Challenging the King
Lee Seo-jun had never faced the world’s true best player in a real game.
The Ronaldo he met had already slipped past his prime. He had witnessed Lewandowski, Erling Haaland, and Eden Hazard at their peaks, yet even they fell just short of that final two percent required to be called the undisputed greatest.
In the end, that was how it was.
He had wanted to face Messi.
The player every single person on the planet acknowledged as the best.
And now that wish had come true in basketball.
“Huuup…!”
The breath he drew in felt strangely heavy.
This play had broken the tactical agreement. Going one-on-one against LeBron had never been part of the plan before, and it was highly unlikely it ever would be again.
Still, he had wanted to try it.
LeBron James—the man who stood alone as the NBA’s number one. A player at the transcendent level Seo-jun had known from his future knowledge. He wanted to feel that presence with his own body. He wanted to measure the gap between himself and the greatest in the world.
“Huu…!”
He exhaled slowly. A sense of calm settled over him as he glanced at the shot clock.
Fourteen seconds… Since I’ve already gone off-script, I might as well use every last one.
He would take his time. The best way to do that was simple.
Post-up.
Seo-jun turned his body and stepped into LeBron.
LeBron offered no reaction whatsoever.
Seo-jun slammed his back into him. Thud!
And then—
“…!”
It felt as if he had thrown himself against a dense, iron-woven net. The sensation was utterly foreign.
He was being pushed back, yes. In pure power alone, the European centers he had faced were stronger than LeBron. But those players had felt like towering walls—easy to maneuver around. LeBron was different.
This man wrapped around him, binding his movement, cutting off every lateral escape route.
If I try a spin move now, he’ll mirror it instantly!
Seo-jun pushed harder, driving with his back in a classic backdown. He scraped and clawed his way to the elbow, then twisted his shoulder, hunting for daylight.
Thud!Thud!Creak!Creak!
His signature attack. The bully ball that had eventually shoved even Julius Randle backward.
It didn’t work.
He had barely reached the edge of the paint when the shot clock ticked down to four seconds. At that point his only options were a forced drive, a desperate shot, or dumping the dead ball off to a teammate.
That can’t happen.
He had to be smarter. Much smarter.
Then he saw it.
Kyle Korver was cutting along the baseline from the right corner. But Seo-jun wasn’t yet in position to deliver the ball cleanly. To give Korver a perfect pass he would need to whip it to LeBron’s left or right, yet the required motion felt cumbersome in this tight spot.
Had LeBron anticipated this and forced him here on purpose, or was it simply luck?
No. He definitely read it.
Then Seo-jun had to find the next answer. If left and right were sealed, he would go over or under. But even a lob would likely be swatted by those long hands.
That left only one final option.
Maybe it was because he had once been a soccer player, but…
LeBron’s spread legs looked far too inviting.
Seo-jun moved at once. He took a quick step-back, lowered his trajectory as much as possible, and fired the pass straight through LeBron’s legs.
Even LeBron hadn’t expected a between-the-legs pass on the very first possession; his reaction was a fraction too slow.
Tang!! The ball skipped off the floor.
The pass was nearly impossible to catch cleanly—the ball had been hidden behind LeBron’s body until the bounce—yet Korver bent low and hauled it in. In the same motion he rose for a reverse layup and finished cleanly.
-WHOOOOOO!
The home crowd roared. A quick glance revealed even Coach Budenholzer staring wide-eyed, clearly not expecting such an acrobatic pass.
“Nice pass!”
Korver thrust his palm out. Seo-jun slapped it hard.
Everyone except DeMarre Carroll offered praise.
“Huu! Huu…!”
Seo-jun’s breath came short. It had been only fourteen seconds of offense, yet the mental exhaustion was immense.
This is LeBron James…!
The pressure was something he had never experienced before. And LeBron wasn’t even playing seriously. His expression had remained perfectly calm from tip-off until now. There was simply no reason to exert himself in a preseason game.
