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Chapter 395: The End To The Lockout
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 12:16:28 +0000 UTCHarden really was a genius.
Lin Yi’s version of the Harden-style step-back came purely from memory, so it wasn’t perfect. But after a few sessions with Harden himself, he finally understood where he’d been going wrong.
The key, Harden explained, wasn’t just the step-back — it was the timing of collecting the ball. You had to gather and retreat simultaneously in what he called the zeroth step. If the motion was fluid enough, the refs wouldn’t call a travel.
The move was, in a way, similar to LeBron’s famous four-step layup — only a little flashier.
“Lin, this move’s insane,” Harden grinned between drills. “If you get it right, it’s basically unguardable.”
The two kept working on the technique, tweaking angles and rhythm, trying to make the motion second nature. Both were convinced that with enough reps, the move could absolutely work at the NBA level.
Meanwhile, Curry and Chris Paul were watching from the sidelines — arms crossed, expressions torn between curiosity and disbelief.
“Man, if they grind all day just to get called for traveling in a game, that’s gonna hurt,” Paul laughed.
“I think they’ve lost it,” Curry sighed, hands on his hips. He shook his head dramatically — then caught Klay staring at him from across the court.
Their eyes met.
Neither said a word.
Both looked away instantly.
A few seconds later, Klay wandered over, bouncing a ball lazily. “Wanna have a three-point shootout?”
Curry’s competitive grin appeared right on cue. “What’s the wager?”
“Five spots, five shots each. Hundred bucks per make,” Klay said casually.
“No problem,” Curry said, stretching his shoulders. “I’ll show you what real shooting looks like.”
Klay smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
“Oh, we’ll see.”
The two stepped onto the court, balls in hand, the tension quietly building — while Harden and Lin Yi kept hopping around in the background, perfecting a move that might one day break basketball physics itself.
...
(50 chapters of special training later…)
Time flew by.
Before anyone noticed, the players in the Los Angeles training camp had been grinding together for nearly a month.
Throughout October, the NBA lockout showed no signs of ending. The labor-management talks kept hitting the same wall — both sides stubborn, both unwilling to budge.
At the end of the month, they even held a 16-hour marathon negotiation session. But instead of progress, it somehow got worse.
Donald Sterling, one of the hardliners on the owners’ side, was particularly blunt.
“You guys make millions and still say you’re broke? Try living like the real poor people for once!”
That went down about as well as expected.
The players’ reps shot back, furious.
“Easy for you to say! You owners bleed us dry every year — you’re the real vampires here!”
It was like both sides had stepped into a time machine and gone straight back to square one.
And to make matters worse, players were starting to lose faith in Derek Fisher’s leadership.
On November 2, reports leaked that Fisher had privately met with Adam Silver behind everyone’s back. Trust was evaporating fast.
In Los Angeles, that uncertainty seeped into the gym. Training continued, but focus was fading.
“Oh my god, how long is this suspension gonna last?” Curry groaned one afternoon, slumping against the wall after drills. He looked over at Lin Yi, who was still calmly shooting mid-range jumpers. “Lin, aren’t you even a little worried the whole season might get scrapped?”
Lin smiled faintly and patted Curry’s head. “Stephen, don’t stress. Maybe they’ll shorten the season, but they’re not canceling it. The NBA can’t afford that.”
He couldn’t tell Curry the truth — that he already knew from memory how things would eventually unfold. Both sides had already agreed on most of the framework. The only reason talks were dragging was because a few hardliners on each side refused to give in. Lin knew Stern would step in soon.
Sure enough, on November 5, Commissioner David Stern issued an ultimatum: if no deal was reached, players would only get 47% of basketball-related income.
That scared people. A lot of players started softening their stance.
“Honestly,” Chris Paul said during a break, “maybe it’s time we just meet them halfway. No point in everyone going broke trying to win an argument.”
The younger guys were even more restless. Knicks rookie Donatas Motiejūnas — stuck overseas after the EuroBasket — called Lin, practically in tears.
“Lin, if this keeps going, I’ll have to sign with a team in Europe just to stay active!”
“Hang in there,” Lin told him. “Keep training and stay ready. The call will come soon enough.”
But by mid-November, the mood around the camp had dropped. Even Harden, who’d usually light up any gym with jokes and wild ideas, stopped talking about new moves or ways to bend the rules.
Lin started to worry.
If even these guys are losing focus, what about my Knicks teammates back home?
He began calling around — one player after another — just to keep spirits up. Thankfully, the Knicks had the momentum of a championship behind them. They weren’t slacking off, even if everyone was anxious.
Meanwhile, Hassan Whiteside was tearing it up in the CBA, averaging 25 points and 15 rebounds. When Lin caught up with him, Whiteside sounded fired up.
“Don’t worry, Lin! I’m killing it out here. Just say the word, and I’ll be ready to dominate when the league comes back!”
Lin laughed. “Good. Just keep that attitude — and keep checking the news.”
Finally, on November 14, there was light at the end of the tunnel. The league and the union reached a tentative framework for a new deal.
But when the players voted?
30 to 0 — unanimously against it.
Garnett led the charge, furious at the terms. Fisher, on the other hand, was exhausted and bitter.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Let Kevin pay everyone’s salaries then!”
Talks collapsed again. Garnett started talking about filing a lawsuit against the league.
Stern, however, wasn’t bluffing anymore.
He calmly reminded the players that without a union, their $4 billion in guaranteed contracts would vanish overnight.
That shut everyone up.
Lin sighed as he read the statement.
“That’s Stern for you. Doesn’t even need to yell — he just hits where it hurts. The money.”
The truth was simple: owners might lose money, but if the whole season got canceled, the players would be the ones bleeding.
And Stern had just made sure they all understood that.
Two weeks later, on November 26, the two sides finally reached a deal. The 160-day lockout was officially over.
The league announced that all games in early December would be canceled, and the 2011–2012 season would tip off on Christmas Day.
Each team would only get two preseason games starting December 18.
The players finally breathed again. Relief swept through every training camp as teams scrambled to call players back.
Lin looked around as his fellow trainees packed up. After a month of grueling drills, laughs, and late-night debates, the camp was finally over.
One by one, everyone said their goodbyes — some heading home, others straight to their agents.
The NBA machine roared back to life: rookies signing deals, teams shuffling rosters, trade lines buzzing nonstop.
Not long after the announcement, Javier Stanford called Lin, practically shouting into the phone.
“Lin! The Knicks are moving fast — they just sent an offer to New Orleans for Chris Paul!”
And somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, the media unearthed the mysterious Lin Yi & Rose Rule, a piece of legal language born from the lockout that was about to make headlines again.
Lin had no idea then — not yet — that the 2011–2012 season waiting ahead would test everyone in ways no one could’ve predicted.
A season of brilliance… and disaster.
