Nikola sat on the bench, a shell of the person who had walked into the gym that morning. His shoulders slouched. His gaze was fixed on the floor. The distant echoes of bouncing basketballs and squeaking shoes faded into a blur around him.
He was barely there.
He was waiting for Kumstrim to announce the next drill, or maybe for something else.
A reason to keep going.
And then, a familiar voice pulled him back to reality.
"Hey, you said your name was Nikola, right? Sorry, I'm not great with names."
Nikola looked up slowly.
Standing in front of him, arms folded with a soft grin on his face, was Thiseas Antonakos. The towering Greek forward who had stunned everyone just minutes ago with his size and strength.
"Mind if I sit?" Thiseas asked.
Nikola shrugged. "Sure."
Thiseas plopped down beside him, elbows resting on his knees, still catching his breath from the drills. But his eyes were focused, kind, and calm.
"You looked kinda out of it just now. Everything okay?"
Nikola hesitated. But there was something warm about him. Genuine.
"...I just suck," Nikola muttered under his breath. "Compared to everyone else, I look like I don't even belong here."
Thiseas leaned back slightly, gazing up at the ceiling lights for a moment before responding.
"You know... I felt the same way once. Actually, more than once."
Nikola blinked. "You?"
"Yeah." Thiseas smiled. "People see the muscles and the height and think I've always been like this. Like I popped out of the womb doing windmill dunks." He chuckled. "But nah... My parents were immigrants in Greece. Worked two jobs each. We didn't have much barely had time, barely had food some days. Basketball was the only thing I had that made me feel like I could become something more."
He glanced over at Nikola.
"That's why I train so hard. That's why I keep showing up. Cause I don't have a plan B."
Nikola stayed quiet. But something in Thiseas words stirred inside him.
Thiseas nudged him gently with his elbow. "Can I ask you something, Nikola?"
"...Sure."
"Why do you play basketball?"
Nikola hesitated for a moment. But the question didn't surprise him. It had been bouncing around in his head since the moment he missed his first jump.
He spoke softly.
"...Because I love it."
His voice grew firmer.
"That's it. I just... love the game."
Thiseas nodded, taking the answer in without judgment.
"Love is good," he said. "It's where it starts. It's pure."
He paused, and his tone shifted slightly. More serious now.
"But love alone won't carry you when everything starts to hurt."
Nikola looked at him, unsure what he meant.
"You can play for love anytime," Thiseas continued. "In your driveway, in a pickup game, on a court back home with your friends. But to be great? To stand out among a hundred guys?" He pointed toward the gym, where other players were now lining up. "You need something deeper. Something that burns under your skin. A reason that makes you keep going even when you have no gas left in the tank."
Thiseas sat forward now, elbows on his knees.
"You need to give a part of yourself to the game. Sacrifice something. That's what separates those who play for fun... from those who make it."
Nikola felt those words sink like stones in his chest.
He wanted to argue, to say his love for the game was enough. But...
Was it?
Was it really?
He lowered his eyes, staring at the floor again.
"...I don't know if I have that kind of reason."
Thiseas stood up, his expression still warm, but firm.
"Then find it."
He offered a small smile.
And with that, Thiseas patted Nikola's shoulder and walked off, leaving Nikola on the bench.
Still sitting.
Still unsure.
Still searching.
Still burning with jealousy.
Still doubting himself.
Just as Nikola was lost in his own thoughts, Kumstrim's voice echoed once again through the loudspeakers, snapping everyone back to attention.
"Next drill Shuttle Run! Line up, let's keep things moving!"
Nikola blinked, then quickly stood up. This time, by pure chance, he found himself near the front of the line.
A few players went before him, sprinting side to side with rapid steps, touching cones and pushing their balance to the limit. It looked easy until you were the one doing it.
Then… it was Nikola's turn.
He stepped forward, heart thumping not out of nervousness this time, but pure focus. His doubts were still there, heavy in his chest, but now they were quiet… waiting.
"Ready," a staff member called out.
"Go!"
Nikola exploded off the line.
Left, right, pivot, touch the line. Sprint back. Shuffle plant foot back again.
His feet burned against the court. His breath picked up with each change of direction.
And just like that It was over.
He stopped, panting lightly, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.
Kumstrim checked the timer, then called out:
"2.85 seconds."
Not amazing.
Not bad either.
Somewhere… in between.
As Nikola walked to the back of the gym to cool down, he didn't feel proud. But he wasn't completely crushed either.
He was… there.
Still trying.
From high in the spectator stands, Aleksandar sat beside Hao, both observing the tryouts unfold below like silent sentinels.
The two had been sitting there for a while, eyes scanning the court.
Eventually, Aleksandar leaned back in his seat and let out a quiet sigh, his gaze still fixed downward.
"I can barely recognize him from up here..." he muttered, narrowing his eyes.
"How are we even supposed to know how Nikola's doing with the drills?"
Hao chuckled softly, not looking away from the court.
"You won't," he said calmly, folding his arms. "At least, not yet. For that..." he tilted his head slightly toward Aleksandar "you'll have to wait until today's tryouts are over."
Aleksandar grunted in response, leaning forward once again, elbows on his knees. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but Hao's voice steady and sure had a way of keeping him grounded.
As the next player dashed into a drill, the two remained there in silence, watching, waiting.