The moment of confusion was brief. Durant quickly regained control of the ball, using his upper body to push Old Owen away. He twitched his shoulder, faking a drive, then instantly pulled back, adjusted his stance, and pulled up for the shot, adding a slight fadeaway.
The driveway was narrow, making the distance equivalent to a long two-pointer—perfectly within Durant’s range.
Old Owen reacted with incredible speed, leaping to contest.
For a man approaching 40, maintaining that kind of jumping speed was no easy feat.
But the 10-centimeter height difference was impossible to overcome, not to mention the most crucial factor: wingspan.
Durant’s ape-like wingspan gave him a terrifyingly high release point.
The ball dropped cleanly through the net.
"Nice shot!"
Owen yelled from under the porch.
He was instantly rewarded with a slap on the back from his sister.
Old Owen ran to retrieve the ball.
Durant’s expression grew more serious.
He could feel the pressure.
Owen’s dream was to beat his father 11-0, a complete shutout.
Durant felt that beating Old Owen wouldn’t be a huge issue. Given his own advantages in age and height, it would be difficult for the older man to stop him.
The problem, however, was achieving a shutout.
That was going to be tough.
Fortunately, the rules stated that possession only changed on a missed shot.
And to start, Old Owen had let him take the first possession.
So, to complete the challenge, there was only one path forward: he couldn’t afford a single mistake. He had to make every single shot.
Durant couldn’t help but glance at Owen.
’Just how much does this kid hate his dad?’ he thought. ’A simple win isn’t enough; he has to demand a shutout.’
’When this airs on TV in front of tens of millions of viewers, what about your old man’s pride?’
There was no time to dwell on it. Durant took the ball and attacked again.
On the concrete surface, changing directions with the dribble wasn’t easy to control.
But the effect was subtle. After he started working with NBA trainers, they had repeatedly stressed one thing: dribble with power.
A lot of power.
Only then would the ball bounce back with enough force for better control, and it would give him more time to make a move while the ball was in the air.
After nearly two months of professional physical conditioning, Durant had improved significantly in this area.
He went back to his old method: a pull-up mid-range jumper.
Backing Old Owen down wasn’t easy.
He was a tough defender, and he wasn’t physically weak.
But Durant maintained control of his body, especially in the final moment of his release. His upper body was frighteningly stable.
This was exactly what he’d been training for the past two months: how to release a stable shot under duress.
Anyone could make an open shot; sinking one while contested was the mark of true skill.
It was impossible without immense core strength.
In fact, without a powerful dribble, he would have lost control of the ball long before that.
The ball dropped through, nothing but net.
All those years of hard work, ever since he was a kid, were not for nothing.
Owen, watching from the side, instinctively started to clap and cheer, only to quickly retract his hands when he felt his sister’s death glare.
Old Owen frowned. At this rate, he had a feeling he was going to lose.
’These kids from the show really aren’t as weak as I thought.’
After that, Durant scored on every single possession in much the same way.
Not a single miss. Every shot went in.
When the game ended, Owen leaped into the air with excitement, about to shout something at his dad.
But before he could get a single word out, a stern glare from Old Owen stopped him cold.
His sister also rushed over to cover his mouth.
Old Owen let out a small sigh before walking over to Durant with a smile.
He first gave Durant a hug, then said with a wide smile, "Kevin, you’re truly amazing. Your parents must be so proud of you."
He’d seen the show, so he knew Durant’s story.
He knew how the young man had struggled with poverty and how he had trained relentlessly, day in and day out, on Ghost Mountain.
That kind of dedication would be difficult for even a grown adult to maintain.
"Kyrie, you should really learn a thing or two from Kevin," Old Owen said, chiding his son before turning back to Durant. "Kevin, I lost."
Even though he never got a chance to shoot, he felt that he would have had a hard time winning even if he had been on offense.
Of course, he at least wouldn’t have been shut out 11-0.
He was a little regretful. He had been too overconfident at the start.
’If I’d known, I should have taken the ball first.’
’Even making one shot would have been enough to keep that little brat Owen from getting his wish.’
"Come on, let’s go eat."
Old Owen said with a smile, pulling Durant along.
At the dinner table, Old Owen spoke at length with Durant.
As a bond broker, he was skilled at interacting with people. He shared a lot of his basketball experience with Durant and offered plenty of advice.
And through their conversation, Durant finally understood why Owen was so desperate to beat his father.
