The photo itself didn't mean much. At most, it showed that Jayson Tatum had met LeBron James when he was younger.
But Han Sen understood what Larry Hughes was really trying to tell him.
"When I was playing in Cleveland, Jayson was allowed into the arena, even the locker room. He and LeBron got along really well."
That confirmed it—Tatum and LeBron had a close relationship.
Han looked at the photo again.
The first time he glanced at it, something had felt… off.
Now, after realizing Hughes' implication, he knew what it was.
Kobe Bryant's fans and LeBron James' fans were two completely different camps.
Yet, here was Tatum—wearing a Kobe jersey while taking a picture with LeBron.
This guy… he's different.
Han handed the photo back to Hughes. "I'll talk to Jayson."
Relief flooded Hughes' expression. "Thank you."
For Tatum, if nothing changed, there were only two likely outcomes:
1. He'd stay in Sacramento and continue to get criticized every game.
2. He'd be labeled as a half-busted lottery ticket and traded to another team as a throw-in piece.
Neither option was good for him.
The first scenario spoke for itself.
The second? It wasn't much better.
Just like Nikola Jokić had thrived under Han's preference in Cleveland, Tatum could end up in a situation where the new team had even less patience for him.
If that happened?
He'd disappear into mediocrity.
That was why Hughes was so genuinely grateful. Because there was a third, much better outcome—Tatum could change.
---
This year's Christmas Day games featured two matchups—one from each conference, both massive headline matchups.
In the East?
The Cavaliers vs. the Celtics.
A classic rivalry.
In the West?
The Pelicans vs. the Kings.
More specifically?
Han Sen vs. LeBron James.
Compared to the Eastern Conference matchup, the Western Conference game was the one fans were dying to see.
The Pelicans were clear favorites—stronger, deeper, built to win now.
But this game was about more than just a single night.
After joining the Kings, Han had been given a new title—The True King.
And where there's a "true" king?
There must be a false one.
LeBron had carried the "King" nickname for over a decade. It dated back to high school, when Nike had courted him to sign with them over Reebok and Adidas.
He'd been The King for sixteen years.
And now?
People were questioning if that title still belonged to him.
So naturally, this game was under a massive spotlight.
---
A Day before Christmas Eve at Han's Estate
The smell of sizzling barbecue mixed with the cool December air as the team gathered around the fire pit. The lake reflected the soft glow of the surrounding lights, adding to the lively atmosphere.
Sacramento felt different from Cleveland.
Not just in basketball culture, but in the little things. Out here, Han's estate had space. A man-made lake, an open sky, and no towering buildings blocking the view. It made nights like these feel more alive.
The team was in good spirits, swapping stories, cracking jokes, and enjoying the food.
Then Han gave a small nod to Dante Cunningham and Rudy Gay.
The two got up, dragging a large box across the wooden deck before setting it down with a solid thud.
All eyes turned as they flipped the lid open.
Inside?
A collection of sleek, high-end electronics—smartphones, tablets, the full set. Every piece bore the logo of a Chinese tech brand.
The team let out impressed whistles.
"Man, this is crazy," Mitchell muttered, picking up one of the devices.
But Han hadn't done this for reactions.
This wasn't just about gifts.
It was about brand power.
Every NBA player, especially superstars, was a walking endorsement. If his teammates casually used these products? That was free advertising.
Will Atkinson had suggested it—after years at Under Armour, he knew that organic marketing was the strongest kind.
Han watched as the guys laughed and unboxed their gifts. But his focus wasn't on them.
His gaze flicked toward Jayson Tatum.
He gestured.
"Come with me."
Tatum hesitated for half a second before following Han into the living room.
---
"Hughes came to see me."
Han didn't waste time.
"He said you and LeBron are pretty close?"
Tatum froze.
He hadn't expected Han to be so direct.
After a moment, he nodded. But beyond that? He had no idea what to say.
Because everyone knew—this wasn't just about a simple connection.
