Welcome to the NBA, Kid
I was checking on LeBron's condition when I suddenly found myself facing his raw fury.
The Cleveland players charged over in a rage.
Kevin Love shoved me aside first to check on LeBron, while Tristan Thompson hurled curses and glared daggers at me. I raised both palms to show it wasn't intentional and quietly stepped back. Still worried, I kept tilting my head to watch the situation until Kyrie Irving patted my chest, as if trying to calm me down.
"Ah… Yes."
He was surprisingly sweet. It was hard to believe this was the same player I'd just battled in a showdown. Irving comforted me, then checked on LeBron himself before nodding in my direction.
Following that gesture, LeBron sat up, rubbed his scalp several times with his palm, and inspected it with his eyes. Then he sprang to his feet and walked to the free-throw line. He didn't criticize me or shoot me any dirty looks. If anything, he avoided eye contact altogether.
The two free throws that came with the Flagrant 1 foul.
After he sank both, the game was set to resume with Cleveland's possession. But because LeBron had hit the floor, the sweat on the court hadn't been properly cleaned, so play was delayed for a moment. In that window, I quickly asked Millsap to switch matchups and stepped in front of LeBron.
"…"
LeBron chewed his mouthpiece with a blank expression.
He finally showed some emotion, as if the situation amused even him. In an indifferent voice, he replied.
"Still… it's true I pushed too hard because I wanted to get your attention."
LeBron shrugged.
That was exactly me.
LeBron shook his head.
"So you really weren't planning to go hard today. I tried everything to draw it out of you."
Maybe because the conversation had opened up, or maybe because my play had left some impression on him. Either way, even after we entered the fourth quarter, LeBron kept indulging the small talk. His prickly, intimidating image aside, he was actually witty and easygoing. I stood in front of him on defense and chatted whenever there was a break. At one point he brought up the exhibition game he'd played for the U.S. military in Korea.
"That game is legendary back home. Korea has a ton of your fans."
"Yeah?"
"Your nickname in our country is God. Lebsin… or I guess you could say they call you LebGOD."
Even I wasn't dumb enough to mention the "bald head" nickname here. When I told him that, he burst into a hearty laugh, clearly not in a bad mood.
Of course the game kept moving properly the whole time. We were cruising toward victory, leading by thirteen points.
'Cleveland's going to put their starters back in soon.'
I decided to ask before that happened.
"You said I wasn't ready earlier. What exactly does 'ready' mean?"
It was probably meant in a mental sense, but it could have been technical too, so I asked even if it made me sound a little pushy. As expected, it was the mental side.
LeBron kept going, telling me to keep pushing.
Then LeBron glanced at the bench.
He signaled to Irving, who had the ball, and took the pass himself.
"…!"
I flinched and created some space.
'Is he really coming at me?'
I didn't know what had changed in his mind. LeBron quickly adjusted his teammates' positions, then dribbled with a light rhythm—tap, tap—lifting his body with feather-light steps to maximize his spring.
'Here it comes…!'
It felt like a cannon preparing to fire.
"Hup!"
"…!?"
Bang! LeBron exploded past my side. I tried to slide my body into his path and bump him off course. That alone had stopped most players' drives so far.
But then—boom!!
"Urk!?"
Was this what it felt like to get hit by a giant hammer? The collision forced some of the air out of my lungs and sent my body reeling.
'He's strong!'
His power was clearly above Kevin Love's—higher than Julius Randle's. And LeBron was driving at a speed that matched mine despite that power. Gritting my teeth, I tried desperately to shove his path away from the basket, but he advanced like a train on perfectly laid tracks, stubbornly pushing forward.
'Damn it, I have to force him out if I want any chance at a block…!'
But right then, LeBron cleverly leaned into me exactly as he'd intended and rose up.
'Oh no—I've been had…!?'
My contesting arm got dragged along naturally. The whistle blew—tweet!—and LeBron laid the ball up with his left hand a half-beat early. And-one. It was the signature driving layup that defined him.
