When Draymond Green spat out those words, everyone in the arena was stunned.
Not just the Cavaliers' players, but the Warriors' players too.
Even Steph Curry, who had been about to step in and defuse the tension, froze with his hand mid-air, eyes wide.
"Dude, you went too far."
While the trash talk wasn't exactly original—Udonis Haslem had said something similar after LeBron left Miami, directing it at the Thunder—the context here was different.
Haslem had been an opponent.
Green? He was a teammate.
Trash talk between opponents? That's normal.
But trashing your own teammate? And going this hard? Green had set a new precedent—both in pettiness and audacity.
The kicker? It wasn't even wrong.
The Warriors had won a championship in 2015 without LeBron, and LeBron, in his 14-year career, still had zero rings.
Of course, this outburst didn't come out of nowhere.
Since LeBron joined the Warriors, Green's stats had plummeted. He went from a do-it-all star to a role player. The only thing keeping the peace? LeBron helping Green secure lucrative off-court business deals.
But Han Sen saw it coming. He'd been planting seeds all along.
The chants from Cavs fans—"LeBron will trade you!"—watered those seeds. Now, under the bright lights of the Finals, they had blossomed into full-blown dysfunction.
Had the Warriors been winning, maybe those tensions would've stayed buried. But down big, facing elimination? There was no point in pretending.
Someone had to take the fall.
And Green made sure it wouldn't be him.
Han was probably the only one not surprised.
He knew Green well—they had history dating back to college. Unlike LeBron, who pretended to be the smartest guy in the room, Green actually had a certain street-smart edge.
This wasn't a heat-of-the-moment outburst. It was calculated.
Every word tied him to the 'real' Warriors—Steph and Klay. In his mind, they were the core. LeBron? Just a passenger who hopped on later.
It was the same playbook Green used against Durant years ago.
The twist? LeBron had signed a 1+1 deal, giving him the option to leave immediately.
After being disrespected like this, there was no way LeBron would stay.
Han couldn't help but laugh.
Poetic justice.
Green had once sparked Kyrie's trade demand, nearly tearing apart the Cavs. Now? He was about to get himself booted from the Warriors.
"Could've kept your mouth shut, Draymond. I even gave you friendly advice. But nah, you had to be you."
---
When the teams returned for the third quarter, LeBron was nowhere to be seen.
Social media buzzed with reports: "LeBron James out with a groin injury."
Classic.
The "injury" wasn't just about his body—it was his ego. This was his silent protest.
"Since you think you can win without me, let's see you try."
And the result?
The Warriors actually played better without him.
Green might have a big mouth, but he had thick skin. He nailed threes, and Klay Thompson exploded in true Game 6 Klay fashion.
Han had even joked with JR during the bonfire about "G6 Klay" being a myth.
Turns out, it wasn't.
Klay hit six threes in the third quarter, dropping 22 points. The Warriors outscored the Cavs 40-30, cutting the lead to just 10.
It was like they were sending a message to the front office:
"See? We don't need him."
But then came the fourth quarter.
Without LeBron, the Warriors ran out of gas.
Their third-quarter burst had drained them.
And that's when Dwyane Wade showed up.
After a quiet first half, he took over, leading a 10-2 run that pushed the lead back near 20.
Steve Kerr had no choice but to call a timeout and throw his starters back in.
It was a desperate move—but Han wasn't about to show mercy.
He subbed his starters back in, too.
The roles had reversed from Game 4. This time, the Cavs were the ones dictating terms.
The Warriors fought hard. Curry sprinted off screens, trying to create space. But with Han locking him down, they couldn't close the gap.
With two minutes left, the Cavs still led by 15.
Kerr waved the white flag, pulling his starters.
Malone followed suit.
That's when the celebration began.
Cavs fans erupted. It wasn't hope anymore. It was real.
Cleveland was about to go back-to-back.
Malone left Wade on the floor, letting him savor the moment.
As the final seconds ticked away, Wade dribbled past half-court and held the ball.
No need to score.
The crowd counted down:
"3...2...1..."
BZZZZZ!
The arena exploded.
Wade clutched the ball, tears welling in his eyes.
Since 2010, he'd chased his second ring. Through criticism, betrayal, and doubt—he'd finally done it.
And the sweetest part?
He won it over LeBron James.
The debt had been paid in full.
