Basketball System: Hate Makes Me Unstoppable-Chapter 401: The True King.

A few days later, Han Sen made a trip to Los Angeles for the second annual Mamba Academy training camp.

This year, it had grown into a full-scale event, drawing some of the league's biggest names—Kawhi Leonard, Paul George, Kyrie Irving, Jamal Murray, Aaron Gordon, Buddy Hield, Isaiah Thomas, and more.

But for Kobe?

Han's presence meant the most.

This time, Kobe personally drove to the airport to pick him up.

As Han slid into the passenger seat, he glanced at Kobe's hands gripping the wheel and raised an eyebrow.

"Where's your helicopter?"

Had Kobe really driven all the way just because of what Han had said last time?

"I thought about what you said," Kobe replied, his hands firm on the steering wheel.

Not only had he taken Han's words to heart—he had taken full control of the wheel.

That was so Kobe.

The hour-long drive gave them plenty of time to talk, the conversation flowing effortlessly from basketball to life beyond it.

At one point, Kobe turned to Han.

"What do you want to do after you retire?"

A simple question, but coming from him, it carried weight.

This was a man who had transitioned seamlessly from basketball to a second act—winning an Oscar, building a business empire, and crafting a legacy beyond the game.

Han looked out the window, watching the LA skyline blur past.

"Maybe just enjoy life," he said casually. "Or maybe buy a team."

Kobe smirked. "Buying a team takes a lot of money."

It was clear he had considered it too.

And Han knew—2016 had been the last great window to buy into the NBA.

Michael Jordan had bought the then-Charlotte Bobcats for $175 million in 2010.

Now? The Hornets were valued at $1.25 billion.

A sevenfold increase in just eight years.

And that was one of the lowest-valued franchises.

To own a major team, Han would need at least a billion-dollar net worth.

And no matter how much a player earned, that kind of money didn't come from contracts alone.

Even Kobe, after a career of max deals and endorsements, had only amassed around $500-600 million.

"I heard you and James Harden made some smart investments," Han said, shifting the conversation.

He couldn't recall the exact details, but he remembered Kobe had been involved in some lucrative ventures.

Kobe smiled. "Just small stuff. But you should start thinking about it too. Instead of just taking endorsement deals for cash, negotiate for equity."

Han nodded.

It wasn't new advice—Jordan had built an empire through Nike's revenue shares.

Shaq had invested in Google before it blew up.

But Han's timeline was different.

By the time he entered the league, most of the major investment opportunities he had heard about in his past life had already passed.

And unlike Kobe?

Han had zero business acumen.

In his past life, he had been a basketball trainer, not a businessman.

That's why he left those things to Chris Rondo.

Most of his wealth had come from endorsements, not investments.

Right now, he was worth around $400-500 million.

But to reach a billion? Or more?

That would take another level.

Still, he had a plan.

His contract with Under Armour was up next summer.

If he re-signed?

It would be a lifetime deal.

And just like Jordan before him—he was going after ownership.

Kobe glanced at him. "You're thinking about something."

Han smirked. "Just planning ahead."

Kobe chuckled. "Good. But remember—being an owner isn't just about money. It's about power."

Han nodded slowly.

And that was where Kobe saw the real problem.

Money alone didn't buy an NBA franchise.

Owners didn't sell unless they were forced to.

Without a scandal or external pressure—teams just kept rising in value.

"Even billionaires struggle to buy a team," Kobe continued. "So how do you plan on pulling that off?"

Han glanced out the window again, a knowing smirk on his lips.

He already had a plan.

And unlike Kobe—

He had already taken his first step.

But that wasn't something he could share just yet.

---

With so many stars in attendance, this year's Mamba Academy was a massive success.

If the first camp had established it, this one made it legendary.

And it all came down to one moment.

Kobe vs. Han.

It wasn't planned.

It wasn't scheduled.

But with so many elite players watching, it just happened.