Han and LeBron didn't have beef.
They had war.
It was no longer a rivalry. It was hatred.
Han smiled slightly.
After meeting Hughes, he had already suspected what was going on.
Now, seeing Tatum's reaction?
It confirmed everything.
Because Han was a transmigrator, his perception of Tatum had been shaped by his past life.
He had always assumed Tatum was exactly how the media painted him—a diehard Kobe fan.
And instinctively, he had believed that if Tatum worshipped Kobe, then he wouldn't have much connection to LeBron.
But Hughes' photo had proved otherwise.
Tatum wasn't just a Kobe guy.
He also idolized LeBron.
And it made sense.
Kobe had existed in Tatum's life through TV screens.
LeBron?
LeBron was someone young Tatum had met in person.
Someone who had let him into the Cavaliers' locker room.
Someone who had been there.
And LeBron?
He was always good at playing the role of mentor.
Now, Han understood why Lue and Hughes both described Tatum as "immature."
Because Tatum's struggles weren't about confidence or talent.
It was conflict.
His childhood idol was being publicly humiliated by the very teammate he was supposed to follow.
Tatum knew Han was the superior player.
He knew Han was the real legend of their era.
But deep down?
It still felt wrong to him.
It was like hearing people trash your first love—even if you knew they had a point, a part of you still hated hearing it.
---
Han let the silence stretch.
Then, finally, he asked, "Why do you play basketball?"
Tatum didn't hesitate.
"To win."
Han studied him for a moment, then nodded.
If nothing else, Tatum wanted to win.
"And what does winning take?" Han asked.
This time, Tatum hesitated.
"…Talent," he finally muttered. "Like you."
Han smirked.
That was the obvious answer.
But it wasn't the real answer.
"And?" Han pressed.
Tatum met his gaze, confused.
"…And?"
"If talent was all that mattered, upsets wouldn't exist."
Han let that sink in.
Weaker teams won all the time.
Hell, Han himself had done it in Memphis.
Had done it in Cleveland.
So what was the real difference?
Han leaned forward.
"Conviction."
The word carried weight.
"If you don't have conviction, every decision you make will be hesitant."
Han's voice was calm, but firm.
"Your pump fakes won't sell. Your passes won't be sharp. Your shots won't have bite. Because deep down, you'll always be second-guessing yourself."
Tatum sat frozen.
Because deep down, he knew Han was right.
This wasn't about skill.
It was about mentality.
Han took a slow breath, his tone even.
"I came here to win. I have that conviction. And I need teammates who have it too."
Han's voice wasn't raised.
But the weight behind it was impossible to ignore.
"I don't care if you're a Kobe guy. I don't care if you're a LeBron guy."
He met Tatum's gaze head-on.
"The only thing I care about is—do you have it in you?"
Because if Tatum didn't?
Then it didn't matter how skilled he was.
He wouldn't be a part of Han's vision.
The fire crackled.
Tatum didn't say anything.
Not yet.
But the way he clenched his fists? The way his breathing had shifted?
Something had changed.
And Han?
Han knew he had just planted a seed.
The only question was—would it grow?
---
Han Sen spent his first Christmas Eve in Sacramento quietly—but not without meaning.
He gave gifts to his Kings teammates. And in return?
He received a roomful of presents.
Literally.
There were gifts from his teammates. Some were heartfelt, others just funny.
Jokic, for example, sent over a massive ride-on lawn mower—"for the estate," he'd said, probably joking, but possibly not.
Most of the gifts, though, came from sponsors.
That was the byproduct of Han's grind this year—constant work, full-spectrum endorsements. At this point, he didn't really need to buy anything himself. Everything was either gifted or branded.
He was enjoying the calm of the night, the warmth of the fire, when something broke the peace.
Social media.
LeBron James had posted a photo.
A gym selfie—him training late on Christmas Eve at the Golden 1 Center.