---
The Cavaliers' bench erupted into wild celebration.
Deron Williams, unlike Wade, couldn't contain his excitement. The veteran leapt onto the court, more animated than the younger players. He had every reason to be ecstatic—after a frustrating stint with the Lakers last season, he played a crucial role for the Cavs this year, firmly entrenched in the rotation.
Like Wade, this championship was one he'd earned.
He wasn't alone. Korver, Covington, and the rest of the "new guys" from the Irving trade stormed the floor with him, celebrating like maniacs. Deep down, their gratitude went to Han Sen… and Kyrie. If Irving hadn't requested a trade, they wouldn't be here. They wouldn't be champions.
"I'm a champion! I'M A CHAMPION!"
On the bench, Derrick Jones Jr. was so overwhelmed he forgot to join the on-court celebration. An undrafted dunk specialist who barely made the roster, now an NBA champion? Unbelievable.
LeBron was the Chosen One?
Nah. I am.
He turned, shouting at Jokić, who sat calmly, smiling faintly.
For Jokić, it was joy mixed with relief. He hadn't cost his team the title. And, of course, he was moments away from owning the finest racehorse in Serbia.
Jones, unsatisfied with Jokić's mellow reaction, shifted his excitement toward Han Sen, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Han, slouched on the bench catching his breath, glanced over, unimpressed. His expression practically said, It's just a championship, calm down.
Jones quieted immediately.
Wade, having composed himself, walked over to Han. Han stood, and Wade pulled him into a tight, heartfelt hug.
"Thank you, Han," Wade whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Without Han, he would've retired with regrets. Maybe even crawled back to Miami, forced to reconcile with Riley just to close his career.
But everything changed the moment he joined Cleveland.
"Don't thank me," Han replied. "Thank yourself. This is our victory."
And he meant it. Wade had sacrificed, adapted, and delivered when it mattered most. Without him, the Cavs might've crumbled after Kyrie's midseason trade request. They might not have even survived the Eastern Conference Finals.
Wade nodded firmly, his eyes still glossy.
After a brief on-court celebration, the team stormed back to the locker room for more chaos. Amid the champagne showers, Han handed Jokić his promised "small gift."
A miniature bottle of Sprite.
Jokić stared at it, bewildered. Han was tempting him to break his soda ban.
But Han grinned. "Sprite isn't cola."
You got me there, Jokić thought, nodding in agreement before taking the tiniest sip, savoring the refreshing taste like it was liquid gold.
---
After the locker room festivities, the team donned their championship shirts and returned to the court for the trophy ceremony.
The stage was set. Commissioner Silver stood center stage, chatting with Dan Gilbert, who was practically glowing. Among 30 NBA owners, none looked prouder.
Silver smiled, but beneath it was a hint of unease. Han Sen was the league's biggest star—too big. This was his fifth championship in six years. A dynasty was great for narratives, but dominance like this? It made parity feel like a myth.
Still, when Han approached, Silver greeted him warmly, offering congratulations.
As the ceremony began, Silver thanked the Warriors for a hard-fought Finals before announcing the inevitable:
"The 2017 NBA Champions are the Cleveland Cavaliers… back-to-back champions!"
The arena exploded.
Winning is sweet. Winning at home? Unmatched.
Even Dan Gilbert couldn't contain himself, hoisting the trophy overhead with one hand, grinning ear to ear.
When the trophy reached Han, he paused, soaking in the moment.
Unlike last season's unity, this championship was born from chaos—trades, injuries, internal friction. But maybe that made it more meaningful. Through adversity, the Cavs had forged an identity, a culture that would outlast even Han himself.
Han passed the trophy to Jokić, knowing he'd handed Cleveland not just a title, but a cornerstone for the next decade.
Amid roaring cheers, the sideline interviews began.
Dan Gilbert, still riding the high, praised the fans and couldn't resist a jab at Kyrie's old comments:
"Cleveland is a true sports city because it has the best fans in the world!"
The reporter then turned to Han. The crowd erupted again, their cheers drowning everything else for a solid ten seconds.
When the noise finally settled, Han was asked the simplest question:
What do you want to say right now?
Han smirked.
"I want to thank a lot of people. But the person I want to thank the most isn't here tonight."
Meanwhile, back at his hotel, LeBron James suddenly sneezed.