NBA: Journey To Become Unplayable.

Finally, the hard grind was starting to show results.

The accumulation of basic ability points from game after game had finally triggered a jump in Lin Yi's system.

Lin Yi had been waiting—agonizing, really—for this moment.

Because no one, except him, truly understood the kind of pain he had gone through under the merciless defense of the so-called Anti-Lin Alliance. Night after night, they had been testing him, targeting him, trying to expose every weakness.

And now, at long last, the system confirmed it: the basic abilities across all five positions—center, power forward, small forward, shooting guard, and point guard—had been upgraded from silver tier to gold tier.

Lin Yi knew what that meant. A gold card player usually ranked in the 80–85 range. And with his unique badges and physical gifts stacked on top, he was finally starting to resemble the version of himself he'd always seen in NBA 2K.

Of course, catching up to his video game self and dishing out revenge to the defenders who tormented him wasn't going to happen overnight. There was still work to be done.

The system's influx of new knowledge felt like a revelation—but also a burden. Lin Yi had to translate that knowledge into actual skill through training, games, and endless repetition. The upgrade raised his ceiling, but reaching it was up to him.

Still, the difference was noticeable. Even in a one-on-one against Tyson Chandler, the improvements shone through. In the higher-intensity clashes, those small details—an extra half-step, a quicker read, a tighter handle—could be the difference between a stop and a score.

And then there was the future to think about. The path from gold to amethyst had been revealed. But the cost? One hundred and twenty official NBA games.

Lin Yi groaned at the thought. If only he could stop the looming lockout. Not for the paycheck—though money was never a bad thing—but for the experience points. That's what really hurt.

Training became Lin Yi's testing ground.

…

One afternoon, his dribbling had even caught the eye of Stephon Marbury. The veteran shook his head with a half-smile, watching Lin Yi run through his drills.

Lin Yi smiled, not breaking stride.

Later that day, during a break, he went head-to-head with Chandler again. He dribbled left, knees bent, body low, eyes flashing at the rim. His right hand hovered, protecting the ball. To Chandler, it looked like Lin Yi was about to pull up.

But in an instant, Lin Yi's right hand slid across the ball, flipping it into a sudden change of direction. Chandler stumbled, overbalanced, and went crashing to the hardwood.

His teammates howled, some doubling over, but thankfully, no one had their phone out.

If they had? Chandler's face would've been plastered all over YouTube by sundown.

What Lin Yi had just executed was the classic "Buddha worship" move—selling the fake by shifting his weight three separate times. The coordination required was enormous, and few players dared attempt it in real games.

Lin Yi, however, was starting to simplify. The flash was fun, but efficiency mattered more now. His go-to was increasingly the step-back jumper or a sharp through-the-legs crossover into a hand-change drive.

But with all the time available during the lockout, Lin Yi figured: why not expand the arsenal? Why not take a page from James Harden's book?

The Harden-style step-back fascinated him. To the naked eye, it looked suspiciously like traveling. But on closer inspection—especially in slow motion—most of them were clean. The trick was subtle: stealing that extra half-step at the moment of gathering the ball.

Of course, Harden occasionally did sneak in one too many steps. But hey, even referees had blind spots.

For big men, mastering that move was borderline impossible. The footwork, balance, and agility required were elite guard-level.

But Lin Yi wasn't just another big man. If he nailed this, he'd add a new weapon to his already growing arsenal.

Billups, watching courtside, couldn't help but laugh. "That's too quick… even I can't get that low anymore."

Marbury chimed in, nodding. "Facts. The kid's handle is cleaner than half the starting guards in the league now. No joke."

Billups' words were partly admiration, partly self-awareness. The veteran point guard had mileage on his legs. The days of pulling out ankle-breaking dribbles mid-game were behind him.

Still, the respect was real.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Knicks first assistant coach Kenny Atkinson's imagination was running wild.

"Imagine if we draft a power forward next year," he whispered to Phil Weber, who was standing beside him. "We could slide Lin to point guard. Think about it. A seven-footer running the offense."

Fourth Asst. Coach Weber raised an eyebrow but grinned. "That's some mad scientist stuff right there."

Head coach Mike D'Antoni overheard and immediately shot Donaldson a look. "Don't even start with that idea. Forget it."

Kenny chuckled nervously, shrugging. "Just saying… it'd be fun."

It wasn't that D'Antoni doubted Lin Yi's ability to play guard. The kid clearly had the skillset. What worried him was the risk. Lin Yi had already cut back on some of the flashy, high-risk dribbles that made D'Antoni sweat through his suit. The last thing he wanted was his franchise cornerstone getting injured experimenting with a position change.

