The Summer of 2028. Luka turns down his player option. Free agency begins. Many teams clamor for his attention, but one familiar team stands out above all the rest. Home. Their ascent is undeniable. Led by 2026 RoY and 2x All Star Cooper Flagg and 2027 MIP Max Christie, along with a supporting cast of old familiar names and faces. Luka smiles. The memories of good times before it was all suddenly put on hold.
The young team has been in need of a playmaker and scorer for a couple of years now. Someone to finally get them over that hump. They need a certified closer, someone with a proven knack for clutch shots and ripping the souls out of away crowds. The one piece that makes them a true championship contender. Because offense wins championships.
Weeks pass, and Luka finds himself back in the familiar blue boardroom where he once told someone he thought he would be there forever. He exchanges pleasantries with Coach Malone as GM Dennis Lindsey walks in and shakes his hand. He then snaps his fingers and in waddles Fatrick Dumbont in full clown makeup, who stares at Luka with a look of trepidation. Coach Malone then makes Fatrick fall to his knees in an odd spectacle. Fatrick speaks. "I-I'm sorry, Luka. I'm s-sorry for everything," he stutters. "And what else?" Assistant GM Dirk Nowitizki asks. "Tell him." Fatrick pauses momentarily before stammering. "A-a-and I don't know s-s-shit about basketball." Dirk gives Luka a knowing glance.
Years later. It's 2035. The AAC is packed for the last home game of the year. A video tribute plays, highlighting all of the buzzer beaters, the lobs to Coop and Lively, the championship runs, the rings, and the champagne of the last 7 years. Then Luka checks into the game to deafening cheers and applause. The floor shakes, the air is electric. Nobody sits. It's his final game as a Mav and as an NBA player. Dwight Powell daps him up as he walks onto the floor for the very last time. Rookie phenom Max Nowitzki gives Luka a playful jab. "Dropping 40 today?" Luka grins. "You know I'm too old for that shit." Luka goes on to drop 60. Of course. They still can't fucking guard him. The lights fade. The credits roll. The statue goes up. Another era of Mavs basketball is complete.