I want to change that expression no matter what.
Right now, that was his only goal.
Seo-jun had opened the game with a flashy between-the-legs pass and immediately scored. The internet reaction was explosive.
However, that wasn’t the case.
LeBron showed zero reaction and willingly handed the next possession to his teammates. There was no reason to test his own offensive arsenal here; instead he focused intently on how his teammates were moving.
Tristan Thompson, stationed at the left short corner, raised his hand.
“James!”
Thompson made it clear he wanted to try a post-up. LeBron nodded and delivered a crisp entry pass.
Thump! Thompson caught it with his back to Seo-jun, already imagining the bucket and the humiliating trash talk that would follow.
I’ll stomp him flat.
He was a legitimate 2.06-meter big. Seo-jun was merely a two-meter swingman. Thompson might not boast elite physical tools, but against an Asian player he believed he could dominate this matchup.
Thud! Thompson drove in.
“…!?”
He was pushed back barely a single centimeter.
Thud.Thud. Meaningless knocks against a wall.
What the hell is this guy?!
It felt like trying to move a block of hardened jelly rooted to the floor. Seo-jun’s post defense was rigid yet flexible, sticky and unrelenting.
“Ugh…!”
With no other choice, Thompson tried to force his way through. He had no reliable jump shot, so his only alternative was to pass the ball out.
With a gather-step he barreled toward the rim. The release point was high enough that even Seo-jun couldn’t easily block it, but contesting the shooting hand was possible. Since Thompson hadn’t gotten deep enough, the shot became a distant floater that met strong resistance. Missing the rim entirely was, given Thompson’s shooting ability, entirely expected.
Airball! Lee Seo-jun’s defensive stop!
They could push in transition right away! Ah… never mind, they’re taking it slow.
Cleveland turnover.
Seo-jun shot Thompson a cold glance.
“You don’t have any business with me. Tell the next guy to come out.”
“…!”
He had known from prior scouting. Thompson’s offensive repertoire consisted of catching lobs or crashing the offensive glass for putbacks. His only real one-on-one move was post-up, and it had just been proven that it posed no threat.
“Don’t get cocky just because you stopped me once on a fluke, you little—”
“Fluke? Haha. Then I’ve got nothing to say. Sure, let’s say you won that one. So stop talking to me now.”
If Thompson had won even a single exchange he might have claimed a moral victory. But there wasn’t one single play in which he had beaten Seo-jun.
Therefore Seo-jun’s message was crystal clear.
You’re annoying, so stay on the bench where you belong.
That remark cut Thompson deep.
The personal battle quickly spread across both teams. Players on the court always notice these things.
“Nice work, Lee! Keep cooking him!”
“Let’s go, Lee! Beat a guy who can only grab offensive boards, at least!”
Paul Millsap and Jeff Teague weren’t trying to calm the situation—they were fanning the flames. Kevin Love and Dion Waiters’ expressions darkened.
Teague once again set Seo-jun up for another one-on-one with LeBron. The first attempt had succeeded, so they would keep going until it failed. From Cleveland’s perspective, watching a rookie challenge their king was infuriating.
Thump! Seo-jun received the pass and squared up against LeBron once more.
-LEEEEEEEEEEE!!
The crowd noise rose to a new level.
Seo-jun went right back to bully ball. Learning from the previous possession, he attacked while preserving every possible passing angle.
Angle’s open!
He whipped the ball to Jeff Teague, who was cutting after a quick pivot. Teague drew in Waiters, then kicked it out to Kyle Korver in the right corner. Korver splashed the three. 12-12. Tie game.
Yet the one frowning was Seo-jun.
…
LeBron had allowed two decisive passes and still looked perfectly serene. Seo-jun’s blood began to boil.
He had known the opponent wasn’t going all-out, but at first he assumed it was simply pace management.
That wasn’t it at all.
