Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 388: The Future is in Safe Hands.

With home-court advantage, the Cavaliers would host the first two games of the Eastern Conference Finals in Cleveland.

The Quicken Loans Arena was packed to the rafters, and the energy inside was electric.

Cleveland's dynasty—an impossible dream just years ago—was now within reach.

And the fans?

They could feel it.

As the opening ceremony concluded, both teams' starting lineups were announced.

Cavaliers: Han Sen, J.R. Smith, Robert Covington, Tristan Thompson, Nikola Jokić.

Celtics: Kyrie Irving, Avery Bradley, Kevin Durant, Al Horford, Karl-Anthony Towns.

No surprises here—both teams stuck with their usual rotations.

The real battle would be determined by coaching adjustments and execution.

But just minutes into the game, Brad Stevens threw a curveball.

The Celtics were guarding Han Sen... one-on-one.

No double teams. No traps. Just single coverage.

More accurately, Stevens was unleashing a rotation of defenders, using a war of attrition to wear Han down.

Given what happened on Christmas Day—where Han dropped 86 points—Stevens' decision wasn't shocking.

If they couldn't stop Han, why waste energy trying?

Instead, they would conserve their defenders' stamina and attack Jokić on the other end—forcing Han into another lone-warrior scenario.

Of course, the risk?

Han could go nuclear.

The only players in the league who could guard him one-on-one were built like Kawhi Leonard—big, strong, and disciplined.

And the Celtics didn't have one.

So, Michael Malone gladly accepted Stevens' "gift" and let Han loose.

If Han could torch them against double teams, why wouldn't he torch them in single coverage?

This was the playoffs. And Han was the single-game postseason scoring record holder.

By the end of Game 1, Han had torched them again—dropping 55 points, 7 rebounds, and 10 assists.

The Cavaliers pulled off a 114-108 victory to take a 1-0 lead.

Stevens' strategy had cracks.

Players weren't machines—when Han kept scoring at will, the defenders couldn't resist the urge to help.

And that's all it took.

A moment of hesitation was enough for Han to exploit them.

---

At the postgame press conference, reporters pressed Stevens about his defensive scheme.

He dodged the questions.

But the media didn't let it go.

Boston had a stacked roster—if they lost this series because of bad coaching, it would be a massive waste of talent.

After two days of rest, Game 2 tipped off in Cleveland.

And to everyone's disbelief, the Celtics stuck to the same plan.

Even TNT's Kenny Smith called it out on air:

"Stevens is NOT a stubborn coach. But he's choosing to be stubborn in the one place he SHOULDN'T."

Han continued his rampage, dropping 45 points, 6 rebounds, and 6 assists.

The Cavaliers took Game 2, 108-103, securing a 2-0 series lead.

At this point?

Han was averaging 50 points per game in the series.

Fans were in awe.

And Celtics fans?

They were furious.

Stevens became the target of intense criticism.

Boston fans weren't mad about losing—they were mad about how they were losing.

If this team had less talent, they could accept it.

But with Kyrie, KD, Towns, Bradley, and Horford, how the hell was Boston about to get SWEPT?

On social media, some Celtics fans even started calling for Stevens' job.

They had already endured Han dropping 86 points on them in the regular season.

Now?

They were staring at a playoff collapse.

Stevens finally responded.

Facing a relentless wave of questions, he refused to waver.

"I believe in my team. I believe in my players."

---

Game 3 shifted to Boston's TD Garden.

Despite the social media uproar, Celtics fans packed the arena.

Because this was Boston.

No team in the NBA had more history, more banners, or more pride.

And that pride?

It showed up in the Celtics' fight.

They didn't have Jimmy Butler.

But on this night, they played like an entire team of Jimmy Butlers.

Down 0-2?

Didn't matter.

They came out swinging.

And for the first time in the series, Han struggled.

He finished with 34 points, and the Cavaliers fell 101-110.

The Celtics had punched back.

Then, in Game 4, Han bounced back with 41 points—but it still wasn't enough.

Boston pulled off a 113-115 win, tying the series 2-2.

However, this game was marred by controversy.

The officiating?

Blatantly one-sided.

Michael Malone slammed the table during his postgame presser, demanding answers.

Han?

He called for an official league review of the referees.

But deep down, they both knew the truth.

The league didn't want Cleveland to build a dynasty.

If the Cavs couldn't dominate outright, the officials would tip the scales.

And if this series remained close?

Cleveland was going to be fighting 5-on-8 every night.

With the series now tied 2-2, everything came down to Game 5—the pivotal tiebreaker.

---

The night before Game 5, Han Sen was in the practice facility, getting up extra shots.

At this point in the series, he had already figured out Brad Stevens' strategy.

From their previous matchups, Han knew one thing—Stevens wasn't a stubborn coach.

At first, Han assumed the single coverage was meant to conserve Boston's defensive energy, making sure the rest of their lineup had more stamina throughout the series.

But now?

It was obvious.

Stevens was wearing him down.

This wasn't a video game.

Resting for two days didn't automatically refill his stamina bar.

Especially in the Conference Finals, where every possession was high-intensity.

Yes, Han had more isolation opportunities, but the defensive pressure was no joke.

