This Guy Actually Packs a Punch!
84 days until departure for Serbia.
I decided to tackle the homework staring me in the face until then. The weakness exposed in my matchup against Rand.
Reinforcing my monotonous dribbling.
If my dribbling had been elite, I wouldn't have even needed that jab-step jumper to begin with.
I could've just melted Rand down with dribble skills from a face-up stance. But with my lacking ball-handling, I couldn't pull off a one-on-one drive even with superior speed.
Above all, improving my ball-handling was key to executing advanced moves like crossovers or step-backs at a high level.
Chang-min had suggested I learn at his basketball academy, but I politely turned him down.
Better to pick up advanced stuff from the Serbian coaches.
No point risking bad habits from academy coaches—I'd stick to textbook fundamentals. And so, I dove headfirst into dribbling drills, pull-up jumpers derived from them, and three-point training.
Subin focused on threes and defense specials, turning our basketball gym into a split-court setup: me and Subin on one half, the other athletic specialists and transfers on the other.
We barely joined team practices, but it didn't hinder the tournaments at all.
In the July invitational pitting the top eight teams, we demolished them 86-43, 89-46, and 87-52 across three games.
A combined 121-point blowout for an easy championship.
Defense was the star, though offense shone too. The transfer elites had solid fundamentals, and they played like they were unleashing years of pent-up bench frustration, grinding their teeth in determination.
That sparked a team defense surge and energy explosion, turning opponents into mincemeat.
The early August nationals followed suit: four 16-team knockout games, similar scores, total domination, championship secured.
By then, rumors swirled that we could hang with college teams. Curiosity peaked, and a college basketball official arranged a friendly against a university squad.
By halftime, we led by 19; for face-saving reasons—or whatever—they called it off on some vague excuse.
Anyway, cruising without team drills freed me and Subin for solo work.
Late August. D-42 to Serbia.
That's when I dialed back training intensity big time.
To guard against fatigue buildup, the top injury culprit.
Might have to grind a full season in Serbia.
Rest when you can. Training lightened to free throws, ball-handling reps.
Extra time went to NBA game film, English pro books for software upgrades, plus weights.
I coached Subin's bulking while tweaking my own body.
To compete with those guys equally, max out my physicals.
My frame was near peak—but as a soccer player. I hadn't optimized for 90-minute stamina.
Now, recalibrating for 40-minute basketball games, sacrificing some endurance for raw power.
NBA's 48 minutes, but more timeouts—should balance out.
Adjustment was quick; body already primed, just redirect the work. Results in a month.
Post-tweak, I matched or exceeded Aaron Gordon's athletics from the U.S. game.
That era's benchmark, anyway.
Those guys were college freshmen then—they've grown too.
At their peaks, it'd be even. Lavin still a tick quicker; best avoid power battles with Rand.
Just baseline prep to eye-level with U.S. talents—but teammates saw it differently. My upgraded physicals left them stunned.
"You even human?"
"Alien, right? Gotta be!"
"Black ancestor in the family tree? Explains it!"
No one wanted matchup drills with me anymore.
Getting hit by my off-ball screens felt like a full-body punch, they said.
Lately, Chang-min held pads for my sessions.
Meanwhile, Subin collapsed daily, drained.
He wasn't refining a finished product like me—he was building from scratch. Post-workout, I'd spot his stretches, give massages. Routine now.
"There, done. Your turn."
"Yeah."
Subin kneaded me meticulously. Merit of partner training.
Stretching and massage efficiency quadrupled with a partner.
So I taught him pro techniques, reaping the benefits. He questioned the hour-long sessions, though.
"Do we need to go this hard? Cool-down stretches... Better squeeze in one more shot, no?"
"That's pure amateur thinking."
I laid out the science of recovery from A to Z, but he zoned out midway.
"Got it, hyung. I'll follow your lead."
"Good. Trust me. Basketball? Still green. Body management? World-class. No Korean trainer touches me."
No joke. I had future knowledge.
Wrapping at 10:40 p.m., gym exit—entrance held a sulky girl waiting.
Student during break: Chaerin, Subin's girlfriend.
Spotting me, she glared like arch-nemesis.
Fierce enough to curse me dead with eyes alone.
Can't blame her.
Stealing her boyfriend's time, now whisking him to Serbia. I'd resent me too.
"Tomorrow no good either? It's Saturday..."
"Sorry, swamped."
"Fine... Call you..."
She turned, depressed, shot me one last zap, headed out the gate.
I smirked, griped.
"Can't you ease up? Feels like she'll deck me soon."
Subin nodded like lightning.
"Then I'll break up."
"...Huh?"
"Tell her over phone later. Tomorrow's free then."
What the—?
"Didn't ask for emergency measures. Four years together, and one word from me ends it? Come on."
"Been planning months. Wanna focus on ball like you, no distractions."
Hold up.
"I got a girlfriend."
"...?"
"Girlfriend. Yeah."
"...??"
Genuine bafflement from Subin.
"Don't bullshit."
"Why lie? Told you before."
"Show pics or Kakao then."
Demanding proof. I froze.
"H-how? You got proof handy?"
"...Easy."
He whipped out his phone: couple selfies, chats. Crystal clear.
Four years, and that's the progress? Herbivore much?
My phone? Off-limits stuff everywhere.
Five years with Seo Eun—we'd gone all the way, tracking safe days.
Sweet normally, but her jealousy flared fierce; she'd flip at porn.
Lately, apart more, she'd send nudes to curb it.
Last night's pic dominated my chat screen.
Couldn't flash that to this innocent. Bluff time.
"Sorry, lied. No girlfriend."
"Knew it."
"Still, don't dump over dumb reasons. Celibacy ain't all roses."
Foolish move. Hits harder abroad.
Girls, clubs, booze, hookah, weed—players indulge, then beast in games. Makes you question asceticism.
"But focus on ball..."
"Skill and dating? Unrelated. Deal. Fourth condition for Serbia trip: no dumping unless she does. Got it?"
"...Got it."
Had to nail it down; he'd bolt otherwise.
D-7 to Serbia.
Syncing bio-rhythms to Serbian time.
Sleep on plane, land at their 8 a.m.
Extra time: meet Seo Eun, cheer soccer buddies at nationals.
Chill prep, all smooth... except one killer snag.
Why no reply? Read and ghosted, or unread?
The highlight reel email to the club? Ignored.
Big effort: resume, U-19 footage, high school record. Expected open arms for tryouts.
Nada. Even homepage number? Blocked internationals, or dummy line—no connect.
Too late for agent... Plan B: straight crash the gates?
Figured my tape screamed trial offer.
Operation Ajax, but real blind charge? Unsettling.
Prestige club ignores this stuff?
Daily emails, calls—zilch.
D-day. Shin family, Chang-min, teammates at airport sendoff.
"Nail that contract—or else!"
"Graduation bash mandatory!"
"Call often!"
"Sangwon High fighting!"
Shin crew hauling bags too.
Kim Yun-mi staying in Serbia for support.
Suryeon tagging week one; dad Shin Won-hyung, lone goose, puppy-dog sad, handling check-in.
Boarding time. Kim Yun-mi smiles bright.
"Straight to tryouts in Serbia? Appointment?"
"..."
"Seojun?"
"...Y-yeah. Of course. No worries."
Somehow it'll work. Worst case, hunt Dario Saric. Joke or not, he'd put in a word.
We boarded the Budapest flight, gateway to Serbia.