"Hmm."
LeBron shrugged twice as if it were nothing and headed to the free-throw line. Then he tossed me that welcoming line.
"…!"
It was the kind of initiation greeting given to rookies. The height of humiliation. Yet because it came from the league's best player instead of some average one, the words that should have stung didn't feel so bad.
'Well, I got hit in more ways than one.'
I'd run like hell trying to shake him up, but LeBron had handled me lightly, like a child. After swishing the extra free throw, he deliberately committed a foul on the next possession and signaled the coach to call timeout. When the whistle blew, LeBron sat on the bench and pulled on a vest—a clear sign he was done for the night.
The game wrapped up smoothly after that.
Final score: 99-88. An eleven-point win for us. The Cleveland players headed straight for the locker room. Our guys stayed on the floor giving fan service—handing out shoes or jerseys, taking photos with courtside fans. Awkward as it was to say, the main character of all that attention was me. It was my first time showing myself to the fans, and above all, a huge number of Korean supporters had shown up. They stood and applauded me.
Afterward, fans crowded the railing near the tunnel leading to the locker room, asking for autographs. While I stood there wondering what to do, Korver nodded that it was fine.
"Thanks, Kyle."
I signed for about fifteen minutes and entered the locker room last. Every eye turned toward me—friendly, wary, envious, hostile. The real competition had officially begun with today's game: the battle for a spot in the opening-night starting lineup.
"I think today was a game with plenty to learn from. Cleveland is clearly a team that will stand in our way going forward, so reflect on this matchup thoroughly. Good work, everyone."
The players dispersed. Since it was a home game, they began making evening plans and chatting cheerfully. An invitation came my way too.
It was Korver. Looked like Dragic had moved fast after our earlier conversation.
"Ah, I'm the one who should apologize. The gift was way overdue. Let's do dinner next time—I already have plans tonight."
After showering, I handled a quick interview in the locker room and headed out. My destination wasn't home but the airport—a direct flight from Korea. Direct flights to Atlanta had been rare before, but regular ones started after my trade here. On that flight came some very welcome faces.
"Seo-jun!"
Shin Won-hyung and his wife Kim Yoon-mi had arrived with Su-ryeon and Seo-eun. The couple must have checked the game results after landing, because they were making a huge fuss.
"Aigoo, I should've been there in person."
"That's why I told you we should come a day earlier!"
They had arrived on October 26th—eight days before my birthday. I'd told them it was fine, but they insisted on coming anyway. I'd also asked if they could bring Seo-eun along, and it seemed Mother had taken a real liking to her.
"I don't know how such a kind and sharp girl exists. She must be an amazing cook too."
"Haha… How's Su-bin doing these days? I saw he played well, but… is team life okay?"
"Yeah, it's fine. He has a hard time with the veterans, but the club is supporting him."
"Well, they say Rookie of the Year is basically locked in. If Su-bin wins it, you'll have to throw a party."
"Hohoh, listen to you. They've only played five games—what are you talking about?"
Still, the smile never left her face.
"Let's head to the hotel first. Rest up today and tomorrow."
I sent the Shin family to the hotel and took only Seo-eun home with me. She had blended perfectly into the group. She and Su-ryeon seemed to have grown close already; they laughed together while planning Atlanta sightseeing. On the drive home she kept praising how wonderful Uncle and Mother were. Once we arrived, her eyes sparkled as she looked around.
"The house is so nice!"
"It's just a temporary apartment. Next year we'll look for a real house together. If we get one with a yard, we can even raise a dog."
"It's okay. You like apartment-style places anyway, right? I like them too. We don't need a yard."
"True. We won't need a big house until we have a baby."
"…Yeah."
At the word "baby," Seo-eun blushed and squirmed. Her eyes grew misty in an instant, but when she saw the dressing room her expression turned serious.
"…I saw your work outfit earlier."
"You did? It looked good, right? I dressed pretty well, didn't I?"
