Inside Sacramento's home arena, both teams warmed up on opposite sides of the court. Durant and Harden, stationed across from each other, had been aware of one another since stepping onto the floor.
"You played some great games against L.A.," Durant said as he dribbled slowly toward midcourt to greet him.
"What's so great about it? I nearly ran myself into the ground," Harden joked, cradling a basketball in his arms. "Not like you—hands on your hips, strolling around, and still moving on to the next round."
Durant wasn't bothered by the jab. Instead, he grinned. "What can I say? My teammates are just too good. They barely even need me to shoot."
Catching Durant's smug tone, Harden snorted. "You'd better take this one seriously. I'm not going easy on you."
"Wouldn't expect you to," Durant replied with a sly smile. "But don't say I didn't warn you—my guys still remember what you did to them. They've been waiting for this one."
When this Kings roster first came together, their debut playoff run had ended at the hands of the Rockets. Back then, the Rockets still had the "Modern" duo, and the Kings' franchise player was DeMarcus Cousins.
Two short years later, everything had changed. Still, players like CJ and Jokić hadn't forgotten that loss—they were itching for payback.
"Coach, let me in!"
Malone felt a headache coming on. Ben was buzzing around him like a hyperactive bee.
"Trust me, Coach, I'll lock Harden down this time! He destroyed me two years ago, but I'm not the same player now. Just let me in there!"
"Get out of here!" Malone finally snapped.
"Ben, I thought you'd calm down a little after Crowder left. Why does it seem like you've only gotten worse?"
"Come on, this isn't your matchup," Malone sighed, trying to keep his patience. "Just cheer your teammates on, okay?"
After finally shaking Ben off, Malone checked his phone for the time. Truth be told, he was nervous. Facing the Rockets meant facing that second-generation "Bearded One"—a proven scoring monster. Just last round, he'd looked like a demon lord chasing the Clippers into oblivion.
"Jimmy!"
Malone called Butler over, face serious. "Lock him down."
"Got it," Butler replied with a dark grin, his eyes fixed on Harden, who was chatting and laughing with Durant. "He won't even get the chance."
And with that tense energy in the air, the game tipped off.
The Kings rolled out their usual best lineup.
The Rockets started with James Harden, Trevor Ariza, Clint Capela, Eric Gordon, and Ryan Anderson.
On paper, Houston had height and defense across the board—except that Harden was their only true offensive focal point.
The Rockets got the first possession.
The Kings set up in their standard 3–2 zone defense. But as Harden crossed half court, Ariza suddenly set a screen for Gordon on the right wing.
As Houston's secondary ball-handler, Gordon's perimeter shooting was one of Sacramento's main defensive concerns. The screen immediately drew the attention of two defenders who sagged down.
That was when Ariza reversed direction and cut hard to the basket.
Harden fired a bounce pass right on cue. Jokić was half a step late, and Ariza finished with a smooth floater in the lane.
"What the hell was that?"
Malone stared wide-eyed from the sideline. That Rockets play had been quick, clean, and efficient—he couldn't even tell what set they'd run.
Brown, sitting beside him, thought for a second and said, "Hard to see at that speed, but it looked a lot like D'Antoni's old stuff."
The realization hit Malone instantly.
Of course—this was the classic 7 Seconds or Less run-and-gun offense from D'Antoni's Suns days.
And now that he thought about it, it fit these Rockets perfectly.
That system revolved around a single elite ball-handler—like Nash back then, or Harden now. Surround him with shooters and help-defending forwards, plus a big, mobile center who could protect the rim—and you had the formula.
And the Rockets checked every box.
"Don't let them control the pace!"
Malone shouted toward the court, "Set it up! Run double drag!"
Hearing him, CJ nodded and signaled the play.
As they crossed half court, Jokić and Durant set back-to-back screens—one at the top of the key, the other near the weak-side wing.
Now, some might wonder why Durant was involved in the screen when the Kings' go-to play against Denver was usually a simple Jokić-and-CJ or Jokić-and-Booker two-man game.
Durant's screen served two purposes.
First, it lengthened the path defenders had to take to get around the picks, forcing Harden and Anderson to switch. If they did, Anderson would end up guarding CJ, who could easily exploit that mismatch with his quickness.
Alternatively, Durant could pop back, letting Jokić and CJ run another pick-and-roll, forcing another switch and giving Jokić a one-on-one against Harden.
The second point was that once the initial double drag succeeded, Jokić's movement would pull Capela—the Rockets' defensive anchor—out toward the perimeter.
After the first switch, Harden would be left on Durant, who could then use his speed and length to cut inside and attack him directly.
See the idea here? No matter how it unfolded, the play was designed to target Harden.
Harden's defensive effort was notoriously spotty, and even in the playoffs, he'd often rely on teammates to cover for him to conserve energy.
After the double screen with Jokić, Durant immediately chose the second option. He stretched those long legs and drove straight toward the rim.
Seeing Durant break free, CJ lobbed the ball high into the air.
Durant rose, caught it mid-flight, and hammered it down with authority.
"You think you can bully me?!"
Harden roared in frustration as Durant dunked right over him.