Target Center – Practice Court
June 25, 2016. 7:03 a.m.
The gym was quiet.
No music. No cameras.
Just hardwood, echo, and breath.
Elias stood at the baseline.
No warmup. No stretch.
Just stillness.
The assistant coach entered first.
Then the rookies.
Then the vets.
No one greeted him.
He didn't expect it.
But he felt it.
The distance.
The doubt.
The weight of being unscouted, uninvited, unproven.
Drills Begin
The whistle blew.
Players moved.
Elias didn't.
He watched the first possession unfold.
Then stepped in.
One block.
One rebound.
One outlet pass—perfect angle, no spin.
The gym paused.
He felt the shift.
Not pride.
Not triumph.
Just confirmation.
"I belong here," he whispered.
"Even if they don't want me to."
Internal Pulse
The next drill was 3-on-3.
Elias was placed with two second-rounders.
Across from him: the starting center.
First play—drive, kick, shot.
Elias didn't jump.
He just moved.
Blocked.
Second play—pick and roll.
Elias switched, hedged, recovered.
No shot attempt.
Third play—post-up.
The starter backed him down.
Elias didn't resist.
He redirected.
Turnover.
The gym got quiet.
The First Voice
The starting center barked.
"Yo, you gonna talk or just play ghost?"
Elias turned.
Not aggressive. Not passive.
Just present.
"You talk to be heard.
I move to be felt."
The gym froze.
The assistant coach dropped his clipboard.
The rookies stared.
The vets looked away.
After Practice
In the locker room, no one sat beside him.
He didn't mind.
He unlaced his shoes slowly.
Not from fatigue.
From memory.
He remembered his grandfather's voice:
"If they don't understand your silence,
they won't survive your presence."
He smiled.
Not for them.
For himself.