LeBron was simply treating the game like a casual scrimmage.
Of course that’s how it feels to you.
It didn’t affect standings. There was no starting-spot battle. No need to impress the home fans. Just a meaningless warm-up game.
I get it. But this is the first opportunity like this I’ve ever had in my life.
Seo-jun steeled himself to draw out even a sliver of LeBron’s true intensity and shouted toward Millsap.
“Paul! Switch your man with me!”
He changed his defensive assignment from Thompson to Kevin Love.
In truth he wanted to guard LeBron himself, but he couldn’t disobey Coach Budenholzer’s direct order to contain Love and Thompson. So Love became the new target.
Love, naturally, scowled in irritation.
“You wanna go? With me? Seriously? Fine. Let’s do it.”
Love planted his body against Seo-jun and claimed the right elbow. He received the ball on a handoff from Kyrie Irving and suddenly found himself right in front of the paint.
Seo-jun was surprised by how smoothly it had happened.
This is what high-level two-on-two basketball looks like…!
Love began his move from a spot where a single step could reach the rim, but that was where the real test started.
He probed again and again with pivot moves, eventually forced to admit that Seo-jun’s defense was far better than expected.
This kid’s feet are ridiculously quick!
More than that, Love was shocked he wasn’t being moved by power. Even though Love was an undersized 2.03-meter big, he still hadn’t expected to be stalemated so completely.
“Six seconds!”
“Tsk!”
The shot clock had dwindled. In the end Love gave up on driving and spun into a hook shot.
Clang! The ball bounced off the rim.
Seo-jun snatched the defensive rebound himself.
Another stop.
“Come on, Seo-jun!”
“Keep going! You’re looking incredible right now!”
His teammates slapped his back in encouragement. Teague glanced at Coach Budenholzer, then tried to set Seo-jun up for yet another possession.
At that moment, Seo-jun—who was once again staring LeBron down—gritted his teeth.
Still nothing? Fine.
He asked DeMarre Carroll to switch the matchup again. He would hunt Love instead of LeBron.
Seo-jun posted up at the right elbow, received the pass from Teague, and went straight to work.
Love, still stinging from the previous failure, defended with everything he had. Seo-jun nevertheless attacked the bigger man with a post-up.
Thud!Thud! A rhythmic backdown. Then a seamless transition into a face-up drive.
Love’s defense was respectable. He surrendered some space but refused to be beaten cleanly, staying attached with help-side rotations. He tried to funnel the drive toward the perimeter, but—
“Ugh?!”
He barely moved him at all.
With a powerful grunt, Seo-jun endured the strength battle and exploded upward. Love swung his arm wildly, foul or no foul, but only managed to smack Seo-jun’s left forearm.
Whistle!
The foul call revealed the difference in their quickness. Their power was similar, but Seo-jun’s speed was clearly superior.
“Hup…!”
His left arm had been knocked away, yet Seo-jun ignored it. Focusing entirely on the control in his right palm, he rose and—
BOOM!! A thunderous one-handed slam.
-WAAAAAAAAAH—!
“Holy shit?!”
“Yes!! That’s how you do it!”
Love landed with a twisted scowl. Jeff Teague clutched his head in disbelief while Korver clapped wildly. Philips Arena shook with deafening cheers.
In answer, Seo-jun roared.
“Next──!!”
Thompson. Then Love.
Now bring on the next one.
A clear challenge aimed at LeBron.
…
Yet LeBron remained indifferent. He calmly wiped sweat from his palms onto his jersey and glanced toward the bench. Five minutes had passed in the first quarter; it was about time for substitutions.
Coach Blatt caught the look, nodded, and after Seo-jun sank the additional free throw, called timeout and replaced the entire starting lineup.
Seo-jun’s roar had echoed into empty space.
…Or so it seemed. The cry had reached someone else.
“I’ll take care of that guy.”
Kyrie Irving had answered the call for the next challenger.