Jake glanced at the crowded room in his office and let out an exaggerated sigh. "What do you think this is? A public toilet? Coming and going as you please!"
Divac, comfortably seated at the head of the table, couldn't help but grin nervously. "Well, can you blame us? What you just told us was shocking. It's not even New Year's Day, and you're telling us someone's walking out in a couple of months?"
No wonder the entire Kings management team had crammed into Jake's office. That morning, Jake had issued a directive that rattled everyone: halt all trade talks and reject any trade requests. The message was clear—Sacramento was closing its doors to the rest of the league, at least for now.
"It's not as dramatic as you're making it out to be," Jake said, gesturing for calm. "The decision is about stability. We need to focus on polishing our team and keeping the guys grounded. They've earned that."
Jake's move was calculated. For a young, ambitious team like the Kings, consistency was critical. The message he wanted to send to his players was simple: This season, no one's getting left behind. We're all in this together, for better or worse.
"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Divac asked cautiously.
"Absolutely," Jake replied without hesitation.
With that, Peja stood and headed for the door, ready to make the announcement. Jake's decision, however, wasn't without risks. By shutting down trade talks, Sacramento risked becoming less attractive for potential deals as the trade deadline loomed. In a league where timing and opportunity often dictated success, this could put the Kings at a disadvantage. But Jake was unfazed.
"I'm not interested in flashy midseason trades," he thought. "If a real superstar comes onto the market, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, the team's cohesion is my priority."
News of Jake's decision spread quickly across the NBA, leaving rivals and analysts scratching their heads.
"What's this kid up to now?" Popovich muttered, putting down his phone.
Across from him, Buford shook his head in disbelief. "It's completely out of character. Jake always seizes opportunities—why would he suddenly put the brakes on?"
"He's in his own league now," Buford joked. "Look at the power he has in Sacramento. He's pulling moves we've never seen before. It's wild to think how far he's come in just two years."
Popovich frowned. "If we'd kept him, imagine what we could've achieved. Letting him go might be our biggest regret."
Across the country, Danny Ainge sipped his coffee at a roadside café, smiling as his assistant delivered the news. "That little fox," Ainge said with a smirk. "He's playing the long game."
"Long game?" the assistant asked, confused.
"You need to read more," Ainge teased, setting his coffee down. "Jake's pulling a classic move from Chinese philosophy. There's a saying about gentlemen concealing their weapons and striking at the perfect moment. That's exactly what he's doing—biding his time, waiting to make the right move."
"So, he's holding back now to strike harder later?"
"Exactly," Ainge said. "A tiger with retracted claws is far more dangerous. No one knows how sharp those claws will be when he finally strikes."
Jerry West, too, was impressed. "In all my years, I've never seen a genius like Jake," he said during a quiet conversation with Steve Kerr.
"The league isn't short of geniuses," Kerr replied.
West shook his head. "The scary ones aren't the ones who flaunt their brilliance—it's the ones who know how to conceal it. I wanted to bring Jake to our organization, mentor him, and prepare him to take over after I retire. But now, it's clear he's destined to lead his own path. He's no longer just a rising star; he's a genuine threat to our dynasty ambitions."
Kerr frowned. "He can't keep hiding his weaknesses forever, though."
West's expression grew serious. "If I'm right, we'll see his full strategy unfold after the All-Star break."
Back in Sacramento, Jake was already laying the groundwork for his post-All-Star strategy.
"Malone," he said, leaning over the table, "we're going to start strategically resting players after the All-Star Game. During those breaks, I want them to stay in Sacramento for secret training sessions."
Malone nodded, intrigued.
"I want two fully polished systems ready by playoff time," Jake continued. "The first will center around Jokic, focusing on inside-out passing. That'll be our regular system. The second will revolve around Butler and an aggressive inside attack. We'll use Jokic's system as a smokescreen to lull opponents into complacency. Then, when they least expect it, we'll switch to Butler's system and catch them off guard."
Malone grinned. "Got it. Jokic's system to bait them, and Butler's system to crush them."
"Exactly," Jake said, his tone firm. "This season, we're not just playing to win. We're playing to dominate."
Jake's vision for the Kings wasn't limited to the current season. His moves were calculated to instill a culture of adaptability and resilience in the young team. By developing two contrasting systems, he wasn't just preparing them for playoff success—he was teaching them how to outthink and outmaneuver their opponents in any situation.
Malone, sensing the gravity of Jake's plan, felt a surge of excitement. The Kings weren't just evolving—they were becoming a force to be reckoned with. And with Jake at the helm, their future looked brighter than ever.
"Let's see how the league reacts when we unleash this," Jake thought, his mind already a step ahead. Sacramento wasn't just aiming for a championship—it was aiming to redefine how the game was played.