The bus rumbled out of the hotel parking lot, the California morning already too bright for half the guys. Most were still half-asleep, slouched against the windows, earbuds in, heads bobbing to whatever music kept them alive. Marcus sat near the front, one AirPod in, pretending to read something on his tablet but clearly listening.
It was Jesus, of course, who started it.
"Yo," he said suddenly, turning around in his seat. "We been together for a month, and none of y'all even got nicknames. What kinda el grupo is that?"
Ector yawned. "Bro, we got names."
Jesus smirked. "Yeah, boring government names. Look at us – future champions, no swagger. You ever seen a legend with just a regular-ass name?"
Tyrone leaned forward, grinning. "Facts. Ain't nobody chanting 'Go Ector!' from the bleachers."
Ector glared. "They will when I drop 30."
"Yeah, but imagine the commentators," Novak cut in, voice lazy but amused. "'And Ector Troy goes for another dunk!' Sounds like an accountant who can jump."
The bus erupted in laughter. Ector flipped him off. "Alright, smartass. Then what's your nickname, huh?"
Jesus snapped his fingers. "Easy – Fat White LeBron!"
The whole bus howled. Novak groaned, sinking lower in his seat. "You racist little –"
"Nah, nah," Ector said, gasping through laughter. "It's perfect. You play like you think you're the King but built like the King's uncle."
Even Marcus laughed from the front. "Y'all foul. Leave the man alone."
Grigori leaned in, smiling thinly. "No, no, it fits. He passes like LeBron, just… slower. And sweatier."
"Yeah," Tyrone added. "White LeBron from Serbia. The Balkan Bron."
Novak tried to defend himself, "At least I pass! You all just hunt highlights like IG clowns!"
That only made it worse. Jesus was wheezing, gripping the seat. "Oh, my God. Fat White Bron! Someone put that on a T-shirt!"
Ector wiped his eyes. "Alright, alright, then what's mine?"
Grigori didn't hesitate. "T-Rex."
Ector blinked. "The hell you mean T-Rex?"
"Short arms. Angry all the time," Novak said, recovering just enough to smirk. "You dunk like you trying to bite the rim."
Jesus snapped his fingers. "Perfect! T-Rex Troy! Small arms, big anger."
"Man, shut your ass up," Ector said, but he was laughing too. "Fine. T-Rex it is."
Marcus looked back, shaking his head. "T-Rex, Fat White Bron… we sound like a parody team already."
Jesus kicked his seat lightly. "What about me then, Coach? I need something epic."
Ector grinned. "Easy – El Chapo."
Jesus froze, then laughed so hard he almost dropped his phone. "You calling me a drug lord now?"
"Man, you from Pueblo," Tyrone said. "You talk like you run a cartel."
"Yeah, and you move on the court like you dodging the DEA," Novak added.
Marcus tried to stifle his laugh. "El Chapo fits too good, man."
Jesus pointed at them dramatically. "Fine. But if I'm El Chapo, that makes y'all my crew. T-Rex the muscle, White Bron the money launderer, Grigori the bodyguard –"
Grigori raised a brow. "If I'm bodyguard, who you guarding against? Common sense?"
"Exactly!" Ector yelled. "Bro out here protecting you from your own sick brain."
Marcus laughed so hard he had to take off his sunglasses. "Man, I swear y'all need a reality show."
Then Jean-Batiste spoke for the first time, deep and slow. "I don't need nickname."
Everyone turned toward the seven-foot-three giant. Jesus grinned. "Oh, we got you, JB."
"JB?" Jean-Batiste frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Jean-Batiste," Ector said. "Initials. Simple."
Novak shook his head. "Nah. Too normal. I say we call him Lil B."
That made everyone choke.
"LIL B?!" Tyrone screamed. "Bro's seven-three!"
"That's the joke," Novak said, deadpan. "Lil B."
"Yooooo!" Jesus slapped the window. "Lil B the Based Giant!"
Jean-Batiste smiled faintly. "Lil B… is fine."
The laughter took a minute to die down.
"Alright, what about me?" Tyrone said, smirking. "Call me Tyrone the OG Baller."
The bus went quiet for half a beat. Then Ector burst out laughing. "Bro, nobody calling you that! Sounds like your MySpace name."
Jesus added, "OG Baller? Man, that sounds like you fifty-five and play in church leagues."
Novak snorted. "We calling you T-Bone. End of discussion."
"T-Bone?" Tyrone groaned. "That's not even basketball!"
Grigori nodded calmly. "It fits. Strong, simple, meathead energy."
The bus howled again. "T-Bone!" they chanted until Tyrone started laughing too. "Alright, fine! T-Bone it is!"
Aliir leaned his head out from the back. "And I guess that makes me AD."
"Yeah, you earned that," Jesus said. "You like the 99% discount Anthony Davis."
Aliir grinned. "Discount or not, I'm still blocking your shots, El Chapo."
"Not if Lil B screens you first," Ector said, grinning.
Finally, everyone turned toward Grigori.
"What about me?" he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Oh, that's easy," Ector said. "You are like KD, so Slim Reaper."
"No, no," Jesus countered. "Durantula."
"Big Ticket, I think he is more like Garnett" Novak suggested.
Tyrone rubbed his chin. "Big Russian Ticket."
