On November 5th, Lin Yi officially reported to the Knicks training facility.
The offseason had been unusually long. Long enough that Lin Yi briefly felt like a rookie again, stepping back into the rhythm of early mornings, gym sessions, and the familiar grind of a new campaign.
Before leaving home, he glanced at his attribute panel.
Positions:
Center (Amethyst, 86% completion)
Power Forward (Amethyst, 83%)
Small Forward (Amethyst, 100%)
Shooting Guard (100%)
Point Guard (100%)
Badges:
Dream Footwork (Amethyst)
Rebounding Maniac (Amethyst)
Ankle Breaker (Diamond)
Tough Shotmaker (Diamond)
Limitless Range (Amethyst)
The center and power forward progress bars were still incomplete. The summer had been cut short after his daughter was born, leaving his interior development half-finished. Lin Yi didn't look concerned. For him, training was less a phase and more a constant.
When he stepped out, his parents were still asleep. The house was quiet, broken only by faint sounds from the nursery. Olivia had spent the night alternating between sleep and hunger, turning the household into a rotating shift system.
Olsen was already awake, holding the baby in her arms as she walked him to the door. "Go get them, honey."
Lin Yi leaned in, kissed her forehead, then lightly tapped Olivia's cheek. "Grow fast. Next time, you come to cheer for me."
The baby's eyes opened halfway, unfocused but calm, staring at him without reaction before drifting back into sleep.
Outside, Zhong Muchen was already waiting beside the custom BMW X5, reviewing messages on a tablet. He looked up as Lin Yi approached.
"What's the plan today?"
Lin Yi adjusted his jacket, expression steady. "Breaking dreams and reaching the peak again."
Zhong Muchen paused, then laughed under his breath. Lin Yi followed, shaking his head. The intent was clear enough.
Fifth season already, Lin Yi thought as he got into the car. Time moves faster than expected.
. . .
News of Chris Paul and The Prizefighter's injuries spread quickly across the league. Within hours, social media had turned it into a global talking point. Rumors, breakdowns, predictions, and hot takes flooded every platform at once.
For the Knicks, the timing could not have been worse.
Analysts questioned depth. Commentators doubted durability. Rival fanbases treated it as confirmation that New York's window had cracked open too early. Knicks fans responded the only way they knew how, repeating the same line across timelines and forums.
"We still have Lin Yi."
Confidence on the surface, uncertainty underneath.
At the same time, Knicks critics surged online, turning every discussion into a referendum on the team's legitimacy. The volume alone made it feel like a consensus, even when it was just repetition amplified.
Lin Yi, reading none of it directly, had a different interpretation.
If noise gathered in one place, it usually meant attention was focused. Attention, in his experience, often preceded pressure. Results usually followed pressure.
And the results were something he always delivered, so he didn't overthink it.
. . .
The training facility was already crowded long before practice began. Reporters filled the entrance, cameras angled toward every arriving car. Some were there for injury updates. Some were there for content. A few were waiting for something to happen.
Shaquille O'Neal showed up in person, claiming he was there to congratulate Lin Yi on becoming a father. Few believed that was the only reason.
Lin Yi greeted him like he had been waiting for it.
Before anyone could react, he had already climbed onto O'Neal's back during a light scuffle in the hallway, using him as leverage while the two traded words and laughs that carried down the corridor.
"Shaq, I heard you said this team can win without me?"
O'Neal tried to twist away, laughing and protesting at the same time. "I said what I said. Don't rewrite history while you're on my back."
The scene drew cameras instantly. Kobe Bryant would have enjoyed it. O'Neal, less so in the moment, though he would probably retell it differently later.
Eventually, the chaos settled, but O'Neal stayed unusually observant afterward. He kept glancing at Lin Yi's frame, especially his upper body.
"Be honest," O'Neal said, still catching his breath, "what are you benching now?"
Lin Yi wiped his hands, refusing to answer. "Guess."
O'Neal narrowed his eyes. "That look is not normal."
Marc D'Amico, the Knicks' strength coach, had a similar expression all week. Lin Yi's offseason training had been inconsistent by design, but not ineffective.
