Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 391: LeBron’s Worst Nightmare.

At the start of the fourth quarter, the Celtics managed to trim the lead to under 15, keeping the game alive—at least, for the moment.

But when Cleveland's starters checked back in and Han Sen took over again, the reality became clear.

The Celtics' players looked shaken.

Because the cruelest thing in the world isn't despair.

It's being given hope in the middle of despair—only for that last bit of hope to be crushed right in front of you.

With two minutes left and the lead still sitting at around 15 points, Brad Stevens finally waved the white flag, subbing out his starters.

The Cleveland crowd erupted into a frenzy.

Four years ago, when Han returned to the Cavaliers, no one truly believed Cleveland could build a dynasty—hell, most people doubted they'd even win a ring.

But now?

They had just conquered their biggest roadblock, and the dynasty that once seemed impossible was now one step away from reality.

Ecstasy for some.

Misery for others.

On the Celtics' bench, the players sat motionless—faces locked in frustration and dejection.

They had made one step further than last season, but whether they lost 2-4 or 3-4, the end result was the same.

For Kyrie Irving, it was a moment of bitter regret.

Last year, even when he got swept with the Bulls, he could at least blame the roster, the dysfunction, Dwight Howard's stupidity.

This year?

He had gotten exactly what he wanted—a team-up with Kevin Durant.

And yet, he still couldn't beat Han Sen.

And to make matters worse?

He lost in Cleveland.

Kyrie had always known LeBron was never good enough to beat Han.

No matter who LeBron teamed up with, it wouldn't change a damn thing.

So with New Orleans set to make the Finals, Kyrie could only watch as Cleveland marched toward their dynasty.

A dynasty he could've been part of.

Next to him, Durant sat in stunned silence.

He wasn't frustrated. He wasn't angry.

He was numb.

This was loss number eight.

Eight straight seasons of losing to Han Sen.

The final buzzer blared.

96-82.

The Cavaliers had officially eliminated the Celtics in seven games to advance to the NBA Finals!

At the postgame press conference, Durant's response to a question about his offseason plans was beyond hopeless.

"I don't know... Han can't be beaten. I don't know the answer to that question."

No anger. No frustration.

Just pure, suffocating despair.

And he wasn't lying.

For years, Durant had expanded his game, improved his playmaking, built superteams.

And yet, nothing changed.

Stevens, on the other hand, took full blame.

"This is on me. My players are the best in the league. They never quit, never backed down, and executed perfectly in adversity. I made strategic errors. If we don't make the Finals next year, I'll step down as head coach."

It was a rare move.

Most coaches would deflect, try to avoid becoming the scapegoat.

Not Stevens.

But the bigger issue?

Durant's contract was a 3+1 deal, meaning he had a player option next summer.

If Durant opted out and Stevens resigned—the Celtics might have to start over from scratch.

Meanwhile, on the Cavaliers' side?

Pure confidence.

Han even name-dropped LeBron James when asked about his preferred Finals matchup.

"I'd rather face the Pelicans. I've said it before—LeBron is going to bring a dynasty to Cleveland."

The press room exploded.

Han still hadn't let up on LeBron!

And now? He was throwing LeBron's own words back at him—while on the verge of achieving a dynasty without him.

This immediately set social media on fire.

Because if Han actually pulled this off, it would be one of the greatest call-outs in sports history.

This wasn't just about skill.

This was mind games at the highest level.

And ironically?

Han's quote actually helped deflect criticism away from Durant.

Normally, Durant's defeated postgame comments would be a huge talking point.

But now?

All the attention was on Han's LeBron shot.

And as the media frenzy unfolded, Game 7 of the Western Conference Finals tipped off.

Han and Rondo sat back, watching the game.

Not for film study—that could come later.

Han was just here to enjoy the show.

For the Cavaliers, facing Houston would be far easier than facing New Orleans.

Chris Paul's injury had crippled the Rockets.

Without him, their offense was just full-throttle chaos.

For Cleveland, it was simple: Shut down Harden, and the series is over.

But Han's comments?

They weren't just trash talk.

They were a calculated psychological strike.

Because if LeBron didn't make the Finals—it was just another L on his resume.

But if he made it, only to lose?

Han would get the greatest victory lap in history.

A dynasty AND a meme.

After all...

Teams might win multiple championships.

But getting turned into a dynasty's background prop?

That was a once-in-a-lifetime humiliation.

So the real question was...

Did LeBron actually WANT to make the Finals?

---

Before the game even tipped off, Chris Rondo and Han Sen found themselves discussing a critical topic—where Han would be heading after leaving Cleveland.

Outside of David Griffin and Dan Gilbert, Rondo was the only person who knew Han had already made up his mind about departing in the summer.

That wasn't a surprise.

Rondo had been more than just a former college teammate and roommate—he was the most trusted member of Han's inner circle.

For Han, the destination had to be a major city.

Not a big-market team—just a big city.

Because with his global influence, wherever Han went would become a big market.

The real factor? Population size.

Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, Dallas, San Antonio.

These were the NBA cities in the U.S. with a population exceeding a million.

Not more, not less—exactly ten teams.

"I heard Prokhorov is selling his remaining stake in the Nets," Rondo mentioned, dropping a fresh piece of news.

"The frontrunner to buy is Tsai Chongxin, the Chinese-Canadian billionaire."

Han already knew about Tsai.

But he wasn't exactly sure when he was set to take full control of the Nets.

If that was happening soon?

