The Saturday morning light spilled across the polished court. Adrian Carter sat alone on the bench, already dressed in practice gear, hands folded neatly between his knees.
The gym doors burst open.
"Yo, T-Bone! Morning!"
Adrian looked up – confused.
Ector strutted in, confidence first, logic later. When no reply came, he frowned. "T-Bone, ain't your pretty mama teach you to say 'wassup'?"
He rubbed his eyes, squinting. "Wait… damn, you ain't Tyrone. What the hell? You one of his brothers or something?"
"Good morning," Adrian said evenly. "And no, I'm not. I have no idea who this Tyrone is."
"Damn," Ector muttered, circling him. "You look like his twin – just… Blasian? So spill, who likes sushi so much, your mom or your dad?"
"I don't understand what you're asking," Adrian replied, deadpan. "And I don't even know your name."
"Oh, my bad, man. Ector. You can call me T-Rex."
"Adrian Carter," he said, shaking his hand. "Nice to make your acquaintance… Ector."
"So you are Blasian. Who's who?"
"I don't see why you need to know that."
"'Cause I'm wondering which of Tyrone's parents was unfaithful."
"I told you, I don't know him. My father's American, my mother's Japanese."
Just then, Novak wandered in, yawning. "Morning, T–oh. Who's this?"
"Wassup, BB," Ector grinned. "That's Tyrone's cousin."
Adrian sighed. "I'm not."
"Man, you really look alike," Novak said, squinting.
One by one, the rest of the boys trickled in. Tyrone arrived last, sweat glistening from an early morning run. He stopped short at the sight of Adrian.
"Huh. You my cousin?"
"Man, I don't know you," Adrian said again, with a sigh.
Before anyone could say anything, Novak looked around. "Hey, anybody seen our Russian?"
A deep voice echoed from the dark corner of the gym. "I'm here."
Everyone turned. Grigori sat in the shadows where the morning light didn't reach, the ball balanced perfectly on his fingertips.
"I was here the whole time," he said calmly.
Adrian frowned. "That's impossible. I came first."
"No," Grigori said without looking up. "You just didn't see what was behind you. I always come first. And I always leave last."
Ector stared at him. "So what, you sittin' there brooding, tryna cosplay Batman or something?"
Grigori finally looked up, expression unreadable. "No. I was talking to the ball. Seeking Theosis."
Novak froze. "Bruh… that's blasphemy."
~~~~~
The echo of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking on the waxed court filled the gym when the doors opened again. Coach Kuhlmann stepped in first – posture straight, expression unreadable – followed by Daniel and Marcus, both carrying clipboards.
The noise dropped a little as the boys turned their attention to him. Even Ector, who was halfway through an exaggerated crossover, slowed to a stop.
"Morning, gentlemen," Kuhlmann said, his voice cutting clean through the gym's hum. "Good to see all of you up and moving. We've got a few updates."
He nodded toward Adrian, who stood beside the baseline, towel slung over his shoulder. "First – we have a new teammate joining us. Adrian Carter. Some of you may have already met him this morning."
Ector smirked. "Oh, we met."
Kuhlmann's gaze shifted toward him – just long enough to silence any follow-up. "Carter will be training with us starting today," he continued. "Treat him like one of your own. We don't have time for ego or territory. We build together, or we fall apart."
He turned slightly, folding his arms behind his back. "Now, second – this afternoon, we'll be joined by our new managers. Five applicants were approved. You'll meet them later, and you'll treat them with the same respect you'd show to your coaches. They'll be part of the system that keeps this program alive."
The boys exchanged looks – a mix of curiosity, interest, and in Ector's case, something dangerously close to excitement.
"And in the evening," Kuhlmann went on, "we'll have new players arriving."
"How many?" asked Jesus, raising a brow.
Marcus grinned before Kuhlmann could answer. "A hundred."
The gym went silent.
"A hundred?" Tyrone repeated, incredulous. "You serious, Coach?"
"Dead serious," Marcus said, still smiling. "Word spread fast. Everyone who's ever touched a basketball in this school signed up."
"So what now," Ector said, smirking, "With Tyrone's cousin we have eight. Are we keeping seven and cutting the rest?"
Daniel nodded. "You have to remember – Onitsuka's got over three thousand students. That's a lot of kids. Not everyone wants to be a pro. Some just want to play."
Marcus replied. "We'll keep all of them in the club. They'll train, practice, play intramurals, maybe scrimmage the main team. But only seven will make it to the official roster for tournaments."
"Each of you," Kuhlmann stated, "was brought here to start something that will outlive your stay. You'll play, yes. You'll win, I expect that. But more than that – you'll teach. You'll set standards. The day you leave, I want every kid in this gym to remember how you trained, how you played, and how you carried yourselves. Do you understand me?"
A few nods went around. Only Adrian yessed out loud.
"I didn't fucking hear you."
A loud wave of "Yes!" and "Yessir!" rolled through the guys.
"Perfect," Kuhlmann said simply. "In the evening, we'll be running full scrimmages and assessments. You'll all help. I want to see how you handle leadership, communication, and structure."
Novak scratched his head. "So we're basically running a whole training camp?"
Daniel nodded. "Exactly that. Ector pointed it out already, seven spots are open."
Ector whistled low. "Seven outta a hundred. Damn. Odds worse than the lottery."
"Don't expect miracles," Daniel said dryly. "This isn't the Draft Combine. From what we've seen, only a handful of those guys even crack six feet."
Grigori, seated quietly on the bench, tilted his head. "Then why call it a trial?"
Kuhlmann looked at him. "Because sometimes, one spark hides under a hundred ashes."
The room went still for a moment.
"Alright," Kuhlmann concluded. "That's enough for now. Practice until lunch. The managers arrive at fourteen hundred. Assessments start at nineteen hundred. Be ready." He turned and walked toward the exit.
Ector waited until the doors closed before leaning toward Jesus. "Man, did he say five managers?"
Jesus grinned. "He did."
Tyrone shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Lord, give me strength."
And somewhere behind them, Grigori's calm voice echoed like a whisper through the gym: "Strength is given only to those who suffer."
"That was out of pocket," blurted out Novak.
~~~~~
Onitsuka Athletic High's boys basketball club:
Name: Onitsuka Tigers
Number of club member: 117
Number of 1 string players: 8
Number of managers: 5
Number of coaches: 3
Number of medical staff: 1