Knb

The golden lights of the lounge reflect off the gold chains around Nash Gold Jr.’s neck as he leans back in his leather chair, a glass of sparkling water in hand. He isn't just taking up space; he owns it. To his left, Jason Silver—a mountain of a man—is sneering at a group of local fans who dared to ask for an autograph, his contempt for "monkeys" written all over his face. The rest of the Jabberwock crew is scattered around, their presence loud and abrasive, drowning out the soft jazz playing in the background. They look less like athletes and more like conquerors who have already decided that Japanese basketball is a joke.