The sound of sneakers scraping the hardwood echoed faintly beneath the gym's high ceiling, still buzzing with the aftermath of the first shooting drill.
Kumstrim, clipboard in hand and mic raised once more, cleared his throat.
"Alright, everyone," his voice rang across the gym, steady and commanding, "next drill is the same format as before twenty five shots, five from each spot... but this time, it's mid range."
The announcement stirred a quiet wave of shifting feet and bouncing basketballs. It was time to prove something again not just who had the range, but who had the fundamentals.
Nikola stepped into line.
His body still ached from the physical drills, but his mind… was sharper now.
As he settled into the middle of the line, he subtly turned his head, scanning the queue.
Jamie… wasn't ahead of him.
Neither was Kris.
They were both further back.
A small, quiet advantage.
"Good," Nikola thought, adjusting the hem of his shirt and bouncing lightly on his toes. "Let them watch me this time."
He clenched his fists for a moment before relaxing them again. He knew this drill wouldn't be about raw power or length. This was about balance, rhythm… touch.
Something he had worked on day in and day out in silence, in solitude.
And as the players ahead of him began their turns, one after the other, he kept his eyes locked on the rack of balls and the arc of each shot.
He had beaten Jamie once.
Could he do it again?
The thought whispered in his mind like a challenge.
At last, Nikola's name was called.
He stepped forward.
The ball rack stood waiting at the baseline, lined with twenty five pristine basketballs. Five stations baseline corners, the wings, and the top of the key five shots each. Mid range. No excuses.
Nikola exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders.
First station right corner.
He bent his knees slightly, caught the rhythm, and launched.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Four out of five.
He let himself feel nothing. No joy. No pride. Not yet.
Second station right wing.
One step up. His feet squared, hands firm, release high.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Another four.
Already at 8 out of 10. His shooting hand tingled the kind of heat that only shows up on rare, special days.
Third station top of the key.
The most crucial angle.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Four more. 12 out of 15.
From the sidelines, a few murmurs began. He wasn't a big name like Jamie or an eye catching shotmaker like Kris, but right now, Nikola was lighting up the floor.
Fourth station left wing.
He missed the first one.
Tight release.
But the next three dropped like stones into still water. The fifth rattled out.
3 out of 5. 15 out of 20.
Final station left corner.
He wiped his hands quickly on his shorts.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Clank.
Clank.
Final total: 17 out of 25.
When the final shot splashed through, he allowed himself to crack a faint, tired smile.
Not perfect but strong.
Solid.
Hot.
Maybe not enough to make jaws drop, but enough to turn heads.
Enough to make Jamie watch.
Enough to keep Kris interested.
Enough… to make himself believe again.
Nikola stepped back from the court and glanced up at the scoreboard where his score was being marked.
17/25.
After a few more players took their turns some solid, some forgettable the gym grew a little quieter.
It was Kris's turn.
Nikola's eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped up.
There was something effortlessly cool about the way Kris moved. His light skin gleamed under the fluorescent lights, his short hair barely moving as he jogged to the baseline. His expression was calm, unreadable as if none of this fazed him.
He didn't stretch. Didn't bounce on his toes. Just nodded once to the staff member holding the clipboard.
Then it began.
First station right corner.
Kris's form was clean, high arc, soft touch.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
3 out of 5.
He didn't react. Just glided to the next rack.
Second station right wing.
Here, he heated up.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
4 out of 5.
Now 7 out of 10.
Nikola narrowed his eyes. He was getting serious now.
Top of the key.
Kris caught rhythm quickly. His footwork was tight. Every shot came off his fingertips like it had been rehearsed in a dream.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Another 4. 11 out of 15.
Even Kumstrim gave a small nod. Solid form. Lethal precision.
Fourth station left wing.
Swish.
Clank.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
3 out of 5.
14 out of 20.
Nikola clenched his jaw slightly.
"He's catching up…"
Final station left corner.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Final score: 17 out of 25.
Exactly the same as Nikola.
Kris didn't celebrate. He barely glanced at the scoreboard. He just calmly walked back to the bench, towel over his shoulder like it was just another ordinary drill.
But Nikola felt it a quiet rush in his chest.
He had matched him.
Then came the name everyone had been waiting for.
"Jamie. You're up."
Nikola didn't even blink.
He turned his full attention to the court, eyes sharp, heart steady.
Jamie strolled up to the line like it was nothing. His powerful frame seemed even more intimidating up close, muscles loose but ready. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and without even glancing at the others, grabbed the first ball.
Right corner.
Swish.
Clank.
Clank.
Swish.
Clank.
2 out of 5.
Right wing.
Jamie adjusted. He started getting into a rhythm.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
4 out of 5.
Now 6 out of 10.
Nikola folded his arms, watching intently. There was no denying Jamie had range but his form wasn't textbook. It was raw. Powerful, but not polished.
Top of the key.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
3 more. 9 out of 15.
Jamie wasn't cooling down but he wasn't lighting it up either.
Left wing.
Clank.
Clank.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
3 out of 5. Now at 12 out of 20.
Nikola's grip on his water bottle loosened. A strange sensation started brewing inside his chest.
Hope?
Left corner. Final rack.
Jamie exhaled, bent his knees, and fired.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Clank.
Swish.
Final tally: 15 out of 25.
He stepped off casually, grabbing a towel from a staff member, face unreadable.
But Nikola… Nikola was lit up on the inside.
He had beaten him again.
He had outscored Jamie.