Inside the basketball arena’s locker room.
Durant sat there with a dazed expression, wringing his hands. He kept looking up at the locker room entrance.
On the wall, the hands of the clock ticked forward, each movement seemingly pulling Durant’s heart down with it, sinking deeper and deeper.
Just then, the follow-cam director pushed the door open and hurried in.
Durant shot his head up and asked nervously, "Did you find him?"
The director sighed silently.
Durant had been asking that same question over and over, countless times, ever since they discovered Owen had slipped out of the hotel.
"Sorry, Kevin. Still no word from the police."
The director shook his head. He wanted to curse someone out himself.
’Not playing in the game is one thing, but for a whole person to just go missing... If something happened, how would they explain it to Old Owen? The production team would be held responsible!’
Durant glanced at the clock.
There were less than twenty minutes until the game started.
He was truly starting to feel desperate.
"Can I play the game by myself then? If I win, will that still count as completing the challenge?" Durant asked cautiously, his lips trembling.
After his initial anger, Durant no longer cared where Owen had run off to or whether he even wanted to play.
’We just met, anyway. We’re not that close,’ he thought.
Durant only cared about his challenge. It was tied to his dream—his family’s dream.
The director sighed. He had already reported the situation to Ernest, but they were still discussing what to do.
After all, they had never encountered a situation like this before.
It was just like when Beasley had blasted the production team.
The director stepped forward and patted Durant’s shoulder. He felt sorry for the kid. Why did he always end up with people like this?
"Kevin, don’t worry. I’m sure the production team will change the plan, and you’ll still be able to achieve your goal. It’s only a hundred thousand US dollars. The show isn’t short on cash. They’ll make it happen, even if it’s just to compensate you."
He was speaking from the heart.
He genuinely felt for Durant.
Such a good kid, yet he always ran into this kind of trouble.
"Really?" A glimmer of light returned to Durant’s eyes.
The director nodded.
He had thought it through from a production standpoint. The current situation was an accident, but it was also a hot-button issue that could stir up audience emotions and spark discussion.
A show needs buzz, needs drama.
For the sake of that drama, what was a hundred thousand dollars to them?
A show this big was going to sweat a hundred grand?
Just as he was speaking, the director’s phone rang.
It was Ernest.
"The audience is here. You should head to the court first," the director said, before stepping away to take the call.
Durant’s mood improved slightly. He quickly changed into his jersey and headed for the court.
But he had just arrived at the court and hadn’t even exchanged a few words with Joey when the director returned, waving him over.
His expression was terrifyingly grim, making Durant’s heart drop. The joy he had just felt vanished in an instant.
The director’s eyebrows were knitted together. He said in a low voice, "Sorry, Kevin. Headquarters has made a decision. They said the rules can’t be changed for you. If by seven o’clock... let’s make it 7:10."
"If Owen isn’t on the court by 7:10, you’ll be considered to have failed the challenge."
Durant stared blankly at the director, a ringing in his ears that drowned out every other sound.
His expression was faithfully captured by the nearby camera.
For a full twenty seconds, Durant’s eyes didn’t even move.
His gaze was urgent. He wanted to say something, to complain about how unfair the production team was being.
He felt truly wronged.
’If I was also partly to blame for what happened with Beasley, then fine, maybe I deserved it. But this time? I’m just an innocent victim!’ he thought.
’I helped Owen stand up to his father, spent so much money on expensive shoes for him, and brought him all the way to Los Angeles to chase his dream. I haven’t done him any wrong, have I?’
So why did something like this have to happen to him?
Durant wanted to lash out, to vent his inner frustration, but he didn’t dare.
A lifetime of obedience made him afraid to rebel.
"Kevin, don’t give up. There’s still a chance." Seeing Durant’s reaction, the director’s heart ached for him.
He had been following Durant for almost two months, watching over these three kids day in and day out. Seeing Durant go through this, he felt as bad as if his own child were being bullied.
He found it strange. In his mind, Ernest shouldn’t care about a hundred thousand US dollars.
They could have just altered the challenge or given him a new one.
But just as Durant was too wronged to argue, he didn’t dare question Ernest’s decision.
"I’m fine."
Durant shook his head, his face a mask of bitterness. "I’m going to go play then."
He didn’t just turn and walk away, abandoning the game and the show.
After what happened last time, Durant had learned a few lessons.
The most important one was not to give up easily.
At the very least, he couldn’t give up on his teammates.
’If I leave, what happens to the game?’
He turned and ran off to listen to Joey’s pre-game instructions.
The director watched him go. The more maturely Durant acted, the more his heart ached for him.
At seven o’clock, amidst the cheers of the crowd, the players from both teams took the court.
Right before stepping onto the court, Durant took one last look at the arena entrance.
