The line for measurements was moving slowly, which gave Nikola plenty of time to observe the guy standing directly in front of him.
And what a guy he was.
Dark skinned and at least 20 centimeters taller than Nikola, with shoulders like boulders and arms that looked like they'd been chiseled by the Greek gods themselves. The dude was wearing a loose tank top, and yet it still looked like it was fighting for its life to stay on.
Nikola stared for a few seconds too long, then decided to just go for it.
He reached out and gave the guy a friendly pat on the back, instantly realizing that even his shoulder blades were solid muscle.
"Uh… hey! I'm Nikola. Nice to meet you. I'm from Serbia," he said, offering his hand with a polite grin.
The giant turned around, smiling like they'd been friends since childhood.
"Yoo! What's up! I'm Thiseas Antonakos. In case the name didn't give it away I'm from Greece!"
Nikola blinked. He had not expected that level of sunshine and friendliness from someone who looked like he bench pressed trucks.
"Wow," Nikola said, still smiling but visibly thrown off. "Okay, so… I gotta ask how old are you? 'Cause I'm 19, and I feel like I accidentally queued behind Hercules."
Thiseas chuckled.
"Same here. Nineteen. I just did a winter bulk and now I'm cutting. Trying to keep the mass but get more definition, you know?"
Nikola's brain momentarily froze.
Same age?!
He was still trying to gain five kilos with protein shakes and hope, and this guy looked like he was sculpted out of marble.
Before he could ask another question, one of the staff called out:
"Antonakos, you're up."
Thiseas gave Nikola a thumbs up.
"Hope we meet again later, man!"
Nikola nodded, still trying to process what he had just witnessed.
Thiseas stepped forward onto the scale, relaxed and smiling. Staff members wrote down the numbers while Kumstrim read them out loud, his voice echoing just enough to be heard by those in line:
"Height: 211 centimeters. Weight: 112 kilograms."
Nikola's jaw nearly hit the floor.
He instinctively turned around to gauge everyone else's reaction and sure enough, heads were turning. Even the taller players were doing double takes. Someone in the back whispered, "He is built like Shaq."
Nikola swallowed hard.
After Thiseas stepped off the scale, it was Nikola's turn.
He stepped forward with a bit less confidence, the echo of "211 centimeters" and "112 kilograms" still bouncing around in his head like a loose basketball in an empty gym.
The staff gestured for him to remove his shoes and stand on the scale. Nikola complied, silently wondering if the machine would sigh in disappointment.
A brief beep.
Then, they measured his height.
A clipboard scribbled. A tape extended. And finally, Kumstrim's voice rang out calm, professional, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Height: 196 centimeters. Weight: 81 kilograms."
Nikola stepped off the scale with a straight face.
But inside?
He was shrinking.
Compared to Thiseas, who had looked like a mythological figure walking among mortals, Nikola's numbers felt… average. Bland. Forgettable. No one turned around. No one raised an eyebrow. No whispers. No double takes.
It was as if he hadn't even been there.
He walked back to the waiting area, his steps just a little heavier not because of his weight, but because of what it wasn't.
Since he had been one of the earlier names called, Nikola now had time to kill about twenty minutes, give or take as the rest of the group got measured. He sat down, resting his arms on his knees, watching the slow, continuous shuffle of hopefuls moving through the drills.
The arena buzzed with noise. Shoes squeaked, clipboards flipped, coaches murmured.
Once the initial measurements wrapped up, Kumstrim returned to center court and picked up the microphone again.
"Alright," he said, voice echoing through the vast arena, "everyone line up once more. Next, we'll be measuring wingspan."
The shuffle began again.
This time, Nikola found himself closer to the end of the line. He sighed, already bracing for another long wait. The guy in front of him didn't seem particularly threatening maybe a couple of centimeters shorter than Nikola, wearing an oversized hoodie and shorts that hung a little too low.
Nikola relaxed slightly. Finally, he thought, someone normal.
But as they inched forward in the line, Nikola got a better look. The guy pulled off his hoodie and raised his arms slightly as he flexed his shoulders.
And that's when Nikola noticed.
His arms were long. Strangely long. Like… impossibly long.
Nikola squinted. No way, he thought. He's shorter than me. How can his arms be
Before he could finish the thought, the staff motioned for the guy whose name was apparently Fermín to step forward.
Fermín raised both arms to his sides, and the measuring staff went to work.
Then, without skipping a beat, Kumstrim read the results:
"Fermín: Wingspan 204 centimeters."
Nikola blinked.
204?
That was more than 10 centimeters longer than Fermín's height.
He could feel his stomach tighten again.
First, it was Thiseas. A 211 cm tower of muscle with arms like tree trunks. Now Fermín quiet, unassuming, but apparently built like a pterodactyl.
Nikola glanced down at his own arms, resting calmly by his sides.
He suddenly wasn't so sure about them anymore.
How do I keep running into people like this? he wondered.
His heart sank a little. Again.
Despite all the hours of training, despite Vinnie's support and Aleksandar's encouragement, in this sea of raw talent, Nikola couldn't help but feel like a paper boat drifting between battleships.
And then… it was Nikola's turn.
He stepped forward slowly, trying to steady his breath as he moved into position. The staff members, focused and efficient, gently guided him to raise his arms out to his sides.
Tape stretched.
Hands moved.
The measurements were silent, clinical almost mechanical.
Then Kumstrim, standing just to the side with clipboard in hand, spoke loud enough for everyone nearby to hear:
"Wingspan 196 centimeters."
The words echoed for just a moment.
And then came the silence.
Nikola stood still. His arms lowered on instinct, but his heart stayed heavy.
It was the exact same number as his height.
Not terrible by normal standards.
But in this environment in this arena filled with monsters in human skin he felt… average. Plain. Small.
His thoughts flickered back to Thiseas and his towering frame. To Fermín and those long, ridiculous arms. To all the players around him with gifts that felt larger than life.
And suddenly, without warning, it hit him.
A surge of something bitter and sharp crept up inside his chest.
Jealousy.
Envy.
Not of the effort those others had put in but of the gifts they had been born with. The things Nikola could never train into himself, no matter how many hours he spent in the gym or how clean he kept his diet.
He clenched his fists again, this time not from nerves but frustration.
Why do I feel like this?