…
Erik Kuhlmann clapped his hands once, cutting through the laughter. "Alright, alright. Fun's over. We're here to watch these 'Miracles' in action. Focus."
He nodded toward Marcus, who promptly queued up the first tape. One after another, plays, games, highlight reels – the room fell into an unusual silence. Even Mason and Jesus, usually full of energy, were watching intently.
Michiko furrowed her brows. They look… almost intimidated, she thought. The boys were quiet, serious. But as the tape of the final Miracle finished, a short, tense silence hung in the room. Then, like a dam breaking, the boys erupted.
"Bruh, we went head-to-head against Mater Dei and Compton Magic. Who are these clowns?" Novak bellowed, slamming his fist lightly on the armrest of his seat.
Grigori shook his head, laughing. "For real! They're embarrassing themselves! And that hair… what is this? Japanese LGBT cosplay convention or something?"
Jesus snorted. "Bro, I thought we were about to face a team, not a fashion show. Why does everyone look like they lost a bet with their hair?"
Novak leaned forward, voice dripping with mock disgust. "In my country, only women color their hair like that. And even then, maybe not like that. Those guys look like an embarrassment."
Daniel, shaking his head but smiling, added some technical insight. "Yeah… when it comes to how they play, the 'Rainbow Kids' give the impression they have no coach at all. No screens, no pick-and-rolls, no team defense – not even the simplest rotations. Individually, based on what I've seen from scouts and recruits, they didn't show much."
Mason leaned back in his chair, smirking. "So basically, they're flashy, pretty, and clueless. Sounds like IG influencers, not basketball players."
They decided to go through the tapes once more. Novak leaned back, tapping his chin as he watched the point guard weave through defenders. "Man… look at this kid. Court vision's solid, but size? 5'6'', maybe 5'7''. Way too small, unathletic, can't finish over anyone. With teammates he actually has, it's pointless. Two-star recruit at best. Could've been three stars if he was at least six feet tall."
Marcus nodded, arms crossed. "Exactly. Size matters. You can't teach someone to change gravity. Talent only goes so far."
Grigori added, "Yeah, he's got the brains for the game, but against real athletes, he will be like a toddler playing chess against Karpov."
Ector leaned forward, tossing a ball lightly to Jesus. "Alright, your turn. The green-haired kid."
Jesus rolled his eyes, pointing at the screen. "Bro, all he does is chuck threes. Contest winner material, sure. Against real competition? Basura. Can't drive, can't defend. Height's all he's got – 6'4''-6'5'', that is his only saving grace."
Daniel smirked. "Yeah, nice long-range shooter, but if you can't move without the ball or handle pressure, it doesn't matter. That's why shooting contests aren't basketball."
Dr. Lang, who had been quietly observing, leaned in, tone clinical. "And this is exactly the problem. Early specialization in long-range throwing will destroy his shoulders before he's twenty. After age twenty he won't be able to lift his arms past his head."
They went to the next kid. Ector shook his head, smirking at the screen. "Bruh… look at this guy. Goldie-lock or whatever his name is. He's spamming every move he knows like goblin with seizure. Dribble, spin, trashy cross-over… rinse and repeat. Dude looks like he's making it up as he goes."
Mason laughed, pointing at the screen. "Seriously. It's like watching a kid with ADHD try to solve a Rubik's cube while blindfolded. He's athletic, tall enough to maybe be a 2-3 star recruit, but 6'2'' isn't going to cut it at point guard in the States or Europe without vision. And it looks like he doesn't even understand the court half the time."
Ector tossed the ball in the air lightly, mock exasperated. "Yeah, he's tall, but man… without court sense, he's just a glorified roller coaster. Up and down, no control."
Novak leaned back, arms crossed. "Exactly. Give him a good coach and more experience against high-level opposition, maybe he turns into something. For now? Flashy moves, zero substance. He's like… a fancy boy-toy."
Daniel chimed in, nodding. "Height and athleticism aren't enough. Court vision, decision-making… that's what separates a real PG from a highlight reel. He's got tools, but he's unpolished, and right now he'd get eaten alive against physical, smart competition."
Grigori added quietly, almost to himself, "Potential, sure. But raw and reckless. Needs shaping. Otherwise, he just recycles air."
Ector snorted. "Man, I'd bench him just to teach him humility."
Coach Kuhlmann leaned back, eyes on the screen. "Now these last two… actually interesting."
Daniel nodded. "The tan kid first. Athletic, tall, moves well – but it's streetball, not basketball. Every double team, every collapsed defense, he's improvising. Court vision? Almost nonexistent. Could be a 2-star recruit, maybe 4 if coached right, but right now… he isn't much."
Grigori snorted. "Looks like he's auditioning for AND1, not a pro team."
Ector laughed. "Mixtape MVP, definitely. Too bad it won't get him anywhere in real games. He looks like Jesus from Facebook Market."
"Hermano, you are hurting my feelings!"
Kuhlmann smirked. "Exactly. Talent is obvious, but without discipline, he's just a showboat. Could burn out fast against real competition. Thank god we were able to put Jesus and you, Ector, on the right track, otherwise you two would have been just as embarrassing to watch."