He had modified his routine at home, adding constant bodyweight work under unusual conditions, including training sessions that involved carrying extra resistance while moving around the house.
D'Amico's reaction after the latest physical tests had been immediate and blunt.
Lin Yi had been shifting his role toward the center position, and the weight gain followed that decision. His frame allowed it. His conditioning held. In a league where true physical anchors were becoming rarer, the adjustment made sense.
If anything, the numbers suggested he still had room to grow.
Although that adjustment came with a clear tradeoff, Lin Yi's weight had already climbed to 127.5 kilograms.
That number marked a ceiling. Not a soft limit, but a hard one shaped by his frame, mobility, and the way his game relied on fluid movement rather than pure mass. Any further increase would start to interfere with what made him effective.
Marc D'Amico had been expecting strength gains. That part made sense. Lin Yi's baseline power was already widely accepted inside the organization. No one was surprised when he outperformed most frontcourt players in traditional lifting metrics.
What broke expectations was the speed of the data.
At seven feet tall and nearly 128 kilograms, Lin Yi still recorded a 3/4 court off-ball sprint of 4.0 seconds, followed by a 4.3-second time while dribbling the ball full speed.
The training room went quiet after the results were logged.
Marc D'Amico stared at the sheet for several seconds before shaking his head. "This is not normal."
He turned immediately toward Mike D'Antoni, voice rising with visible excitement. "Mike, you are looking at the most complete physical profile I have ever tested. Lin YI is a genetic specimen."
D'Antoni didn't react with surprise. His expression stayed flat, almost tired.
"You just realized that?" he replied.
For him, the conclusion had already been made long ago. A player with Lin Yi's combination of coordination, balance, and lateral control could not be treated like a traditional big man. The perimeter experiment had not been a gamble. It had been confirmation.
People liked to define positions by height. D'Antoni never accepted that logic. Skill and movement dictated roles more than measurement ever could.
After the first full team practice, D'Antoni asked Lin Yi to stay behind.
With Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler sidelined, the rotation had to shift. The original hybrid usage plan was no longer viable. The instruction was direct.
"You are going back to center full time," D'Antoni said.
Lin Yi nodded once. "That works. That's what I want."
There was no hesitation in his tone. The center gave him the most direct path to control the game on both ends. It also aligned with his current development focus. His interior badges were still progressing, and the next stage required consistent minutes in the paint.
Dream Footwork and Rebounding Maniac were both close to another threshold. Once upgraded, the gap between him and other frontcourt players would widen further, especially in half-court possessions.
At that point, the league's center rotation would not feel deep. It would feel exposed.
Lin Yi did not say that part out loud.
Instead, he shifted the conversation.
"Coach, start Danny."
D'Antoni looked up slightly. That was not the name he expected.
He had assumed Chandler's name would come first, given the existing chemistry. Lin Yi didn't follow that assumption.
"Danny and Klay can switch between the two and three," Lin Yi continued. "Most small forwards won't be able to handle that combination. If I'm at center, Wilson needs spacing around me. His shooting isn't consistent enough yet. Shaun helps more defensively, but we still need perimeter pressure."
Then he added, casually, "And Steve Nash should start too."
D'Antoni paused. That one landed differently.
Lin Yi leaned back slightly, tone unchanged. "If we are running this system, I'll handle the defensive anchor role. Pick-and-rolls, drives, paint protection. That's enough responsibility for me."
The phrasing made D'Antoni exhale through his nose.
The media had already labeled Lin Yi as one of the few players who could survive switching assignments without losing control of the game. The confidence was not new, but the structure behind it was.
D'Antoni studied him for a moment longer, then gave a short nod, already recalculating rotations in his head.
Outside the gym, the league kept moving.
. . .
On November 6th, the Knicks were scheduled to host the Cavaliers.
Before the team flight, Anthony Davis, still early in his own career and already following every Knicks development closely, considered something simple for a moment longer than he should have.
He almost asked for a leave of absence, but did not.
. . .
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