's hands.
As soon as he released it, Jokić slid a step sideways, using his huge frame to seal off the paint.
The ball bounced off the rim.
Using his size advantage, Jokić barely had to jump to tip in his own miss for two points.
"It's fine! That's good! Let him play like that!"
George Karl shouted from the sideline, trying to keep Faried's confidence intact.
"Just keep playing like that! Wear him down!"
Karl's booming voice carried all the way across the court. Sitting near the scorer's table, Mike Brown caught snippets of it and blinked in disbelief.
What did he just say?
Who's wearing down whose stamina?
Brown turned to look at Jokić, who was leisurely jogging back on defense.
They're trying to tire him out?
What kind of fantasy strategy is this?