Deep down, he still clung to the desperate hope that Owen would appear.
But in the end, there was nothing.
Durant disappointedly withdrew his gaze and prepared for the game to start.
The two teams faced off for the jump ball.
The Guardians won possession.
David, who was subbing in for Owen, immediately passed the ball to Durant.
Durant had the ball and was about to make a move when he suddenly heard a huge scream from behind him.
Even the defender in front of him stopped dead in his tracks, staring blankly at what was behind Durant.
All the players on the court did the same.
"Oh my god!"
"Heavens, am I seeing things? Kobe!"
"It’s Kobe!"
The screams from the sidelines were incessant.
Durant whipped his head around.
He saw Kobe, dressed in a tracksuit, walk into the arena with a smile, waving his arm. He was instantly surrounded by the spectators at the edge of the court.
Durant’s heart skipped a beat. ’The show actually managed to get Kobe here!’
In Los Angeles, Kobe’s influence was immense.
Forget the audience and the players; even the referee had stopped, looking like he was about to rush over for an autograph at any second.
Just then, Durant’s eyes narrowed, locking onto a figure peeking out from behind Kobe.
Owen!
In an instant, all his pent-up frustration erupted like a volcano. Durant dropped the basketball and charged forward.
"Wait, Kevin!"
It was Kobe. He squeezed through the crowd and was the first to block Durant’s path.
"Calm down."
Kobe held onto Durant, repeating, "Calm down."
In the crowd, Owen ducked his head and tried to shrink back behind the others.
The cameras were aimed at them. Every spectator and player in the arena was staring at him.
Durant clenched his fists but didn’t move again.
Sensing that Durant wasn’t struggling, Kobe let him go, though his right hand remained on Durant’s arm. He then said, "Kevin, Kyrie made a huge mistake. He snuck out of the hotel and ran off to find me all by himself."
Kobe thought about how, not long ago, Owen had traveled fifty kilometers alone—taking a bus, then a city bus, then a taxi—all the way to Newport to find his house.
Even Kobe found it a bit incredible.
Then, as he was pulling out of his driveway, the kid had fearlessly thrown himself in front of his car, giving him a huge scare.
After getting out to check, Kobe learned that this was the Owen the show had arranged for him to meet.
"He was in the wrong, and I’ve already given him a good talking-to for you."
"I know you’re angry, and you might not forgive him, but Kevin, this is life. We can’t expect everyone to like you or cooperate with you. Things won’t always go smoothly."
"It’s the same on the court. You’ll always run into teammates you don’t like, or some jerk who skips practice or doesn’t take the game seriously."
"But like I said, that’s life. You have to learn to endure it and not let these bad things affect you."
"Besides, you’re the captain. You have to be able to tolerate your teammates. When they make a mistake, it’s your responsibility too, in a way."
"Kevin."
Kobe’s hand rested on Durant’s shoulder as he said in a serious tone, "Giving up is easy. You can do it anytime. But sticking with it and finding a reasonable way to solve the problem—that’s what a leader does. You should strive to be a leader. Do you understand?"
Kobe found himself saying more than he’d intended.
He was speaking from personal experience.
Just as he’d said, you always run into difficult teammates. In the two seasons since O’Neal left, Kobe, under Jackson’s guidance, had been learning how to take responsibility and become a true leader.
Durant’s face was tight, and he didn’t say a word.
Kobe didn’t expect a few words to make a teenager understand all this. He smiled and added, "Let’s put that aside for now. As basketball players, at the very least, we have to be professional."
"The fact that you were ready to keep playing even when Owen was gone—that’s great. You have to remember, these fans came to the arena to watch you play. No matter how angry you are, you should finish the game first."
"Come on, he wants to apologize to you."
Kobe pulled Durant over to face Owen.
Durant said nothing, glaring at Owen.
Owen pouted back, his eyes full of defiance.
"Kyrie."
Kobe’s tone was sharp.
Only then did Owen take a step forward and mumble, "Sorry."
"Kyrie!"
Kobe frowned and called his name again.
Owen finally stood up a little straighter and looked at Durant. "I’m sorry, Kevin. The things I wrote in the note were all just nonsense. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have snuck away. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again."
Durant’s fists didn’t unclench.
’It won’t happen again? There won’t be a next time!’
Kobe didn’t expect Durant to forgive Owen immediately. He smiled and said, "Alright, you can talk things out after the game. On the way here, Kyrie told me he wanted to play with me. So, how about we all get on the court together and win this thing?"
Durant’s heart leaped.
’If Kobe plays, we’re guaranteed to win,’ he thought.
But would the production team allow it?
He turned to look at the follow-cam director.
"Don’t look at him. I’m calling the shots now."
Kobe clapped Durant on the back and took off his jacket.

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