The silence in the wake of the Jahmal Carter showdown was more telling than any headline. The NBA whispers, for now, faded into a background hum. David Weiss still called, his voice a persistent buzz of potential deals and interested teams, but Kyle found it easier to let the calls go to voicemail. The specter of his younger, brasher self had been faced down on the court in Tel Aviv, and in its place stood a clearer, more grounded version of the man he was becoming.
He wasn't just a player for Real Madrid; he was a student of the game in its purest, most demanding form. The "professor" moniker, once a taunt from Carter, now felt like a badge of honor. He began to lean into it, spending extra hours not just on his own shot, but dissecting film of upcoming opponents with the obsessive detail of a scout. He saw the game in layers now—not just the primary action, but the secondary cuts, the defensive tendencies of the weak-side help, the tells of a point guard about to call a set play.