Dr. Lang interjected, calm but cutting through the laughter. "At least your teammate here – Jesus – isn't suicidal. He moves properly. That kid, Aomine? Constantly risking serious injury. Every jump, every fall on a hard floor gives him micro-injuries to his spine. By eighteen, he could end up as a cripple."
Daniel added, "And skill-wise? As a point guard, he's useless. Six-four, poor court vision, streetball habits… doesn't translate anywhere – US, Europe, anywhere serious. If he grows a bit he might cut it as a shooting guard."
Novak shook his head, smirking. "Yeah, and unlike him, our Jesus isn't selling knockoffs while snapping his back."
Then all attention shifted to the purple-haired kid, the supposed powerhouse. The room groaned collectively.
Daniel leaned forward, pointing at the screen. "Skill-wise? At this point, even Deng and Biha might be better. This kid's height is impressive – 6'10, same as Grigori – but the way he moves… lazy, slow, only dunks and protects the rim. That's not enough. With proper coaching and effort, he might become something. Or he might be just a waste of genetics. Honestly, in reality, he should be a Power Forward, not a Center. Skill-wise? Grigori would destroy him without even trying."
Ector added, "Yeah, all that size and he still can't play. Makes you appreciate our game IQ even more."
The room was buzzing with laughter, teasing, and disbelief, but beneath the jokes, the team was mentally cataloging weaknesses, potential, and mismatches.
"Hmm, so that is the prey for our tiger? Looks easy…" almost half whispered Marcus with a smile.
Novak tilted his head, chewing on a pen cap. "Coach," he said, breaking the silence, "can I ask something?"
Kuhlmann didn't look away from the screen. "You just did."
The room snickered, but Novak pressed on. "No, seriously. Don't get me wrong – I respect all this prep, but isn't it… kind of excessive? I mean, if it's just about winning in Asia, wouldn't two or three of us have been enough? Add a few solid local guys around and call it a day. This–" he gestured at the team "–feels like using a missile to kill a mosquito."
Ector grinned. "Speak for yourself, man. I am going for the sushi, cash, and easy W."
A few of the others laughed, but Kuhlmann paused the video. The screen froze on a shot of Aomine mid-crossover, dark blue hair blurred in motion.
"Japan truly might not pose a challenge for you," he said, turning to face them. His tone was calm but sharp enough to quiet the laughter instantly. "Not now at least."
Tyrone raised a brow. "Then what is?"
Kuhlmann clasped his hands behind his back. "The guys outside of it. That's where the real competition begins – Australia, China, the Philippines, maybe Korea, maybe New Zealand. Japan may host it, but they won't dominate it. And that's why you're here."
Marcus, sitting near the wall, nodded in agreement. "Coach ain't exaggerating. Once you step outside Japan, it's a whole different ecosystem. Some of these countries treat ball like religion."
Novak frowned. "You're telling me high school teams in other countries are that good?"
Daniel finally chimed in from the back of the room, his voice calm but firm. "Good? Try world-class. Australia's a prime example. They've been quietly building pros for a decade. The projections are saying that in 2016, the first overall NBA draft pick will be Australian."
"Wait, for real?" Jesus asked.
Daniel smirked. "Yeah. You'll see. They've got infrastructure, coaching, and kids tough as nails. Think of it this way – Australia's basically Florida, but the whole damn continent. Hot weather, year-round outdoor ball, and no off-season."
Ector chuckled. "So, you're saying they're all built like me."
Marcus laughed. "Pretty much. Sunshine and sweat make athletes."
Novak tapped his fingers on the table. "And China?"
Kuhlmann resumed pacing slowly. "China worries me more than anyone. Yao Ming's been restructuring their youth development. Every camp, every academy. You'll face squads where all fifteen players are seven feet tall. Same wingspans, same conditioning, same discipline."
Ector leaned back, muttering, "Damn, Chinese do like building their walls."
"You can't outmuscle them. You'll have to outthink them."
The room went quiet again, the sound of the projector the only thing cutting through the stillness.
Jesus raised a hand lazily. "What about the Philippines? They're short, right?"
Kuhlmann's mouth curved in something that was almost a smile. "Don't underestimate them. The Philippines used to be an American colony. The Brits had left palaces and trains in India. America had left basketball. And there's a constant flow of half-American players moving between Manila and the States. One game you'll play local kids – fast, scrappy, creative – and the next, you'll find yourself up against a team of Americans with Filipino passports and AAU pedigrees."
Tyrone blinked. "Wait, you mean one night it's like… backyard ball, next night it's Team USA Lite?"
"Precisely," Kuhlmann said. "They'll smile, they'll joke, and then they'll drop forty on you without blinking."
The projector clicked off. The room dimmed to silence.
Marcus stood, clapping his hands once. "And that is why you're all here. We didn't need a couple of stars – we needed a roster of weapons. No weak links. You're not a local attraction. You're a prototype for something bigger."
Grigori stretched his arms behind his head. "So what you're saying is… it's an arms race?"
"And if we're lucky, we'll survive the first battle." Kuhlmann said.
Novak leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Guess that explains why every practice feels like boot camp."
"Boot camp's fine," Jesus said, smirking. "Just wait till we meet the skyscraper squads. Then we'll really find out who's who."