A one-on-one duel between two of the most ruthless competitors the game had ever seen.

Han had been working with Jamal Murray on footwork drills, breaking down angles, leverage, and the art of maintaining balance under pressure.

A few feet away, Kobe was dissecting mid-range mechanics for Paul George and Kawhi Leonard, fine-tuning their precision.

Slowly, both groups drifted closer—listening, observing, studying.

Until finally, Kyrie grinned.

"You two should go at it."

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Han raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? I don't want to ruin your hero's image."

A flicker of amusement crossed Kobe's face.

"Talk is cheap."

And just like that—

It was on.

The moment the challenge was issued, half the gym cleared out.

Players formed a tight circle around the court.

Phones came out. Cameras rolled.

This wasn't a casual workout anymore.

This was basketball in its purest form.

No refs. No scorekeeping. No mercy.

Just pride.

Kobe took the ball first.

Triple-threat stance.

The second Han leaned in, Kobe struck—

Jab-step. Fadeaway.

Money.

Han scoffed. "That all you got?"

His turn.

Han took the ball, jabbed left, exploded right.

Kobe stayed glued to him.

But Han had gotten stronger. More polished.

He planted, spun back, elevated—Kobe contested perfectly.

But the shot dropped anyway.

Kawhi and PG exchanged glances.

Jamal Murray shook his head. "Man... this is different."

Shot for shot, move for move, they went at it.

Kobe hit a turnaround jumper.

Han countered with a one-dribble sidestep fade.

Kobe drove left, finished through contact.

Han slashed inside, stopped on a dime, and rose—pure.

Then the trash talk started.

Han smirked after sinking a deep three.

Kobe nodded, stepping forward.

"That's cute." He pointed to the floor. "But do it again."

Han shrugged, took the ball back—buried another three.

This time?

Kobe clapped his hands.

"Again."

Han took the ball, but the second he dribbled—Kobe lunged.

He smothered him. Chest to chest. Forearm pressing in.

Han pivoted, creating space, but this time Kobe anticipated the spin.

Swipe—steal.

"That's the difference," Kobe said, tossing the ball back. "I don't let you get comfortable."

Han rolled his shoulders. "That's fine. I'm just warming up."

It wasn't just a game anymore.

It was a battle of mindsets.

Han had the strength, the footwork, the full arsenal.

Kobe had the IQ, the relentless pressure, the psychological edge.

Every possession turned into a chess match.

Han attacked—Kobe cut him off.

Kobe went for a pull-up—Han timed the contest perfectly.

Back and forth.

Shot for shot. Step for step.

Players who had competed against both couldn't believe what they were seeing.

At one point, Kyrie turned to Jamal Murray.

"We might be witnessing history."

Jamal just nodded.

Respect. Earned.

They played until both were drenched in sweat.

Until neither had anything left.

Kobe leaned on his knees, catching his breath.

Han wiped his face with his jersey, then glanced at Kobe.

"One more?"

Kobe chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'd love to, but I'm old, man."

Han grinned. "You're not old. Just tired."

Kobe laughed, then extended his hand.

Han shook it.

In that moment, nothing needed to be said.

The game spoke for itself.

But Kobe did have one final comment.

"You've already conquered the league."

His gaze sharpened.

"What comes next?"

Han blinked.

Not praise. Not admiration.

A challenge.

A new mountain to climb.

Han smirked. "Guess I'll have to figure that out."

Kobe nodded, as if that was exactly the answer he expected.

"Good. Just don't think small."

Han exhaled.

Because coming from Kobe Bryant, "small" was never in the equation.

---

By the time Han returned to Sacramento, Lue was back as well—and he had good news.

Jeff Van Gundy had officially agreed to join the Kings.

Once his ESPN contract was settled, he'd report to Sacramento.

Even knowing Lue's skills in negotiation, Han couldn't help but give him a nod of approval.

Lue wasn't just a coach.

He was a leader.

And leadership?