Of course, D'Antoni had no way of knowing Lin Yi had a little extra insurance up his sleeve. And Lin Yi? He wasn't about to tell his coach he had a system protecting him from serious harm.

Some secrets were better kept.

...

The curtain fell on February, and with it came the madness of March.

College basketball in the U.S. was already buzzing, but this year the NCAA felt the ripple effect of what some were calling the Lin Yi virus. Big men across the country were suddenly changing their approach, drifting further away from the paint, stretching the floor in hopes of catching the eyes of NBA scouts.

And really, who could blame them?

After Lin Yi, every scout in America was looking for the next one. If there was a first, there had to be a second, maybe even a third. That was the nature of the business—copycat trends, shifting styles.

The value of a big man who could step outside and hit threes was skyrocketing. Yet Lin Yi also knew this was, in many ways, the year of the guard.

Kemba Walker, the fearless point guard out of UConn, was on the cusp of leading his team through a miracle March run. Kyrie Irving, despite playing only a handful of games for Duke, was already cementing himself as a top pick. And then there was Brandon Knight at Kentucky—steady, composed, and highly regarded. The guard class was stacked.

As for the bigs? Jonas Valanciunas and Nikola Vucevic were the ones riding the wave the most. Both Europeans, both capable of stepping out beyond the arc. In the past, they might have been told to abandon the three-point shot, to toughen up and live in the paint if they wanted NBA attention. But now, the tide had turned. Old-school low-post bruisers were fading, and versatile stretch bigs were the future. Their draft stock was climbing because of it.

While March was stirring in the NCAA, Lin Yi was owning the NBA.

Another month down, another award in hand. He collected the Eastern Conference Player of the Month like it was a routine stop on his commute. The Knicks had swept through February with a perfect record, and even if the league had wanted to balance things out, there was no room for doubt—Lin Yi had been untouchable.

His numbers for the month were staggering: 31.4 points, 12.9 rebounds, 5.7 assists, 2.7 blocks, and 1.5 steals per game. Efficiency to match, too—53.1% from the field, 43.8% from three, and a jaw-dropping 94.5% at the line.

Opponents were growing reluctant to even test him. After his quadruple-double in the season, fewer and fewer players dared challenge him at the rim. Instead, they'd settle for long twos, those dreaded low-efficiency shots, just to avoid becoming his next highlight. Lin Yi hated it. He wanted the battles, the blocks, the moments where he could impose himself. But fear was winning.

His scoring lead was safe, and the MVP ladder had him firmly at the top. Fans and media had adjusted to a new normal—Lin Yi sitting atop every major statistical leaderboard.

The Knicks, meanwhile, were perched at number one in the power rankings, a spot they'd owned for seven straight weeks.

Now the media spotlight burned hotter on Miami, where LeBron James and the Heat were taking their lumps.

Some critics said LeBron's dominance was slipping. Lin Yi knew better. James hadn't even reached his true peak yet. Once he mastered the three-point shot, he'd be like Thanos snapping his fingers with a full Infinity Gauntlet. Terrifying, inevitable.

Out West, Kevin Durant was doing his best to keep pace. He'd taken home Western Conference Player of the Month honors, averaging 30.4 points per game. It was an incredible run, but with Lin Yi's numbers, the scoring crown felt out of reach.

Lin Yi often puzzled over Durant. The man cared about his reputation, about what was being said, yet rarely acted on it. In the future, Lin Yi knew, Durant would be infamous for spats on Twitter with anonymous fans. From Lin Yi's perspective, that was wasted energy. Criticism was proof of popularity. It meant people cared enough to talk about you.

Durant's efficiency was so elite that he could've easily taken two or three more shots a night. Especially since Westbrook, in this stage of his career, was more than willing to feed him the ball. Durant's reluctance? A mystery Lin Yi couldn't quite solve.

Elsewhere in the league, the Rookie of the Month races remained predictable. John Wall in the East, Blake Griffin in the West. Rookie of the Year looked destined for Griffin; the Clippers, at least, had put together a better record than the Wizards. And honestly, the Wizards were doomed anyway—the Knicks had battered them too many times for Wall to have any real shot.

But all of that was secondary. Because March brought a fresh test for the Knicks.

Their first game of the month was a showdown with the Oklahoma City Thunder.

And hanging over it all was the question every fan was asking:

Could the Knicks extend their streak and aim for the Rockets' historic 22-game run?

The answer would begin in Oklahoma.

...

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