"It's too plain. That won't work. The other players come dressed so sharp—if you look ordinary, you'll stand out for the wrong reasons."
"I-is that how it is…"
"Yeah, so I'll pick out a few things for you."
She would make the best possible coordination with what I already owned. Sensing that this had become her battlefield, Seo-eun began organizing my clothes with deadly seriousness.
Around the same time, Assistant General Manager Robert sat rubbing his forehead, lost in thought. It was all because of Seo-jun. His preseason debut had created countless talking points.
Seo-jun had dropped 20 points on 9-of-14 shooting with perfect free-throw accuracy. Even though it was preseason, no one had ever put up a performance like that in the exhibition slate, so the entire country had no choice but to explode with excitement.
The basketball community was on fire. Two superstars had emerged at once.
What Assistant GM Robert was agonizing over was precisely the Rookie of the Year race.
'If I want him competing for Rookie of the Year, does that mean I have to start him from the beginning of the season…?'
Opinions inside Atlanta were split. Some pushed to accelerate Seo-jun's development immediately, while others argued they should wait until the trade deadline since they already had the excellent DeMarre Carroll. Robert belonged to the latter camp. If Seo-jun became a starter too quickly, Carroll's trade value would plummet. Above all, benching Carroll—who was grinding desperately for a big free-agency payday—would make him unhappy for sure.
Ideally Carroll would start through January and Seo-jun would take over in February, but…
"Robert."
After the home game against Charlotte on October 20th, Head Coach Budenholzer came to him.
"…"
Being named a starter for opening night carried special weight. It was a declaration that the team planned to roll with that lineup for the foreseeable future. That was why the coach had come to the GM for confirmation—such a move would affect the entire direction of team management.
Budenholzer nodded but drew a clear line, saying it wasn't his problem.
"So using Lee Seo-jun is the best option?"
"In the long term, yes. Carroll is a solid defender, but…"
Budenholzer continued in a heavy tone.
"…!"
"More importantly, he's already a better rebounder than Carroll. You know what our chronic weakness has been, don't you?"
"Rebounding control…"
It stemmed from starting center Al Horford's lack of height.
Budenholzer went on to explain the other unique advantages Seo-jun could bring.
"I understand. Still, let's hold off for now. We still have games and training sessions left on the schedule."
Two days later, after a road game in San Antonio, Atlanta completed its entire preseason schedule. Seo-jun had proven his offensive firepower with 20, 13, and 15 points across the three games. Even in the second and third contests, where he hadn't done anything flashy, he still scored in double figures in roughly twenty-five minutes of action.
The problem was that DeMarre Carroll had played well too. He scored only nine against Cleveland but dropped eighteen versus Charlotte and twenty against San Antonio by knocking down four threes. Across the five preseason games before Cleveland, he had averaged 14.6 points—a sign he might be headed for a career year.
'This is really troublesome.'
They couldn't bench high-salary veterans like Kyle Korver or Paul Millsap, either.
'If this had been early in preseason we could've gathered more data.'
All that remained now was the season opener in Toronto on the 29th. They had six days of training to make their decision.
'Thinking by myself won't get anywhere.'
Robert immediately called a staff meeting. The head coach, assistant coaches, scouts, video analysts, advanced scouts, and front-office executives all gathered. The problem was that opinions here were just as sharply divided.
The fact that Carroll was making only $2.5 million was key. Atlanta was just over ninety percent of the salary cap, leaving roughly $7.5 million in space. They could trade Carroll and absorb a $10 million player from another team. The real value lay in taking on a bad contract from a win-now squad. In exchange, that team would gain cap flexibility while receiving a high-level swingman like Carroll. If they played their cards right until the trade deadline, they might even be able to extract more than a first-round pick.
Those who wanted to keep Carroll in the starting lineup for now versus those who wanted to install Seo-jun immediately. The GM was in the first group, the coach in the second. The clash of opinions showed no sign of narrowing.