It wasn't about personal talent—it was about steering the entire ship.

Han leaned back and smirked.

"So how'd you convince him?"

Lue chuckled.

"Well, thanks to you, he didn't want to miss out on such a great opportunity."

Han liked the sound of that.

But he also knew Lue too well.

That wasn't the full story.

"Come on," Han pressed. "What else?"

Lue grinned.

"The guy wakes up at 5 AM every day to study film," he said. "Eats, sleeps, and breathes basketball. A coach like that? You know he loves the job."

Han nodded.

Now that sounded like the real reason.

Van Gundy, Tom Thibodeau—coaches like them were absolute workaholics.

Still, Lue wasn't wrong.

Van Gundy could've gotten another coaching job if he wanted.

But this wasn't just any opportunity.

This was a chance to be part of something special.

A chance to help build a dynasty.

---

As July neared its end, the free agency market had all but dried up.

The Kings' biggest signing during this period was JaVale McGee, brought in on a veteran minimum contract to serve as the team's backup center.

Han Sen had taken his time making decisions, and by the time he finalized his plans, most free agents had already been snatched up.

The remaining options were limited. McGee came with his share of issues, but he was still a talented big man, and at just 30 years old, he was more than capable of holding down a bench role.

But while the Kings had secured their roster, another issue had erupted—one that had nothing to do with Han Sen, yet somehow still managed to drag the team into the spotlight.

The biggest story of the summer, aside from Han's decision, had been the ongoing saga between Kawhi Leonard and the San Antonio Spurs.

Ever since Zaza Pachulia's infamous closeout had injured Kawhi's ankle, the forward had struggled with lingering health issues. What had once seemed like minor setbacks had turned into a rift between Leonard and the Spurs' front office.

With his contract set to expire next summer, the Spurs hesitated to offer him a full max extension, either due to concerns about his health or out of sheer franchise stubbornness.

Leonard, however, refused to budge, and negotiations repeatedly collapsed. Eventually, frustrated by the lack of progress, Kawhi formally requested a trade.

The Spurs, realizing that he was nothing like Tim Duncan or the rest of their old core, made a last-minute push to offer him a max deal, but by then, it was too late. Even Gregg Popovich himself couldn't convince him to stay.

The drawn-out trade talks dragged on longer than even Han Sen's free agency decision, throwing the entire market into chaos.

Though Leonard wasn't on Han's level in terms of impact, he was still one of the league's few true two-way superstars. If healthy, any team trading for him would be getting a game-changer.

But therein lay the problem.

Trading for Leonard required giving up significant assets, and yet, with only one year left on his contract and a history of injuries, there was no guarantee he'd stay—or even be the same player.

It was a massive gamble, one that teams hesitated to make.

Eventually, the Spurs struck a deal with the Toronto Raptors, sending Leonard and Danny Green to Canada in exchange for DeMar DeRozan, Jakob Poeltl, and a protected 2019 first-round pick.

For the Raptors, this was an all-in move—giving up their franchise cornerstone, a promising young big, and a future asset for a player who might walk in a year.

At first glance, this trade had nothing to do with the Kings. But then, the details emerged.

As reports surfaced, it was revealed that Sacramento had attempted to get in on the action. The Kings had offered a package of Jayson Tatum, Rudy Gay, and a future first-round pick for Leonard.

And that was when Han Sen lost it.

Because he had never been informed.

Which meant Divac had gone behind his back.

The pieces weren't hard to put together. Han had repeatedly shut down Divac's suggestions in the past, so this time, the Kings' GM had bypassed both him and Rondo and negotiated directly with the Spurs.

Technically, Divac was still the general manager. But in reality? Everyone knew who was truly in charge.

And this wasn't just about a trade. This was about betrayal.

Had the trade gone through, it would have been a steal—Han knew that much. Leonard, when healthy, was a generational talent. But it wasn't about that.

It was about Rudy Gay.