Stevens wasn't trying to win just one game.

He was playing the long game—trying to drain Han over the entire series.

This wasn't just coaching.

This was roster management-level strategy.

Stevens wasn't just thinking like a head coach—he was thinking like a team president.

But even though Han understood the strategy, his only real option was to keep pushing forward.

At this point?

This wasn't a tactical battle anymore.

This was a battle between Han and his own limits.

Before Boston could wear him down, he had to kill them first.

---

As Han continued his workout, someone walked into the gym.

Someone he didn't expect.

"Nikola? Don't tell me you're here for extra practice."

Compared to his rookie days, when he treated basketball like a 9-to-5 job, Jokić had changed a lot.

If the coaching staff or Han asked him to work on something, he did it.

But showing up this late for extra reps?

That was new.

Jokić seemed surprised to see Han too, but instead of turning back, he decided to stay and talk.

A one-on-one conversation.

After a moment, he looked at Han seriously.

"Boss... if Kyrie had stayed, would things be better right now?"

Han wasn't expecting that question.

He put down the ball and motioned for them to sit.

Jokić might not have known the full story behind Kyrie's departure at first.

But he was smart.

After spending so much time with the team, he had figured it out.

"Nikola, without you, we don't win the championship last year," Han said, shaking his head.

It was Jokić's buzzer-beater that eliminated Boston in last year's East Finals.

And in the Finals, his impact was undeniable.

"Boss, as long as you're here, either I or Kyrie could've done that job," Jokić countered.

"But right now? I feel like I'm holding the team back."

Han's talent was so overwhelming that it wasn't about who could help him—it was about who could avoid being a liability.

Boston was hunting Jokić's weaknesses.

And in Jokić's mind?

That meant he was holding Han back.

---

"You're wrong."

Han shut that thought down immediately.

"If you weren't here, we don't beat the Sixers as easily as we did."

"The paint matters. Interior presence matters. The impact of a dominant big man isn't something a perimeter player can just replace."

If Jokić wasn't there, how would Tristan Thompson guard Horford and Towns?

Han could score 60, but if the defense kept bleeding points, it wouldn't mean anything.

Jokić was only vulnerable in perimeter defense.

In the low post, he was more than capable.

Jokić forced a smile.

He still felt like if Kyrie were here, Han wouldn't have to do so much.

Maybe they'd be up 3-1 instead of tied 2-2.

Han recognized that doubt.

And before he left Cleveland, he had to address it.

"Nikola... before Kyrie left, he had a private conversation with me."

"He asked me a question back then. I didn't answer it at the time."

Han looked Jokić in the eye.

"But now? I can give you the answer."

Jokić leaned forward, listening closely.

"Kyrie asked me if he was better than you."

Han paused.

"He wasn't."

Jokić's eyes widened.

"I didn't answer him then because I didn't want to hurt his feelings," Han admitted.

"But that was the truth."

Han wasn't saying this just because Kyrie was gone.

He was saying it because it was reality.

And that also answered Jokić's original question—if Kyrie had stayed, things wouldn't have been better.

"Don't let one flaw make you doubt yourself."

"That's not how a leader thinks."

Han stared at Jokić, making sure the message sank in.

"Basketball isn't just about skill. It's about mentality."

Han had spent years getting to know Jokić.

He was skilled.

He was likeable.

But in terms of love for the game?

In terms of dedication?

He was probably the most casual elite player in history.

Some might say Jokić didn't need to try harder—his talent was that high.

But Han knew better.

Basketball doesn't tolerate disrespect.

If you don't take it seriously, it will humble you.

Jokić nodded thoughtfully.

Han could see the wheels turning in his head.

After a moment, Han asked, "So what made you come here for extra work?"

Jokić scratched his head.

"I want to help the team more."

He hesitated.

"More like... I want to help you more."

Han was stunned for a second.

Then?

He grinned, slapped Jokić on the shoulder, and burst out laughing.

Jokić just stared, confused.

What was so funny about that?

"Nikola, don't you realize it?"

Han smacked his shoulder again.

"You're finally thinking about the team."

To most players, that was normal.

But for Jokić?

For someone who had always treated the game as a job, who only did what was expected of him?

This was a huge step.

"Before long, you're gonna be a real leader."

Han pulled him in close.

And that was his only concern about leaving Cleveland.

He knew Jokić's game was elite.

But leading a team?

That was a whole different responsibility.

Now?

Han could trust him with that responsibility.

Jokić, now a little embarrassed, rubbed his head.

Then, he blurted out, "But boss... you're the leader."

Han had now mentioned leadership twice.

But everyone knew—Cleveland belonged to Han Sen.

Even when Kyrie was here, Han was the undisputed leader.

So why was Han suddenly framing it differently?

Han hesitated.

But he wasn't ready to reveal his decision yet.

If Jokić knew Han was leaving?

It would affect his play.

Han let go of him, his expression turning serious.

"I won't be here forever."

"And when I leave, who else would lead this team besides you?"

Jokić froze.

He had never really thought about it.

But Han was right.

If the day came when Han left, there wouldn't be another choice.

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He would have to step up.

Jokić's mind was racing.

The way Han said it...

It sounded less like a distant future...

And more like a farewell.