Champion Creed
Chapter 446 - 446 170 Welcome Home Dom Vote for monthly ticket!_2

446: 170: Welcome Home, Dom (Vote for monthly ticket!)_2 446: 170: Welcome Home, Dom (Vote for monthly ticket!)_2 The outcome was never in doubt.

Grant Hill ended the game with an almost triple-double, racking up 23 points, 10 assists, and 8 rebounds.

But Roger settled everything with a staggering 46 points.

The Pistons’ defense wasn’t as good as their predecessors’, so Roger’s scoring was always easy.

Despite Grant Hill’s crazy performance, the Pistons never led even once from the second half onward.

The situation was firmly in Roger’s hands from start to finish.

Following Karl Malone, Roger took down another MVP candidate with a 40+ score, continuing to rack up points for his first MVP title.

He also sent a warning to Miami fans, better not to get too excited about the next Magic vs.

Heat matchup.

Roger had always been ruthless with MVP candidates.

After the game, Grant Hill maintained his usual humility, “I guess this is the difference between fourth and first.

Roger truly deserves the top spot in the rankings.

It’s really hard to hope for their consecutive losses; if the Magic lost a game, their next opponent would be unlucky, haha.”

After the game, Roger saw Wilkins in the locker room looking downhearted, taking off his shirt and leaning against the locker, staring at the ceiling for a long time.

By this time of the season, Roger’s relationship with Wilkins was no longer as tense as it had been at the start, so Roger approached and asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“No,” Wilkins turned his head, then draped his jersey over his shoulder, “Just a bit tired.”

“Normal, there’s no other team in the league that relies on a 37-year-old veteran to defend Grant Hill.

Thank you for everything you’ve done, Dom.”

“You’re actually not mocking me, it’s a goddamn miracle.”

“I only mock those who don’t give it their all.”

Roger was about to walk away when Wilkins, looking at the ceiling, sighed, “Maybe it’s really time for me to leave.

This season, whether we win the championship or not, will be my last.

The discrepancy is too great, Roger, you wouldn’t understand.

I can’t say I really enjoy my current role, it’s all for the championship, but I don’t want to go through another season like this.”

Roger could feel the exhaustion emanating from Wilkins, the dual strain of mental and physical fatigue tormenting him.

He played harder and got more tired than before, but his numbers were worse off, which not everyone could accept.

It’s like exercising to lose weight.

You can endure it at first, but very few persist in the long run.

After all, losing weight, like winning a championship, doesn’t offer quick feedback.

Yet, Roger couldn’t let Wilkins grow tired of his current role so soon.

They had only played a little over 50 games; there was still a much longer postseason ahead.

Wilkins had to maintain his current level and enthusiasm for the team to have the last laugh.

Roger looked thoughtful as he watched Wilkins, as if he wanted to say something.

But in the end, he just casually “Oh,” put on his headphones, and walked toward the parking lot.

Wilkins smiled.

Yeah, who cares about an old man whining, he’s no longer the main character of this world.

People talked about Roger, talked about Tim Hardaway, talked about Grant Hill, but nobody needed the human highlight film anymore.

That bastard Roger not mocking him was already the greatest kindness.

At that moment, Roger sat on the last row of the team bus, hesitated for a second, but finally took out his phone.

“Hello, Captain.”

“Roger?

Is something up?”

—————–

A day later, the Magic Team arrived in Atlanta to play a back-to-back away game against the Hawks.

Traveling overnight and having to play in the evening was nearly the death of the elder Magic team.

On the bus to the Georgia Dome, everyone was grasping at the chance to rest, to catch up on sleep.

Only Dominique Wilkins looked out the window with vigor.

The swiftly passing scenery outside, they were some of his most beautiful memories in his professional career.

His prime and youth were all in this city.

But after arriving at the arena, Wilkins felt strangely unfamiliar.

The Georgia Dome was only the Hawks’ temporary home court for this season, used while Philips Arena was under repairs.

Until then, the Hawks would play their games here.

As for the Hawks’ previous home court, the Omni Coliseum built in 1972, it had already been demolished, reduced to ruins.

This was a painful matter for Wilkins, as it seemed all his beautiful memories and times also lay in ruins.

Before the game started, there were still Hawks fans cheering for Wilkins in his jersey.

But the media’s focus remained on Roger, on Steve Smith.

Wilkins sat on the bench, looking at this unfamiliar home court, then at himself.

The boy who had soared here 15 years ago was no longer lively and bouncing around.

He sat composedly, reflecting on the swiftness of time.

Before the game began, after Brian Hill had finished outlining the tactics, Wilkins stepped onto the court, preparing near center court.

But he quickly realized he was the only one on the court.

Wilkins turned his head to look, and his teammates remained at the sidelines, with smiles that suggested a successful prank.

Not a single Hawks player had entered the court either.

Roger cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled to Wilkins, “You fell for it, Dom!”

“Hey, what’s this about?” Wilkins was about to leave the court when suddenly everything went dark.