The day Snoopy arrived in the United States, he went straight to UCLA's basketball training facility to train with Russell Westbrook before the draft.
Nike had already arranged a professional training team for him and provided a full set of equipment.
"Long time no see, Snoopy!"
Westbrook called out from the massage table in the gym.
Everyone around Westbrook was wearing Jordan Brand gear. He had recently signed a deal with the Jordan line—but the offer wasn't that high, not much better than Snoopy's guaranteed contract.
When it came to shoe deals, not every lottery pick could secure a cash endorsement. Even if they did, it usually ranged from $200,000 to $700,000.
After all, in the entire NBA, only about ten true superstars had their own signature shoes. Most players were stuck with product contracts—brands would send them free shoes or give them vouchers to buy equipment, plus maybe a token $5,000 to $10,000 "endorsement fee."
But right now, many rookies were mocking Snoopy, claiming that his five-year, $88.88 million deal was the biggest joke in basketball.
"Your new single made it into the U.S. Top Ten last week—pretty impressive," Westbrook said, fiddling with his music player. "Did you see the news yesterday? O.J. Mayo was talking trash, saying your contract is a joke."
Snoopy had already learned that the details of his contract had leaked while he was still in China. Nike apologized for the incident, but he didn't care—he never intended to hide the terms anyway.
"A joke?" Snoopy raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a victory at the negotiation table?"
Westbrook nodded. "For a high-potential rookie, yeah—it's a big win. You locked in a solid guarantee and still left plenty of room to grow."
"But the guys who didn't get deals don't see it that way," Westbrook added. "They just see that your total figure dropped from $88 million to under $5 million, and now they think you're all about appearances."
Snoopy turned around as a Nike trainer worked on loosening his back muscles.
"How about Kevin?" he suddenly asked. "Did Durant get his endorsement deal?"
"Only a product deal from Nike," Westbrook replied. "But I heard he's talking with some brands—he might get a few hundred thousand from one of them. By the way, I'm heading to the Orlando training camp the day after tomorrow, but my agent won't let me join the scrimmages. He's worried about injuries. What about you—your agent okay with you playing?"
"I don't have an agent," Snoopy said with a grin. "Just a partner who helps handle my business stuff."
He chuckled. "But yeah, I'm definitely joining the scrimmages. You know me—on paper I look terrible, but once the game starts, that's when I shine."
Westbrook looked at him seriously. "Then be careful. A lot of the other prospects have you in their sights. Anthony Randolph, JaVale McGee—they've already said if you step into a scrimmage, they're gonna dunk on you."
"ESPN ran a special analysis last week," Westbrook continued. "Their data model ranked you as last season's most efficient defender and best rim protector in the NCAA—and you've never been dunked on head-to-head. That report got every high-flyer hyped to test you. Their agents are fueling it too—if word gets out that someone posterized you, their draft stock shoots up overnight."
Snoopy raised an eyebrow. So they're planning to use me as a stepping stone, huh?
"Fine," he said with a sharp grin. "I accept their challenge. If they want to dunk on me, let them try."
He turned to the Nike staff. "Spread the word—Snoopy's ready for full-court scrimmages against any big man. All teams are welcome to scout."
Westbrook stared at him in surprise. Is this guy serious? McGee and Randolph were both insane athletes—was he underestimating them?
But then, Westbrook saw Snoopy take the ball, drive, and rise for a one-handed dunk.
He froze in disbelief.
Sure, Snoopy's footwork still looked a little stiff, but when he palmed the ball and forced it through the rim, Westbrook couldn't help shouting:
"Whoa—wait! You can dunk with one hand now?!"
It was shocking. The last time Westbrook saw him, the only thing Snoopy could do with the ball was shoot slow, flat free throws.
But now—he could actually drive and dunk. It wasn't graceful, and his vertical had dropped a bit, but still—it was a huge step forward.
Before Westbrook could finish processing it, Snoopy grabbed the rebound and leapt again—BOOM!
This time, it was smoother, faster, and stronger.
"No problem with one-hand dunks anymore," Snoopy said calmly. "Still can't do it with two hands, though."
He just didn't have the coordination yet to go up with both hands, even from a standstill.
"That's amazing," Westbrook said sincerely. "At this rate, you won't even need my passes—you'll grab your own rebounds and dunk them yourself."
Snoopy smiled faintly. There were a lot of ways to interpret that comment.
Then Westbrook laughed. "When your coordination's back to where it was—when you were flying around and beating up Collison—don't tell me you're gonna turn into a point guard."
To be honest, he was a little worried. The media mocked Snoopy's claim that he was actually a "point guard," but Westbrook knew—if this guy really did become a point guard, it would shake the league.
Just like how LeBron James redefined what a small forward could be.