Jesus wheezed. "Nah, nah – Grim Reaper! Fits the Russian vibe!"
Grigori actually smiled. "Grim Reaper… yes. I like that."
Marcus shook his head, still laughing. "So we got Balkan Bron, T-Rex, El Chapo, Lil B, T-Bone, Discount AD, and the Grim Reaper. Y'all sound like the world's worst rap group. When is the next album?"
Ector grinned. "Nah, Coach. That's the future champions of Asia."
Marcus chuckled, leaning back. "God help Japan."
The bus hummed through morning LA traffic, sunlight bouncing off the windows. The boys filled it with noise.
"Yo, first stop – Walmart!" Ector announced like it was Disneyland.
"Walmart?" Novak squinted. "Why is everyone excited about grocery store?"
Tyrone laughed. "You'll see, man. This ain't no grocery store. This is America's greatest achievement, it is the temple of Freedom and Democracy."
"Bro," Ector grinned, "you can buy cereal, a gun, and a fish tank in the same ten minutes. It's a spiritual experience."
Jesus crossed himself jokingly. "Dios mío. Bless this capitalist temple."
Marcus shook his head, smirking from the front seat. "Don't embarrass me too much, alright? We're still representing the program."
"Program?" Grigori muttered. "We are basketball players, not KGB."
The bus pulled into the lot, endless rows of cars glinting in the sun. The Walmart Supercenter loomed like a factory of pure consumerism.
"Behold!" Ector spread his arms dramatically. "The Promised Land!"
Automatic doors whooshed open and the air-conditioning hit like ice. Tyrone led the charge, hands in his pockets like a local lord giving a tour of his feud.
"Okay," he said, "clothes that way, electronics that way, and corn syrup everywhere."
Grigori's eyes darted around. "Wait… you can buy shotguns here?"
"Yeah," Tyrone said casually, "right next to the camping gear."
Novak's jaw dropped. "In Serbia, if you want shotgun, you need six papers and priest blessing."
Deng pointed at a wall of cereal. "Why the boxes so big? You feeding a family or an army?"
Jesus grabbed a pack of Pop-Tarts, inspecting it like alien technology. "This thing's got more sugar than my whole hometown."
"Man I thought you were born here, in Colorado or somewhere?" Tyrone asked confused.
"Yeah, but I was raised on proper Mexican food, not Crunchables and Kool-aid."
AD and JB had already wandered off to the electronics section. They were gone for five minutes before JB yelled across the aisle, "Yo! They got cameras!"
"Of course they got cameras!" Ector shouted back. "They probably sell kidneys too if you look hard enough!"
Marcus trailed behind them, trying not to laugh. "You kids act like you've never seen a store before."
Grigori pointed at an aisle with bicycles, rifles, and dog food stacked side by side. "We haven't seen this. This is a capitalist zoo."
JB stood at the glass counter, eyes locked on a sleek silver camera. "Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX100," he read aloud like it was scripture.
Ector leaned over his shoulder. "You tryna be Spielberg now?"
"It's good quality," JB said, serious. "Perfect for recording everything. I want to make a documentary."
"Documentary?" Novak snorted. "What, 'Life of Idiots Abroad'?"
"Shut up, White Bron," JB said, smirking.
Marcus chuckled. "Honestly? That's not a bad idea. Every great team's got a behind-the-scenes doc. Like Lakers and Bulls."
Jesus made a fake announcement voice. "'From the mean streets of Jacksonville and Moscow – the Onitsuka Tigers, a story of hoops, hunger, and horrible haircuts.'"
Ector flicked his cap at him. "You're the only one with a horrible haircut, bro. Barber missed you like you missed that free throw last game."
Across the aisle, Grigori was staring at a wall of consoles. PS4s stacked high, bright blue boxes promising adventure. He quietly grabbed one and a pack of games.
"Bro," Ector said, walking over, "you even play?"
Grigori shrugged. "It's Batman. So it's good."
Silence. Then everyone burst out laughing.
"That's your logic?" Tyrone wheezed. "If it's Batman, it's good?"
Grigori nodded, stone-faced. "I like Batman."
Marcus put a hand over his face, trying not to lose it. "God help me, you're so goofy, no one is going to take us seriously."
At the registers, their cart looked like a tornado hit: random snacks, cheap sunglasses, a Nerf gun, two basketballs, and one questionable inflatable flamingo. Jesus tried to scan a pack of gum three times before Ector snatched it. "Bro, you gotta scan the barcode, not the flavor!"
JB had already started assembling his camera right there, narrating like a news anchor. "Day one: the Tigers enter Walmart. Confidence high. IQ… not so much."
They piled back into the bus, loaded with bags. JB sat by the window, holding the Lumix like it was a newborn. Grigori carefully tucked the PS4 under his seat like it was his biggest treasure. Novak ripped open a bag of chips. "Alright, Walmart rating: ten outta ten. Would shop again."
"Yeah," Jesus added, "and we didn't even get kicked out. That's character development."
Marcus started the bus, shaking his head but smiling. "You boys done?"
"Never," Tyrone said. "Next stop – downtown LA. Let me show you all what else this country's got before Japan kidnaps us."
The bus rumbled forward, the city skyline peeking through the window. JB lifted the camera, hit record, and said quietly, "Day one – Onitsuka Tigers hit the streets."
The red light blinked on.