Three months had passed since the intense farewell in Milan. Three months since Aleksandar had walked away from defeat with nothing but aching legs and a burning desire to rise.
And now… the day had finally come.
The automatic glass doors of Ministro Pistarini International Airport slid open with a mechanical whisper, releasing a wave of humid Buenos Aires air into the arrivals terminal. Amid the steady flow of travelers businessmen in suits, tourists with wide eyes and backpacks two figures emerged.
One familiar.
The other, unfamiliar but equally determined.
Aleksandar stepped out first, dragging his worn out duffel bag behind him. His expression was calm, but sharp like steel that had spent months being tempered in fire.
Beside him walked a taller figure, slightly broader in the shoulders. He wore dark sunglasses despite the terminal's dim light and sported a buzz cut. His stride was loose, confident, but underneath it... a quiet tension.
Nikola.
A former high school teammate and long time friend of Aleksandar's.
Aleksandar was the first to break the silence between them.
"Vinnie said our Uber should be waiting right outside. So keep an eye out, Nikola."
His tone was casual, but there was weight beneath it the weight of the moment. This wasn't just another trip. This was the beginning of something.
Nikola didn't respond immediately. He scanned the chaotic front of the airport crowded with honking cars, shouting drivers, and the roar of jets in the background. Suitcases rolled across the pavement like rogue soccer balls, and the air buzzed with foreign languages and movement.
Then he spotted it a black SUV with tinted windows idling by the curb, a small cardboard sign pressed against the window that read: "Vinnie Reservation"
"Aleksandar there."
He pointed with a nod.
"That's our ride."
Without hesitation, the two of them headed toward it.
Nikola, unlike Aleksandar, was here on a different mission. Not yet a member of the WBA. Not yet signed. He had come here to pre season tryouts. It was one shot to earn the final roster spot.
A gamble.
But one Nikola was willing to take with everything he had.
As the two of them climbed into the Uber, the city of Buenos Aires stretched out ahead of them a sprawling mix of color, concrete, and chaos. Somewhere within that maze waited Vinnie and Hao.
The engine started.
The car pulled away from the curb.
After what felt like an endless ride through the sprawling streets of Buenos Aires past vendors shouting in Spanish, tangled intersections, and stretches of dusty trees the car finally slowed.
They had arrived.
The gates opened with a gentle mechanical hum, and as the black SUV rolled forward onto pristine pavement, Aleksandar and Nikola's eyes widened.
It wasn't just a facility.
It was a world of its own.
Spread before them was Monjitas del Cielo a name they had only heard in conversation and seen in passing on Instagram posts or scouting reports. But standing in front of it now, it felt like something out of a dream.
To their left rose the club's main arena, its glass panels reflecting the Argentine sun like a monument to modern basketball. Every inch of it gleamed polished, elite, intimidating.
Behind it stood the training gym, with reinforced walls and wide bay windows that let sunlight spill into the hardwood courts. From inside, the muffled echo of a bouncing ball hinted at players already grinding already chasing greatness.
To the right was a state of the art weight room, encased in dark steel and clear glass. Through the panels, the silhouettes of bodies pushing iron could be seen slow, deliberate, powerful. Titans, being forged in silence.
Past that, the player dormitories sleek and minimalistic, surrounded by palm trees and shaded walkways. A place not just to rest, but to reset. Recharge.
And standing in the very heart of it all…
Was the headquarters building.
A towering complex of steel and concrete, its emblem a pair of wings wrapped around a basketball engraved boldly above its main entrance. From its windows, executives, scouts, and coaches observed. Planners of futures. Builders of legacies.
Aleksandar stepped out of the car first.
His mouth slightly parted.
Eyes locked on the empire before him.
Nikola followed, blinking in disbelief.
"This is…" Nikola whispered, unable to find the words.
Aleksandar slowly nodded.
"Yeah… this is real."
The gravel crunched softly beneath their sneakers as Aleksandar and Nikola wandered further into the property, no longer led by their driver only by curiosity and awe.
They hadn't even officially stepped inside the headquarters, yet every step revealed more of this hidden basketball utopia.
"Let's just look around a bit," Aleksandar said, his voice low, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might break the magic.
Nikola nodded, already turning toward a path that curved around the main arena.
As they followed the stone walkway, the modern landscape continued to unfold like a perfectly written playbook.
Just beyond the tall pine trees and hedges, they found another arena this one smaller, older, but full of character. Painted across its front wall in bold navy blue were the words:
"Home of the Fighting Spirit."
"This must be where the national league games are played and the first arena must be only for WBA games," Nikola murmured, stepping closer to the doors. The posters showed past players, historic games, roaring crowds.
It wasn't just a practice ground.
It was a place with its own stories.
Its own energy.
But that wasn't the end.
They stumbled upon something that truly made their stomachs growl.
A cafeteria no, a culinary fortress.
Glass walls revealed a sleek, modern interior filled with long tables, polished countertops, and a team of chefs in crisp uniforms. Steam floated up from open kitchens. The scent of grilled chicken, vegetables, and fresh bread wafted out the moment the doors slid open.
Inside, players sat laughing, eating, recharging. Nutritionists floated from table to table with tablets in hand, tracking calories, adjusting meal plans.
Aleksandar stood frozen.
"This is… next level."
Nikola chuckled beside him, his eyes wide.
"Are we even in a basketball club, or did we just walk into a sports paradise?"
Aleksandar couldn't answer. His chest swelled with a strange feeling half joy, half disbelief. It was like everything they dreamed of during those cold high school nights in Serbia had been built here. Waiting. Just waiting for them to catch up.
Every court.
Every building.
Every plate of food.
It all whispered the same thing:
You've made it this far. Now prove you belong here.