Then Brooklyn suddenly became a legitimate option.

New York was New York, after all.

And compared to James Dolan running the Knicks, having Tsai as an owner was an instant upgrade.

But whether it was the Nets or even the Clippers, Han was only considering them as options.

His plan?

Do it the Durant way.

Rent out a mansion, bring in representatives from all the potential suitors, have in-depth meetings, and then make his decision.

This wasn't a choice to be made lightly.

Han was about to turn 30. [1]

This next contract?

It would be his last long-term deal.

Unless something unexpected happened, his next stop would likely be his final stop.

He had to get it right.

But there was one non-negotiable condition.

"No matter where I go this summer... I'm making sure you're part of their front office."

Han had never faced the same management nightmares in Cleveland as he did in Memphis—part of that was due to how he returned to the Cavs, and part of it was just Dan Gilbert's personality.

That was luck.

Because front office treatment doesn't scale with talent.

Jordan had his war with the Bulls' front office.

Kobe had his battles with the Lakers' management.

At the end of the day, players and team executives represented two sides of a business.

To truly secure control, Han needed someone inside the system—just like Rondo.

Ever since that All-Star Dunk Contest judging scandal, Han had become even more aware of how important it was to have a say in league affairs.

It sounded a lot like what LeBron had done in Cleveland.

And that's because it was the same thing.

There's nothing new under the sun.

LeBron wasn't wrong for demanding that type of power.

The problem?

He was just too damn bad at it.

Winning solves everything.

If a team is successful, no one cares how much a star player interferes in management.

But that level of control was a rare demand—and not every franchise would be willing to meet it.

---

As they continued talking, the Western Conference Finals Game 7 had already tipped off.

And almost immediately, Han and Rondo witnessed something hilariously blatant—LeBron James playing with historically low offensive aggression.

Most of the time, he just stood on the weak side with his hands on his hips, watching Anthony Davis force one-on-one plays.

The problem?

Davis was elite as an off-ball cutter, but asking him to be a primary shot creator was pushing him beyond his limits.

Han couldn't help but laugh.

"Damn. I really called it, huh?"

LeBron wasn't even trying to win this game.

But what made things worse?

Maybe it was just the bad energy in the arena, but Houston's shooting was absolutely horrendous.

And while LeBron refused to attack, the refs were clearly on the Pelicans' side.

Nike may have fallen behind Under Armour, but compared to Adidas?

It was still the bigger player in the industry.

That created a brutal cycle for the Rockets.

- Their outside shots weren't falling.

- So, they had to attack the rim more.

- But the refs weren't giving them any calls.

- That let New Orleans collapse inside and force even more threes.

- Which, of course, they kept missing.

And as the bricks piled up, so did the long rebounds—giving Davis countless second-chance opportunities.

The Pelicans turned those into fast-break points over and over again.

It was exactly what happened when LeBron's "one-star, four-shooters" experiment failed years ago.

If the shots were falling, it looked unstoppable.

But if the shooting collapsed and there was no mid-range backup plan?

Disaster.

Still, the funniest part?

Even with Houston bricking their way to hell, the Pelicans couldn't pull away—because LeBron wasn't trying to win.

Han could barely watch anymore.

This wasn't like Cavs vs. Celtics Game 7, where both teams played at an elite level.

This was just two struggling teams trading bricks.

Eventually, Houston mentally collapsed first.

They couldn't hit wide-open looks—as if some invisible force was cursing them.

In the end, New Orleans won an unbelievably ugly game, defeating the Rockets 101-92 to reach the NBA Finals.

Houston's final three-point stat line?

7-for-44.

And the last 27 attempts?

All bricks.

An unreal outcome—both expected and unexpected at the same time.

Yes, the officiating was against them, but their shooting collapse was historically brutal.

If they had even a 30% shooting night, they would've advanced.

In the end?

"Moreyball" was just like a forbidden martial arts technique—powerful, but easy to self-destruct with.

Davis was the undisputed hero of Game 7, putting up a dominant 32 points and 20 rebounds, along with two steals and three blocks.

And with LeBron sleepwalking to an 18-10-10 triple-double, it was fair to say Davis single-handedly carried him to the Finals.

When the final buzzer sounded, Davis exploded with emotion—chest-bumping teammates, letting out a roar, his excitement visible to the naked eye.

Who could blame him?

For years, he had languished in New Orleans, barely sniffing the playoffs, to the point where leaving seemed like the only way forward.

Now?

His first-ever playoff run had carried him straight to the NBA Finals—and he had done it with his own hands.

But during the postgame handshake line, LeBron looked like a man who had just been eliminated.

The NBA Finals matchup was now official:

Cavaliers vs. Pelicans.

And the internet?

The moment it was locked in, it detonated.

"No time to mourn James Harden missing his first NBA Finals. Let's celebrate LeBron James making yet another!"

"Three different Finals matchups in three years... but two names never change—LeBron and Han."

"From Lakers to Warriors to Pelicans—LeBron keeps jumping teams, yet always lands in the Finals. A historic record!"

"Say what you want, but LeBron has mastered the art of picking teammates. Too bad he keeps running into the same nightmare."

"Mr. James, all reunions are just long-overdue meetings, aren't they?"

---

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Translator's Note:

[1] Han was born on December 23, 1988.

Earlier, I miscalculated his birth year and accidentally made him a year younger. Yeah, math isn't my strong suit—sue me.

I've since corrected the Spoilers Chapter and will work on fixing any other instances.