An hour had passed an hour filled with steps, doors, and wide eyes.
Vinnie and Hao had taken Aleksandar on a complete tour of the club's facilities, and by the end of it, his legs were sore, but his spirit was buzzing with energy.
They started at the Main Arena, a vast coliseum of polished hardwood and rows of seats that wrapped around the court like watchful eyes. The floor gleamed under the overhead lights, each reflection feeling like a promise of battles yet to be fought. Aleksandar paused there for a while, imagining himself in the middle of a packed house, jersey soaked in sweat, crowd roaring.
Next, they moved through the Performance Training Center. Rows of cutting edge machines lined the walls. There were cryotherapy chambers, altitude training rooms, and a full recovery wing with staff already tending to players with white coats and calm precision.
The Locker Rooms followed clean, sleek, and modern. Each locker had a nameplate, and even though Aleksandar's wasn't there yet, he could already feel the weight of the legacy surrounding him.
They passed through the Strategy Hall, a high tech room lined with interactive digital boards and a large screen that took up the entire far wall. Vinnie mentioned it was where the team studied film, broke down opponents, and held tactical meetings. The air inside smelled like coffee, markers, and pressure.
Then came the Player Lounge a contrast to the serious tone of the rest. Warm lighting, plush couches, gaming consoles, and a café counter in the corner. A place to breathe. A place to bond.
At last, they reached the Residential Wing, where players lived during the season. The halls were quiet now, but Aleksandar could already sense the energy in the walls arguments over card games, laughter after practice, the occasional thud of someone doing late night push ups.
By the time they stepped back into the sunlight, the sky had already begun to shift into the soft golds of the afternoon. Aleksandar stood still for a moment.
"Alright, let's get your photos done," Vinnie said with a casual wave. "We're heading back to the club facilities."
Aleksandar simply nodded, too absorbed in his own thoughts to reply with words. His legs moved automatically, following Vinnie up the staircase once again.
After a short walk, they arrived at a bright, white room its ceiling high, its lighting flawless. A backdrop of clean white cloth stretched out in front of a standing camera. A neat table sat beside it, lined with a fresh basketball and the light blue jerseys of Monjitas del Cielo, neatly hung like pieces of a dream made tangible.
"Here we are," Vinnie said, motioning toward the rack of uniforms. "Aleksandar, grab your jersey and get changed. Step in front of the backdrop when you're ready."
With that, Vinnie went to greet the club photographer with a warm handshake. Hao, meanwhile, leaned over and whispered, "I have something to check when you're done, come find me." Then he disappeared around the corner.
Left alone for a moment, Aleksandar stepped toward the jerseys.
They were beautiful sky blue fabric with clean white trim along the shoulders, a bold number pressed in the center, and the club's crest stitched across the chest: a pair of protective white eagle wings shielding a basketball like sacred treasure.
He ran his hand gently across them, fingers brushing the fabric one by one… until he found it.
"ALEKSANDAR"
No.45
He froze.
His name. His number.
His jersey.
He stared at it, unable to look away. A slow breath left his lungs, as if something he had been holding onto for years had finally been released.
This wasn't a dream anymore. It was real. His name was stitched into the very fabric of this club now. He belonged here.
A wide smile slowly spread across his face rare, raw, and full of boyish joy.
"This… this is really happening," he whispered to himself, clutching the jersey like it was made of gold.
He pulled it on with reverence, straightened the hem, then turned to face the camera.
The photographer raised her lens and took a picture.
The photoshoot had turned into an unexpected battle of endurance.
Aleksandar had thought it would be simple: put on the jersey, hold a ball, maybe cross his arms and stare into the camera with something that resembled cool intensity.
Reality was… much harsher.
"Can you turn your shoulders slightly to the left no, your left!"
"Try not to look like you're about to fight the camera, Aleksandar."
"Less stiff… but not too relaxed. You're not on vacation!"
The photographer, a petite but terrifyingly precise woman with her hair tied in a no nonsense bun, directed him like she was staging a Broadway show. Meanwhile, Aleksandar changed poses so many times, he began to feel like a mannequin undergoing a full personality crisis.
An entire hour passed.
By the end, the photographer finally stepped away from her camera and let out a long sigh of success. "Okay… I think we got a few usable shots."
"Only a few!?" Aleksandar muttered to himself, arms still awkwardly frozen in the last pose she'd ordered.
Vinnie walked up to the screen to take a peek at the pictures, his expression unreadable for a second until it twisted into barely contained laughter.
"…Small fry," he said with a smirk, "you're really not cut out for this modeling thing, huh?"
Aleksandar flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Come on, it's my first time doing this…"
Vinnie clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. That's why you play basketball not pose for cologne ads."
Then, with a quick wave toward the photographer, he added, "Thanks for surviving the chaos. We'll be going now."
As they left the studio, Vinnie turned back to Aleksandar with that ever confident stride.
"Alright, we're done here. Now you're coming with me to meet the assistant coach. Try not to trip over your own feet on the way, superstar."
"Can't promise anything," Aleksandar muttered under his breath, still recovering from the emotional trauma of trying to smile without smiling too much.
And so the two headed down the hallway one laughing, the other sighing toward the next part of Aleksandar's long and ridiculous first day.