NBA: Northeast China's spectacular dunks sweep the entire league.

The glass facade of the Oakland Warriors headquarters reflected the scorching California sun, and the air conditioning in the conference room was blasting, but it couldn't dampen the enthusiasm in some people's hearts.

Lin Hao sat at the conference table, with half a box of unfinished canned yellow peaches at his feet. He twirled the pen he had just signed and glanced at the management team members present.

The atmosphere was a little awkward.

The group that was arrogant and vehemently opposed to hiring Dale Curry just a month ago are now all bowing their heads, pretending to be very interested in the coffee report in their hands.

General Manager Mu Lin sat in the main seat, holding the newly printed contract in his hand, the paper slightly wrinkled from his grip.

That was Dell Curry's three-year assistant coach contract.

Annual salary of $30.

In 2003, this was an astronomical sum for a recently retired "role player" with no coaching qualifications. But Mullin knew in his heart that the money was well spent, extremely well spent.

The image of Lin Hao beating the main team to a pulp with his "Northeast Sniper" setup during yesterday's team test match was still replaying in his mind.

"Cough cough."

Mu Lin cleared his throat, breaking the silence in the conference room. He stood up, holding the contract, and walked over to Lin Hao.

This time, instead of sitting in the boss's chair waiting for his subordinates to report, he bent down and handed over the contract with both hands.

"Lin," Mullin's voice was a little hoarse, but his eyes were sincere, "This past year, we've made a mistake in our judgment. We almost missed out on such an excellent coach as Dale, and we almost ruined the team's future."

Lin Hao didn't take the contract. Instead, he crossed his legs and looked at him with a half-smile: "President Mu Lin, what are you up to now? Didn't you say last week that Uncle Dell was inexperienced and couldn't be signed?"

Mullin blushed slightly, but as a professional manager, he still possessed this level of composure. He took a deep breath and solemnly said:

"I apologize, Lin. As the general manager of the Warriors, I apologize to you and to Dell Curry."

As he spoke, he even gave a slight bow.

The meeting room erupted in commotion, and several young managers nearly spilled their coffee in shock. Everyone knew Chris Mullin was notoriously stubborn; getting him to back down was harder than climbing Mount Everest.

Lin Hao looked at Mu Lin, and the anger he felt finally subsided. He wasn't the type to hold a grudge, after all, everyone was doing it for the good of the team.

He took the contract, didn't even look at it, and handed it directly to Dell Curry, who was sitting next to him.

"Uncle Dale, take a look. If we're not satisfied, we won't sign. We'll go to another team; plenty of people want us."

"No need to look at it anymore," Dale Curry said with a smile, taking the contract with a look of satisfaction in his eyes. "Lin, thank you. I'll sign this contract."

Dell picked up the pen and signed his name heavily on the figure representing $90 over three years.

With a "click," the pen cap was put on.

At this moment, the history of the NBA was quietly rewritten.

Dell Curry has officially become the first full-time shooting coach in NBA history.

His responsibility is no longer to make comprehensive tactical arrangements, but to focus on one thing—to make every player on the court shoot more accurately.

"good!"

Lin Hao slapped his thigh and stood up abruptly, his straightforward Northeastern spirit kicking in. "That's more like it! Why didn't we just do it this way earlier? Why all the fuss and pretense!"

He walked up to Mullin and extended his hand: "Mr. Mullin, from now on we're in the same boat. Don't worry, as long as Uncle Dale is here, the Warriors' three-point shooting will be absolutely unmatched in the league!"

Mullin gripped Lin Hao's hand tightly and shook it vigorously: "Lin, thank you. Not only for the team, but also for opening the eyes of this old man."

The signing ceremony was simple, with no media and no flashbulbs.

Lin Hao asked Zhao Dabao to bring over the box of canned yellow peaches, one for each person.

"Come on, let's celebrate Uncle Dale's official start!" Lin Hao snapped open the can of peaches, the sweet aroma instantly filling the conference room. "We Northeasterners are all about practicality. From now on, if anyone dares to say Uncle Dale isn't good enough, I'll smash a can of peaches over their head!"

Everyone burst into laughter, and the awkward atmosphere from before vanished.

Dell Curry, holding the contract, looked at the group of young men, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He had originally come to Golden State with a try-it-out mentality, but he never expected to meet a mentor like Lin Hao.

"Lin," Dell Curry put down the contract and looked at Lin Hao, "I won't let you down. Next season, I'll turn Richardson, Murphy, and every other guard on the team into sharpshooters."

"I believe you, Uncle Dale." Lin Hao grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "By the way, Mr. Mu Lin, now that the contract is signed, can our 'Northeast Sniper' tactic be officially incorporated into the team's system?"

Mullin nodded quickly: "Of course! From today onwards, you and Dale will be fully responsible for the offense. I and Nelson will also provide full support."

Speaking of Don Nelson, Mullin paused, then lowered his voice and said, "Actually, I've already spoken with Don Nelson. He's very interested in your run-and-gun philosophy and Dale's shooting drills. He'll come over to take up his post as soon as his paperwork is done."

Lin Hao's eyes lit up.

Is Nelson coming?

That mad scientist, the godfather of run-and-gun basketball?

If Don Nelson could take the helm, with Dell Curry in charge of shooting, and someone else to anchor the defense...

Lin Hao instantly conjured up a picture in his mind: a Warriors team whose offense was as smooth as mercury, whose defense was as solid as an iron barrel, and whose three-pointers were as torrential as a downpour!

The scene was so beautiful.

"Alright, business's done." Lin Hao waved his hand, stuffed the contract into his pocket, and said, "President Mu, if there's nothing else, I'll be going now. Old Dai, let's go, I'll treat you to braised goose in an iron pot! To celebrate your promotion!"

"Wait," Mullin called out to him, taking an envelope from his drawer. "This is your player option extension for next season, 5 years, $5000 million. I was going to give it to you later, but now it seems like this contract isn't enough. Mullin, you deserve more."

Lin Hao took the envelope without even glancing at the numbers inside.

5000?

It is indeed a lot, but for someone like him who wants to lead the team to a championship, money is just a number.

"Thanks, Mr. Mulin." Lin Hao stuffed the envelope into his bag. "Next season, I'll make you feel like this money was well spent."

He turned to look at Dell Curry, his eyes resolute: "Uncle Dell, next season, we only have one goal—the championship."

Stepping out of the building, the sea breeze from Auckland felt refreshing.

Lin Hao took out his phone and sent Zhang Qingying a text message: "Qingying, it's done. Dell got a permanent position, and I renewed my contract too. When you come in the summer, I'll take you to Oracle Arena to watch a game, we'll sit in the front row!"

After sending the text message, he looked at the blue sky and took a deep breath.

All the groundwork has been laid.

The coaching staff is in place, the core tactics are in place, and the roster is being strengthened.

Now, only the last piece of the puzzle is left.

The man known as "The Glove" was Gary Payton.

Lin Hao smirked and jumped into the rented van.

"Come on, Lao Dai, let's go eat! You need to eat well to have the energy to work!"

With engines roaring, we sped towards the goal of winning the championship.