Divac had tried to trade away one of Han's most valued teammates. And now that the deal had fallen apart, the damage was done—the locker room had a ticking time bomb.

And the worst part? The media had a new narrative.

"Han Sen is no different from LeBron—sacrificing young talent to bring in another superstar."

For his [hater system], controversy was great. But internal strife? That was another problem entirely.

So Han wasted no time. The moment he got back to Sacramento, he went straight to Vivek Ranadivé with a demand.

Fire Divac.

Being dumb was one thing—Han could deal with that, as long as the guy stayed out of the way.

But being dumb and thinking you're smart?

That was unacceptable.

Vivek didn't hesitate. The very next day, Divac was gone.

Hall of Fame player or not, in Han Sen's kingdom, he was nothing.

And honestly? Even if Vivek had wanted to keep him, it wouldn't have been possible. The damage had been done. The locker room was unstable, and keeping Divac around would only make things worse.

As he left, Divac threw one last shot at the organization.

"They will never succeed. Because from the start, this franchise has been run by people who don't understand basketball."

The Kings didn't care. Han didn't care.

Instead, Vivek took it a step further.

Firing Divac wasn't enough—he handed full control of the Kings' front office to Han.

If he was going to commit to Han, it had to be all the way.

Because if Han Sen couldn't lead the Kings to success, then no one could.

Han hadn't expected Vivek to go that far. But if the power was in his hands, he wasn't about to refuse.

And he already had the perfect man for the job.

One call.

That's all it took.

Chris Wallace.

The former GM of the Memphis Grizzlies. The man who resigned rather than have Han's re-signing go down as part of his legacy.

After leaving Memphis, Wallace had been hired by the Brooklyn Nets as their team president, helping oversee their rebuild. Under his tenure, the Nets had drafted Jayson Tatum, Jaylen Brown, and Lonzo Ball—a strong track record.

But new ownership meant new leadership. This summer, Wallace had been let go.

Now?

He was exactly what Han needed.

Wallace had already made a stand for him once. He wouldn't pull the kind of stunt Divac had.

With his hiring, the Kings' power structure was now entirely Han's.

From the team president, to the GM, to the head coach.

Every decision was his.

And now, there was only one thing left to do.

If he was going to be the true king of Sacramento—

He needed a crown.

---

After finalizing the general manager hire, Han Sen kicked off his annual personal training camp in Sacramento.

This year's camp was livelier than ever, not just because of the influx of new talent—but because someone showed up that Han never expected to see.

A familiar backpack. A packet of instant noodles in hand. And that unmistakable, forever-unchanged hairline.

Eight years later—Kevin Durant was back at Han Sen's camp.

And he wasn't alone.

Kyrie Irving walked in right beside him.

What was even more surprising? They both looked happy—smiling, relaxed. When they greeted Han, it was like old friends catching up, as if nothing had ever happened.

Kyrie's presence made sense. His fallout had been with Cleveland's front office, not Han.

But Durant?

That one was harder to figure out.

Still, Han didn't ask.

Sometimes, the answers you chase never come. But when you stop looking? They find their way to you.

As camp neared its end, Durant finally approached him.

"Aren't you curious why I came this year?"

Han leaned back, unfazed. "You showed up. That's all that matters."

Because with Durant in the mix, the competition level at camp had skyrocketed.

Han had spent his system points upgrading his wingspan this offseason, and just like when he enhanced his athletic talents, training alone wasn't enough. He needed elite competition to fully integrate his new advantages.

And Durant?

The perfect test.

So, as far as Han was concerned, KD's arrival had been a blessing.

Durant's expression tightened slightly—Han really had no filter.

But instead of getting mad, KD just continued.

"Kyrie told me your camp needed higher-level competition," he said, voice steady. "So I came."

Han blinked.

Wait.

What?

"So... you're telling me you showed up just to help me?"

Durant nodded, completely sure of himself.

"Because you left Cleveland. That means this season's championship belongs to us."