The front door creaked open.
Vinnie stepped inside, both arms loaded with bags full of groceries. He shuffled into the kitchen, dropped the bags on the counter with a dramatic sigh, and stretched.
"These bags are heavier than you, Small Fry," he muttered, dusting off his hands.
With the groceries secured, Vinnie strolled into the living room only to find Aleksandar lying flat on the sofa, fast asleep, mouth slightly open, snoring like a baby dragon.
"Oh no you don't," Vinnie grinned.
He crouched beside the couch, poked Aleksandar on the forehead.
Aleksandar groaned as if he'd been woken from a thousand year slumber. One eye opened halfway.
"Mmmrh... training...? Can't we just pretend I'm good already...?"
"Nope. You are not that guy yet. Get up," Vinnie replied, grabbing the blanket and yanking it off him like a magician performing a trick.
Aleksandar mumbled something incomprehensible. Even he didn't know what he just said. Vinnie just blinked.
"Bro, was that a spell? Did you curse me just now?"
After a few minutes of zombified stumbling, Aleksandar returned from the bedroom dressed in training gear awake now, with fire in his eyes.
Vinnie smirked.
"There we go. Look who decided to show up."
They left the apartment and walked a few blocks through the quiet Milanese streets until they arrived at a large metal door at the back of an old sports facility. Vinnie pulled out a key, unlocked it, and pushed it open screeeeech. The gym inside smelled of fresh waxed floors and dreams waiting to be tested.
Vinnie turned around and gave Aleksandar his trademark smug look.
"Alright, Small Fry. Today's training is simple: I'm going to test every skill you've got. I'll rate you from 1 to 5 in each category. Just like our head coach does during preseason."
"Wait, why do I feel like I'm being graded for an exam I didn't study for..." Aleksandar muttered.
"Because you are."
Vinnie continued, casually sitting in the bleachers like some NBA scout with too much power:
"Your training has four main phases. In the morning, it's weight training and mobility drills which we're skipping today, cause, well, someone decided to nap like it's a spa weekend."
"Hey!"
"Afternoon sessions are conditioning drills and basketball specific skill work. That means ball handling, shooting. Don't worry we'll catch up tomorrow with the full routine. But today, we'll hit the last two phases."
"Why does this sound like a bootcamp disguised as a vacation..." Aleksandar mumbled.
"Because it is a bootcamp disguised as a vacation. Now... chop chop, Small Fry."
Aleksandar gave a long sigh, like a man marching to his inevitable doom.
"I swear, if I don't make the team after this, I'm applying to culinary school."
"Perfect," Vinnie grinned. "Then you can finally understand that ketchup doesn't have place on pizza."
Vinnie sat at the edge of the bleachers like a seasoned coach, clipboard in one hand, pen in the other, legs casually crossed.
He clicked the pen.
'Alright, Small Fry. Time to see what you're made of."
Aleksandar stood on the baseline, trying to look alive despite his soul already whispering its last rites.
Vinnie cleared his throat with theatrical importance.
"Your first drill is called '17's.' You'll run sideline to sideline. Touch the line, that's one. Do that seventeen times that's one set. And yes, you'll be doing four sets of this. Try not to collapse."
Aleksandar blinked. Once. Twice. Regret forming behind his eyes.
"Second drill 'Block to block slides.' Defensive stance. Stay low. You'll slide from one side of the paint to the other for 30 seconds, four sets. Legs should feel like jelly by the end. If they don't, you're doing it wrong."
"I think I already feel it," Aleksandar muttered.
"Good. That's called progress."
Vinnie flipped the page of his clipboard.
"Next up: 'Double Down and Back.' Sprint full court, touch the baseline, sprint back, then do it again. That's one rep. Finish under 22 seconds. Four sets. Fall behind the clock? Start over."
Aleksandar inhaled sharply. He wasn't sure if this was training or a creative torture method.
Vinnie kept going, mercilessly:
"Fourth drill 'Sprint and Backpedal.' Sprint full court, then backpedal back. Do that three times in a row. That's one set. Four sets total. Focus on control and speed."
He gave a small smirk.
"Last drill: 'Walk, Jog, Sprint.' Walk to the opposite baseline. Jog back. Sprint there again. That's one rep. Do it eight times per set. Again four sets. Try to beat your own time each round."
He snapped his fingers.
"Push your limits. Every second counts. If you want to earn your place in the WBA rotation, it starts here."
Aleksandar didn't even have the strength to complain. He just nodded once stoically then dropped into position.
And then...
It began.
The screech of sneakers echoed through the gym. The thump of footsteps pounded against the floor. Aleksandar's breath grew heavier with each drill. Sweat poured like a waterfall down his face, soaking his shirt. The gym lights reflected off the sheen of effort clinging to his skin.
His legs screamed. His lungs burned.
But he didn't stop.
Vinnie stood, arms crossed now, eyes sharp.
"Don't pace yourself like a moron! Try to beat your last time!"
Aleksandar gasped between reps, muttering things that might have been curses or prayers. Hard to tell.
Still... he kept moving.
The grind had started.
And this was only Day One.
Roughly one hour had passed, but to Aleksandar, it felt like he had aged fifty years.
Time inside that gym stretched like some cruel illusion. Sweat soaked every fiber of his shirt, legs trembling like overcooked spaghetti. And then finally the last drill ended.
With the grace of a collapsing building, Aleksandar dropped to the floor.
He flailed one arm into the air, forming some vague shape that looked like either a surrender flag or an ancient distress signal.
His voice cracked as he finally found the strength to speak.
"Water... I need... water."
Without saying a word, Vinnie knelt beside his gym bag, pulled out a cold water bottle, and lobbed it in Aleksandar's direction with the calm precision of a seasoned pitcher.
Aleksandar caught it by sheer survival instinct, unscrewed the cap, and downed the entire bottle like it was a divine elixir sent from heaven.
For a moment, there was silence just heavy breaths and the distant hum of the gym lights.
Then Vinnie stood.
"Alright. Break's over."
He walked toward the back of the gym, casually pushed open a squeaky door, and rolled out a box filled with basketballs. He kicked it forward, letting a couple of balls bounce freely onto the court.
"You're not done yet, Small Fry."
Aleksandar, still lying on the floor, lifted his head just enough to shoot Vinnie a look of betrayal.
"What... do you mean?"
Vinnie smirked, spinning one of the basketballs on his finger.
"That was just conditioning. Now we move to shooting and ball handling drills. You didn't think I was gonna let you off easy, did you?"
Aleksandar stared blankly at the ceiling. His soul quietly exited his body for a moment.
"...This is illegal." he muttered.
"Now get up. We're building the foundation today."
The ball bounced once beside Aleksandar, as if calling him forward.
Training had only just begun.