The victory against Zenit wasn't just a win; it was a reaffirmation of identity. The bitter taste of the Milan loss had been washed away, replaced by the clean, metallic flavor of sheer, uncompromising effort. The team had looked into the abyss of complacency and collectively taken a step back. The resulting cohesion was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to hum in the air during practices and crackle through the WiZink Center on game nights.
They entered the final month of the EuroLeague regular season not just as contenders, but as a force of nature. The basketball they played was a brutal, beautiful form of art. It was symphonic in its complexity yet primal in its execution. The ball moved with a hypnotic, whirring precision—side to side, inside and out—until the defense, stretched to its absolute limit, would finally snap, yielding an open three or a thunderous dunk at the rim.