Durant glanced at Owen, who had been eating in silence the entire time.
Thanks to Old Owen, Owen had been exposed to basketball from a very young age.
Owen was born when his father was playing professionally in Australia. Old Owen would always bring him and his sister to games, sit them on the bench, and then go out and play.
By the time he was a little over a year old, Owen could already dribble a basketball.
At four, he could already make shots on a regulation-height rim.
By six, he could already make a left-handed layup.
Throughout his childhood, and especially after Owen’s mother passed away unexpectedly, Old Owen poured all his energy into developing Owen’s talent. He hoped his son would follow in his footsteps, become a true professional player, and make it to the NBA.
"He was so serious back then, so hardworking, always saying he wanted to be as good as me."
Old Owen pulled Durant over to a doorframe in the living room, pointed at several hash marks, and said with a beaming smile, "Back then, he was always hoping to get taller. When we were still living in New Jersey, he carved a mark on his bedroom doorframe and told me he wanted to grow as tall as I was."
"After we moved to New York, I made this mark here for him."
Durant turned to look at Owen.
Owen’s face was a mask of disdain as he kept his head down and focused on his food.
Then, when Owen was nine, Old Owen established a new rule to raise his son’s skill level: they had to play one-on-one every single day.
Right there, on the driveway outside.
Unsurprisingly, the young Owen never once won against his father.
Durant had a sudden realization. No wonder Owen was so desperate to beat his father, and with a shutout, no less.
’He must have lost pretty badly back then.’
"I’m done!"
Just then, Owen suddenly pushed his plate away and stormed upstairs without a backward glance.
Old Owen’s brow furrowed. Seeing Durant looking at him, he quickly forced a smile. "Kevin, you two are only four years apart. This is a great opportunity. I hope you can become friends."
Durant nodded hurriedly.
Durant didn’t take his leave until eight o’clock that evening.
As he got into the production crew’s car and drove away, Durant looked back one last time.
The light was on in Owen’s second-floor room, and a figure stood there, looking out in his direction.
Durant had a strong feeling: that kid was about to get his butt kicked.
If not a beating, then at least a serious talking-to.
Even Durant thought he had it coming. If he had a father like that, one who did everything in his power to develop his skills and spend time with him, he’d be smiling in his sleep.
Durant averted his gaze and put it out of his mind.
’He was in a great mood. This challenge wasn’t so hard after all.’
As expected, the mission wasn’t over. Owen had a second dream.
「The next day.」
When Durant saw Owen, his expression wasn’t pleasant.
Owen didn’t look too happy either and didn’t even greet him.
He walked with a slight limp, and he winced as he lowered himself into a seat.
Durant had no doubt: the kid had gotten a beating.
"What are you looking at!"
Owen snapped, seeing Durant staring intently at his backside.
Durant snorted. ’Serves you right,’ he thought.
’You don’t appreciate a father that good, and you dream of beating him and humiliating him? If you don’t deserve a beating, who does?’
"Let’s go."
Durant stood up and led Owen straight to the bustling Fifth Avenue.
Owen, who had been sullen the whole time, finally cracked a smile when he was handed the Air Jordan 1s he had been dreaming of. He even managed a "thank you."
’You’d better thank me,’ Durant thought. ’Sneakers worth over three thousand US dollars... I wouldn’t even dare to dream of that.’
That morning, like a bolt from the blue, Durant had received the second part of the mission.
Owen’s dream was simple and unadorned.
He wanted a pair of Air Jordan sneakers.
Market price: 3,488 US dollars.
The price was so high it made Durant’s stomach clench.
He finally understood why the production crew had given him ten thousand US dollars in spending money. This was what they were waiting for.
"You’re so rich," Owen said, looking at Durant with envy. He then asked, "Why don’t you buy a pair for yourself?"
The corner of Durant’s eye twitched. He glanced at the female clerk who was still smiling at him, then gritted his teeth and dragged Owen out of the store.
"I beat your dad, and now you have your shoes. So, what’s your next dream?"
Durant asked glumly, looking at the beaming Owen clutching his shoebox.
Owen blinked and said something that nearly made Durant faint.
"I want to play one-on-one against Kobe. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?"
His casual tone made Durant want to punch him.
’One-on-one with Kobe? Who the hell do you think you are?!’
’*I* want to play one-on-one with Kobe!’

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