Once again, Kumstrim raised the microphone, his voice ringing out across the gym with clear authority.
"Alright, we're starting with the shooting drills. The first one will be the 3 point shooting drill."
He paused to let the murmurs settle before continuing.
"Each of you will take 25 shots from behind the arc five shots from five different spots: both corners, both wings, and the top of the key. One by one. Step into the line."
A shuffle of sneakers followed as the players moved into formation like chess pieces sliding across a board.
Nikola joined them, his steps steady, but his heart uncertain.
This... this was different.
This wasn't about wingspan, vertical leap, or muscle mass.
This was about skill. Repetition. Craft.
As he watched the first player step forward and take his shots, Nikola exhaled slowly, his eyes locked onto the arc of the ball as it soared through the air.
Here... only his training mattered. Not genetics. Not luck.
No one could out jump him here. No one could box him out of this moment.
This was earned or lost by the hours he had put in when no one was watching.
And for the first time today... the pressure felt different.
It wasn't heavier.
It was clearer.
Simpler.
"This is mine," Nikola whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
He waited patiently as the line moved forward, the sound of bouncing balls and rattling rims echoing around him.
This time, he wouldn't be chasing anyone else's shadow.
This time, it would all come down to what he could do.
And he was ready.
It was Nikola's turn.
Kumstrim called his name, clipboard in hand.
Nikola stepped forward, taking a deep breath as he grabbed a ball from the rack.
Five shots from each spot. Five locations. Twenty five chances.
He walked to the right corner, where it all began.
"Just like practice," he murmured, setting his feet.
The gym faded. No Jamie. No Kumstrim. No eyes. Just him and the rim.
The first shot swish.
Second nothing but net.
Third rim, then in.
Fourth miss.
Fifth drain.
4 out of 5. Off to a good start.
He shifted to the right wing, his shoulders relaxed, mind clear.
One after another swish, swish, swish, miss, swish.
4 of 5. Again.
He felt it.
The fire. The rhythm. The confidence.
No cheering, no crowd but Nikola's heart beat louder than any applause.
He moved to the top of the key.
His release smooth. His form focused.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Rim out.
4 out of 5.
Even Kumstrim raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his clipboard.
From the sideline, other players began to notice. Even Jamie.
But Nikola didn't see them. His eyes were locked on the rim.
Left wing next.
This time he stumbled slightly.
Miss. Swish. Swish. Rim out. Swish.
3 of 5.
Still hot. Still focused.
Final spot the left corner.
He wiped his palm on his shorts, adjusted his grip.
Swish. Swish. Miss. Swish. Swish.
4 of 5.
Kumstrim's voice rang out as Nikola stepped away, chest heaving but eyes burning with something new.
"Nikola 19 out of 25."
It wasn't just a good score.
It was one of the best of the day.
Nikola turned away from the court, a thin layer of sweat on his brow, but a subtle fire rising inside him.
He didn't jump the highest. He didn't run the fastest.
But right now, he didn't need to.
Right now he just reminded everyone that basketball wasn't only about being born gifted...
It was about being built. One shot at a time.
Nikola stepped to the side, the rhythm of his heartbeat still echoing from the court.
He grabbed his water bottle, hands slightly trembling not from nerves, but from adrenaline.
19 out of 25.
He wasn't sure where that came from, but it was the first time all day he felt alive.
Still... it wasn't over.
His eyes shifted back toward the court.
Jamie hadn't shot yet.
A part of Nikola wanted to believe maybe, just maybe this would be his win. The one drill where he would finally top the freak athlete who haunted every other result today.
But as the line of players moved forward one by one, Nikola spotted someone unexpected step up to the arc.
A kid he hadn't noticed much before.
Light skinned. Same height as him, neatly trimmed hair. Calm demeanor. Compact frame.
He moved with quiet confidence, no wasted energy just focused calm.
Kumstrim called out his name as he grabbed the ball:
"Kirs, you're up."
Nikola leaned forward instinctively.
There was something about this guy's posture. Something sharp.
Right corner first five shots.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Rim out.
4 out of 5.
Nikola blinked. Okay... good start.
Right wing.
Swish. Rim. Swish. Swish. Swish.
Another 4 of 5.
Now even Kumstrim was watching more carefully.
Top of the key.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Rim. Swish.
4 out of 5 again.
Nikola's grip on his water bottle tightened.
Kirs hadn't shown much during the physical drills. He didn't jump out.
But now he was on fire.
Left wing.
Swish. Miss. Swish. Rim. Swish.
3 of 5. A slight drop, but still deadly.
Final spot left corner.
Kirs exhaled slowly and launched.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Miss. Miss.
3 of 5.
Kumstrim nodded and announced without delay:
"Kirs 18 out of 25."
Just one less than Nikola.
But something about the way Kirs shot made Nikola's pulse spike.
He didn't just shoot well. He shot like it was second nature. No tension, no overthinking. Just flow.
Nikola muttered to himself:
"...Where was he hiding all day?"
For the first time since arriving in Argentina, Nikola wasn't focused on Jamie.
His eyes were now on a new name.
Kirs.
And that name was now etched into his competitive radar.
The gym was quiet now the kind of quiet where even sneakers squeaking on the floor sounded like thunder.
All eyes were on one person.
Jamie.
The same Jamie who had crushed every physical drill like he was built in a lab. The same Jamie who made Nikola feel like his efforts were just… human.
But this wasn't the vertical leap.
This wasn't genetics.
This was a skill.
A skill honed through repetition. Through love for the craft. Through sweat. Through nights spent alone in the gym when everyone else had gone home.
Jamie took his place at the corner. The ball in his hands looked small, like it belonged to him.
Nikola didn't even realize he was holding his breath.
First five shots right corner.
Swish. Miss. Swish. Swish. Miss.
3 of 5.
A murmur ran through the gym.
Is this the same Jamie?
Nikola's eyes widened slightly. Jamie's release looked solid but not smooth. Not automatic. There was tension in his shoulders.
Right wing.
Swish. Miss. Miss. Swish. Rim.
2 of 5.
Still not great.
Jamie exhaled sharply and wiped sweat from his forehead.
For once, he looked… frustrated.
Top of the key.
Swish. Miss. Swish. Miss. Miss.
2 of 5 again.
A few players standing in line started whispering to each other.
Left wing.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Miss.
4 of 5.
Jamie was now visibly upset. He tried to shake it off, bouncing the ball with more force than necessary.
Final station. Left corner.
Swish. Miss. Swish. Swish. Miss.
3 of 5.
Kumstrim glanced at his clipboard, then said loud enough for the gym to hear:
"Jamie 14 out of 25."
The silence was deafening for a split second. Then came the buzz of realization.
Not terrible.
But not great.
Nikola had outshot him.
By five whole buckets.
Nikola's chest swelled with something he hadn't felt all day
Pride.
He didn't smile. Not fully.
But he stood a little straighter. His fingers stopped trembling. His breath felt deeper.
He whispered to himself:
"…Finally."
It wasn't much. But after being outclassed in every other physical test, this small victory tasted sweeter than anything else could.
Because it wasn't given to him.
It was earned.