That in itself wasn't news. Fans had long grown used to LeBron's "Look how hard I work" posts, even on holidays.
But this one?
This one had been photoshopped.
Specifically, the "S" in "KINGS" on the arena's LED screen was edited out—leaving just "KING" above LeBron's head.
Subtle?
Not even close.
It was a message.
LeBron still considered himself the one true King.
And just like that, social media exploded with the old debate:
Who's the real King now?
Most fans weren't buying LeBron's little flex. With Han Sen holding six rings and having built two separate dynasties, only the most loyal LeBron stans still thought he had a claim to the crown.
No one could say for sure what was going through LeBron's head. Maybe he thought he was being clever. Maybe he thought it was subtle. Maybe he thought he was still the protagonist in all of this.
What he didn't realize?
He'd just handed Han free bulletin board material.
---
Game Day – Christmas Day Showdown
The next night, the showdown began.
Pelicans vs. Kings. West Coast primetime. The most anticipated Christmas game of the year.
The LeBron photo had done its job—the arena was packed to the rafters, the fans buzzing with energy. This wasn't just a game anymore. This was personal. This was narrative warfare.
During warmups, the cameras zoomed in on LeBron.
He looked calm.
Happy, even.
He hadn't felt this confident facing Han in years. Maybe since Memphis. And even then, Han had still beaten him.
But now?
Now he had the better team. And for once, Han was the one working uphill.
From roster depth to standings, the Pelicans had the clear edge.
LeBron had already opened the champagne bottle the night before.
All that was left was to drink it.
He even walked over to Tatum during warmups. Smiling, relaxed. The same kid he had mentored years ago. He still thought of himself as an uncle figure to Jayson—someone who had helped shape the young man's all-around game.
Tatum hesitated, then walked up to him.
Whatever complicated feelings he had toward LeBron, the respect was still there.
After a few polite words, LeBron jogged back to the Pelicans' side, his smile shifting into something smug.
Han had made a mistake this summer.
And tonight, LeBron planned to show him what that mistake would cost.
---
Starting Lineups:
Kings: Mitchell, Han Sen, Tatum, Sabonis, Willie Cauley-Stein
Pelicans: Jrue Holiday, Avery Bradley, LeBron James, Anthony Davis, Aron Baynes
Davis won the tip, and with a roar from the crowd, the Christmas Day showdown officially tipped off.
LeBron got the first touch in the post, matched up against Tatum.
It was symbolic.
The teacher versus the student.
He backed Tatum down hard, demanding the ball.
"Time to pay it back," was the subtext. LeBron had guided Tatum's career. Now he expected that deference on the court.
But Tatum didn't give an inch.
His offense might still be developing, but his defense? That was always real.
LeBron tried to muscle through him, spun inside—but by the time he put up the shot, Cauley-Stein had rotated over and altered it.
Brick.
LeBron missed.
But instead of frustration, he just smiled, tapping Tatum on the head as they jogged back.
That's okay, his body language said. Just letting the kid get his moment.
After all, the Pelicans were the favorites.
He could afford to be generous.
Han couldn't.
From the jump, he played like it was Game 7 of the Finals.
First possession—he ran a dribble handoff with Sabonis, then exploded off the catch, attacked the paint, and took the hit from Davis.
And still finished through contact.
And-1.
The crowd erupted.
Replays showed Davis timed his rotation perfectly. Even Bradley had closed in. But Han still contorted his body midair, took the bump, and finished with a smooth reverse lay.
It wasn't just a highlight.
It was a message.
A statement of intent.
Tatum, standing near half-court, glanced up at the LED screen as the replay looped.
That… that was it.
That was what Han meant.
All those things he'd said a few nights ago?
About conviction. About playing without hesitation.
Now, Tatum saw it.
It was in Han's movements.
In his posture.
In his eyes.
Every second Han was on that floor, he played like he was willing to die to win.
And for the first time?
Tatum felt it too.
He didn't just hear it.
He understood it.