LeBron James running away? He's going all in on Curry.

Boston, TD Garden.

The noise and violence shattered the stadium's dome in the very first second.

Twenty-three thousand die-hard Celtics fans, clad in dark green jerseys, thundered the old arena with their synchronized stomping, making it resemble a warship tilting in a storm.

The score is now 3-3.

A do-or-die Game 7!

Just two and a half minutes into the game, fueled by the almost frenzied cheers of the home crowd, the Boston team launched a lightning attack!

Irving's pull-up jumper, Washington's cut to the basket, and Gafford's rim protection block in the paint gave the Celtics a 9-4 run and an early lead!

However, what truly ignited the entire arena was Doncic's counter-attack in the third minute!

The Heat missed a shot in the frontcourt, Gafford grabbed the rebound and handed it to Doncic.

The chubby boy didn't slow down at all, shifted into high gear, and dribbled the ball past the center circle.

Jimmy Butler gritted his teeth and retreated, his feet half a step outside the fair zone of impact, his elbows outstretched and his waist bent, ready to use his body to intercept the European heavy tank charging at full speed.

But tonight, Doncic's ankle pain seemed to be numbed by a surge of adrenaline!

In the fraction of a second before the two were about to collide, Doncic defied gravity and slumped to the right with his shoulder, executing a bizarrely fast stop and a quick pass. In the instant Butler's center of gravity faltered slightly, he launched himself into the air!

Muscle clash!

A dull thud echoed in mid-air, sending Butler sprawling backward, while Doncic, with one arm outstretched, slammed the ball into the basket, just past Butler's fingertips!

"boom--!!"

A thunderous dunk over a defender!

Upon landing, Doncic didn't even bother with retreating on defense. He grabbed his green jersey, veins bulging on his youthful face, and started trash-talking Butler as he staggered back:

"Wild dog! You can't stop me!!"

……

The moment the word "wild dog" entered Butler's ears, he abruptly stopped in his tracks.

The earth-shaking cheers of more than 20,000 fans around them, and the applause of teammates running over and patting their chests, all seemed to be stretched into a silent film at that moment.

A bone-chilling coldness crept up his spine and up to the back of his head.

Stray dogs?

The fighting spirit that had been surging in Butler's eyes extinguished at a visible speed.

Many years have passed.

Ever since he stumbled his way from Marquette University to the bottom of the first round...

For nearly ten years, no one has dared to utter those two words to his face.

……

September 14, 1989, Tomball, a suburb of Houston, Texas.

It was a dilapidated, dead-end corner where even navigation maps didn't bother to mark the specific blocks.

His father abandoned the drafty house when he was still an infant.

From childhood to adulthood, Butler had no memory of the role of "father" whatsoever.

But poverty and single parenthood were not exactly rare curses in that Black community filled with gunfire and marijuana.

What plunged him into the abyss was an ordinary morning when he was thirteen years old.

There were no arguments, and no domestic violence stemming from alcohol abuse.

His biological mother simply leaned against the dilapidated door frame, looking the boy up and down. He was just starting to grow taller, but his appearance was becoming more and more like that unfaithful man.

The woman's eyes were filled with disgust.

Then, cold words pronounced his death sentence:

"I don't like your appearance; you look too much like that bastard."

"Pack your junk and get out of my house."

"Bang."

The iron gate slammed shut, the sound of the lock clicking away echoing crisply in the quiet corridor.

Thirteen-year-old Jimmy Butler, before he could even tighten the laces of his tattered sneakers, was deprived of his only refuge in the world.

From that day on, "wandering" seemed to become his only mode of survival.

He dared not report it to the police because the welfare agency would only send him to shelters filled with bullying and abuse.

He could only wander the streets of Tombaugh like a stray dog, taking turns sleeping on the sofas or floors of different classmates and friends.

Every few weeks, when the parents of the host families cast disapproving and wary glances his way, the boy would discreetly pack up his tattered backpack full of old clothes and quietly leave late at night.

On the most desperate winter nights, he slept on the pile of waste newspapers under park benches and on the musty back seat of abandoned, wrecked cars.

Driven by hunger, he once fought with stray dogs in the muddy backstreets for half a hardened hamburger.

Throughout his adolescence, the words he heard most often were not encouragement or care, but the mockery and harassment from his neighbors.

"Look, that's the stray dog ​​that no parents wanted."

"Stay away from him, he's a bastard that nobody cares about."

……

"Stray dogs..."

On the floor of TD Garden, Butler slowly raised his head.

He looked at his ankle, which was wrapped in white tape and ached with every step.

He reached up and wiped the cold sweat that had trickled down his forehead.

Every muscle on his face was frozen in place at that moment.

He didn't rush up and throw punches like a madman, nor did he hurl a string of trash talk back in a fit of rage.

Even his eyes regained their abyssal calm in that instant.

"Stray dogs?"

Butler chuckled inwardly, a laugh tinged with a cruelty and madness bordering on self-destruction.

so good.

The European golden boy, meticulously packaged by the media and showered with affection, blurted out his arrogance.

You have renowned coaches, a prestigious family background, the spotlight of the draft, and the option to retire and live a life of luxury if you don't perform well.

But Lao Tzu didn't.

I have nothing.

The reason I was able to tear my way from Tombo's abandoned train carriage to this damned stage today was never because of any exquisite technique, nor because of any divinely bestowed physical gifts.

Damn it... It's always been the cheap, scumbag life of this stray dog ​​deep down!

"Dignity? Applause?"

"Stray dogs don't need tombstones..."

Butler took a step forward, walking towards the frontcourt.

"Running wildly until they rot is enough!!"