CLEVELAND — The true believers are always easy to spot. Travel the country with LeBron James, and you can always see the people in the building who are there for him. Yeah, they wear Los Angeles Lakers purple and gold now, but it was Miami Heat black and red and Cleveland Cavaliers wine and gold before that.
For them, it's not the name on the front of the jersey; it's the one on the back. They're the fans that roar loudest when James, after 23 years of doing it, rises for another one-handed slam. They're the ones who love it when he rolls his shoulders after a 3-point play or splashes a turnaround jumper.
Their favorite team isn't the Lakers, the Cavs or the Heat.
Their favorite team is LeBron James.
But on Wednesday night in Cleveland, the energy was different. This wasn't an arena filled with people wanting to see what James would do next. No, this was a crowd of folks fully aware that they might not get to see James do anything on a bas ketball court again.
The star of the show felt it too.
During a video tribute celebrating the game when James scored 25 straight for the Cavaliers to defeat the Detroit Pistons on the way to his first NBA Finals, tears filled his eyes. The man who had done and seen it all couldn't contain his emotion.
"I'm just trying to take everything in, not take the moments for granted," James said after the Lakers' 129-99 loss to the Cavs. "Because it could be (my last season). I obviously haven't made a decision on the future, but it very well could be."
On Wednesday, James walked to the corner of the court before the game and looked up into the suites, searching for his mother, Gloria. He heard the crowd chant for his son Bronny, then saw his oldest throw down a dunk and hit a pair of 3s.
They were forever memories. Fans had to settle for a two-handed dunk, a bunch of missed shots and turnovers and the worst loss he'd ever suffered to the Cavs. James finished with just 11 points.
It was forgettable — unless it was final.
"I don't know what the future holds," James said.
More than he had at any one time this season, James candidly discussed retirement for most of his 15-minute postgame news conference. If you listened to half of what he'd said, you'd be sure you were listening to someone saying goodbye. If you listened to the other half, you'd be sure this was someone committed to fighting aging until he can no longer win.
In one answer, he talked about the joy he felt when he saw former Pittsburgh Steelers coach Mike Tomlin in the stands for his daughter's gymnastics meet at the University of Georgia. James, whose daughter Zhuri plays competitive youth volleyball, could relate. In another, he talked about wanting to get every drop out of his career, especially while still playing at a high level.
James directly said he hadn't decided what comes next for him after this season. His contract with the Lakers will be over, making him an unrestricted free agent. The Lakers aren't focused on him — their energy is centered on Luka Dončić and what he needs.
That's led to real uncertainty about James' next move — whether it will be with another team, retirement or another contract with the Lakers. This has been true, mostly in the background. Wednesday's return to Cleveland put it into the foreground.
"I have not even thought to the point of a farewell tour or whatever the case may be, because I haven't had the conversation with myself and my family on, when is it over?" James said. "So … I think that will come after that."
It was the first time he's said the words "farewell tour" in a news conference since the 2024 All-Star Game.
It had been a widely held belief that James would like some kind of retirement tour, mostly because he's moved so comfortably through immense attention throughout his career. Lat ely, some people have begun to push back against that, leaving the door open for a more organic exit.
For now, they're all just guessing — reporters, fans, friends, teammates, family, and probably, even James.
Thirty-four miles south of the Cavaliers' court is a decent predictor of James' future.
Inside the basement of House Three Thirty, a community center and events space, is a museum that follows James from his modest childhood apartment through championships with the Heat, Cavaliers, Lakers and U.S. Olympic team. It's a part of James' philanthropic footprint in Akron, Ohio — one that includes a school and medical services.
In that museum, there's not a lot of room for more — 23 seasons' worth of accomplishments already filling facsimile lockers and trophy cases.
There's room for a few seasons more of game-worn sneakers and jerseys. But even without them, the museum is plenty complete.
And Wednesday, after James' eyes fi lled with tears in front of his biggest fans, the people who had followed him from high school to the game's highest peaks, James couldn't say goodbye.
But he couldn't not say it either, James staring at a story that's going to soon need an ending.
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