Coach K's office was dark except for the harsh glow of a desk lamp. Papers lay scattered, half-filled scouting reports curling at the edges, and a lukewarm cup of coffee sat abandoned beside them. The man himself was slumped in his chair, shoulders heavy, eyes shut for a moment's rest.
The door burst open.
"Coach!"
Kuhlmann jerked awake. "Jesus Christ, Daniel!" His hand pressed against his chest. "Are you trying to kill me? Verdammt nochmal!"
Daniel stood in the doorway, breathless, hair windblown from the sprint. His eyes shone with a kind of feverish light.
"I got it," he panted. "I swear to God, I finally got it."
Kuhlmann squinted at him, unimpressed. "You drunk?"
"Maybe." Daniel grinned, half-mad. "But I'm also right." He slammed both palms onto the desk, rattling the empty coffee cup. "Wandering princelings!"
The coach blinked. "…What the hell are you talking about?"
Daniel leaned forward, as if the walls had ears and he was about to utter words that were key to all of the universe's secrets. "All day we've been chasing after kings. Kids who already wear crowns. UCLA boys, Kentucky commits, Duke five-stars, LaVar's empire, Zion, RJ, Cam – they ain't even giving us two seconds of daylight. And why would they? They're sitting on thrones already."
Kuhlmann's brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.
"That's why we keep getting the door slammed in our faces," Daniel pressed on, voice sharp now. "Forget the kings. We go after the princelings. The ones overlooked. The kids stuck in small gyms, destined to go JUCO and backyard leagues hoping to be noticed. Talented, hungry, pissed off at the world 'cause nobody gave them a crown. Guys like Dame."
"Dame?"
"Damian Lillard," Daniel said, quieter but no less fierce. "Weber State. Nobody wanted him. Not the blue bloods, not the big recruiters. He had to fight just to be noticed. And now look – ice in his veins, hitting game-winners in Madison Square Garden like it's nothing. I looked him up, at high school he was only a 2-star recruit."
Kuhlmann leaned back in his chair. His expression softened, the exhaustion replaced with a glimmer of interest. "So what you're saying is…"
Daniel's mouth curled into a crooked smile. "That's us. That's Onitsuka. We ain't no throne. We're a forge. We take wandering princelings and make them into kings."
The coach let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're outta your damn mind."
"Maybe." Daniel straightened, almost daring him to laugh harder. "But it's the only way we get the team. Guys who are overlooked for different reasons, but have huge potential and huge ambitions. We need those princelings. Not the guys who are kings already, but those who can become."
For a long moment, Kuhlmann said nothing. Then, almost against his own will, the corners of his mouth lifted. He leaned forward again, elbows on the desk. "Wandering princelings," he murmured, tasting the words. "Verdammt klug. Clever, but insane. Which means it might just work."
Daniel grinned like he'd just hit a game-winner.
For the first time that day, the heavy air in the office cracked open with laughter.
~~~~~
The morning sun spilled through the coworking windows, too bright, too clean for the crew gathered around the table. Yesterday's tension still clung to the room like dust. Everyone was waiting for Coach Kuhlmann to appear – though none of them expected him to come striding in with the energy of a man half his age.
"Guten Morgen, Leute!" he barked, slapping the desk with a flat palm that made Michiko jump and Dr. Lang lift a curious eyebrow. His eyes were alive, sparking, the complete opposite of the drained, brooding figure they'd seen the day before.
"Where is Marcus?" he demanded.
"Maybe he overslept," Daniel offered, voice still gravelly from lack of sleep. "We were drinking last night."
"Second day on the job and he is already being late, that's quite irresponsible and disrespectful of him," Michiko's lips thinned. "Since we are so early into the project, I believe it is not too late to replace him."
"Don't be so rash, Michiko," Dr. Lang murmured, "Athletes have higher alcohol tolerance than regular people. Maybe his body didn't notice when it crossed the border of what his liver can handle."
Michiko's gaze sharpened. "But Daniel is here. Marcus is not."
Daniel spread his hands in surrender. "That's because I didn't leave. I crashed here after Coach and I pulled an all-nighter."
At that moment, the door swung open, and Marcus stumbled in. He was drenched in sweat, shirt clinging to him like he'd just run through a storm. His sneakers looked like relics from the war.
"Shit, bossman, I'm sorry!" he panted. "Didn't mean to be late."
Coach raised a brow. "Marcus, why do you look like that?"
Marcus leaned against the frame, gasping. "'Cause Daniel here ran out on the bar tab, so I had to pay with my last cash. Man, I'm broke. I walked eight miles home last night and ran eight back this morning."
The room broke into muffled laughter.
Daniel looked down, sheepish. "My bad, bro. I'll cover you after this. I got…carried away."
Michiko tilted her head. "But why not drive? You had your car."
"Left it here," Marcus replied quickly. "Don't want no DUI on my record. I'm an upstanding citizen!"
Coach clapped once, cutting the banter short. "Alright, enough. We're all here now." He tapped the touchscreen of the interactive whiteboard. The screen blinked to life, filling with a web of folders. Each one neatly labeled, each one heavy with footage, stats, and data.
"These folders," the coach continued, "contain footages and information on lower ranked and international players. Many of them are ranked so unjustly. I would like to thank Marcus and Daniel for this idea. Our task is to go through all of this footage and find out those diamonds in the rough and shape our team. And we have to entice them to come and join us offering the spotlight that they crave."
Michiko crossed her arms, her voice cool. "Forgive me. I need clarity. Why were they overlooked in the first place?"
Erik Kuhlmann exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Well, reasons are plenty. Some have questionable health, others have questionable basketball IQ and vision of the game, plus a plethora of other reasons. Hell, one of them might have insulted one of the scouts' mothers, hell knows. But mostly, just talented kids, who have lackluster competition, from small markets. They just never had the chance to shine and develop in a stronger league. To get that chance, you need to join a big prep programme. And to get that in turn, you have two options, be noticed by scouts or pay the money yourself and prove everything inside the school. Since scouts don't look towards their places often, the only choice left is to pay the cash. Here is where they hit the wall. Average cost of attendance in those places varies from $30,000 to $100,000 per year. Not many families can burn that kind of money on a dream."
Michiko listened, eyes narrowing in thought. "I think I understand it now. So, since the main pain point of those children is the financial background of their families, simply from a sales and marketing perspective, won't it be better to offer monetary incentives to potential prospects instead of a simple 'spotlight'? I believe it would make for a stronger call-to-action."
"Hmm, you know…can't argue with that. But will our billionaire friend be onboard with this?"
"Just give me a minute."
She stood, stepped out, and exactly one minute later, returned, her expression unreadable.
"Mr. Goro agrees," she announced. "His proposal – in addition to scholarships, exposure, and training, each player on the roster will receive a prize of half a million dollars if they win every tournament."
A moment of silence fell on the room.
Daniel blinked. "Half a million…each?"
"Mein Gott. That's… generous. And makes the job a lot easier," said the coach.
Marcus's head shot up. "Damn, man, it is hella good to be loaded," he whistled, "If we get a full roster, that makes it almost ten millies, and he threw it out like nothing!"