A Different World (2)
-Wooooooh—!!
The boos poured down like a waterfall. A crowd of 20,000 shouldn't have been a big deal, but their weight pressed down on me harder than ever.
Is it because it's an indoor gymnasium?
The cheers or boos that feel like earthquakes are usually just figures of speech, not literal. But thud thud thud! It really felt like the ground was shaking and the rim was rattling.
That meant my senses were under immense pressure.
"Puhah…!"
I'd been steadying my breath and shaking off the tension, but I finally let it out. At that moment, my churning senses peaked.
The crowd's curses draining my focus, the opponents' burning determination, our players' expectations—all of it crashed down on me alone.
This is different. A completely different world.
Even my soccer experience didn't help. If I'd taken a lot of penalty kicks, maybe, but…
I wasn't the dedicated kicker, and in shootouts, I was the 6th or 7th guy after the midfielders.
For me, two game-winning free throws with a championship on the line was my first true clutch moment.
Just a little more… if I can adapt a bit more…
But time waits for no one.
Thump! The ref bounced the ball to me.
Free throws have a shot clock too, so no hesitation. I cleared my mind fast and locked in on the rim.
I pictured the thousands of free throws from practice. My mental game was already rattled, but I trusted that image and let it fly.
A bit short, I thought—but the ball sailed farther than expected. And that worked in my favor.
Swish! Clean through. First one good. 80-80, tied.
"Puh…! Haah! Haah…!"
Tension melted from my body, a cool rush from the crown of my head. We'd at least forced overtime now, easing the pressure a touch.
And in response, the Partizan fans' boos swelled even louder—practically a tantrum now.
Thump! Thump! Teammates slapped my palm and back as they passed.
"No pressure, just shoot."
"Do your thing, hyung."
Encouragement from Mičić and Subin.
Both teams subbed for rebounding here. In that brief gap, I glanced at our bench—it was a sight.
Coach Milojević had his hands clasped over his mouth like in prayer, staring holes through me. Jokić had a towel over his face, too scared to look.
The others varied in posture, but all stared with the same desperate hope.
Whoa, insane.
A burden I'd never felt before.
But…
Why am I smiling?
The sweet reward of success outweighed the fear of failure.
Thump! Ball inbound to me.
"Hoo…!"
I exhaled lightly and raised my arms.
Whoosh! Time seemed to slow.
The ball arced perfectly.
It's good!
Ting! It clipped the outer edge and rolled in.
But it was a hair strong—bounced inside without settling, hit the inner rim, and popped up.
"Kuh…!!"
Tension so thick I couldn't breathe.
Players under the basket thought it was short and battled for brutal box outs.
But no.
After two rim hits and a bounce, it dropped, clipped the outer edge again, and swish! fell clean through.
"COME OOOON!!"
I roared at the top of my lungs.
Our bench exploded—players leaping and screaming.
-············.
Score: 81-80. Lead ours.
0.8 seconds left, no timeout for them. Game over.
…That's when it happened.
Thud! Geoffrey Roberneau snagged the dropped ball, stepped back over the baseline, and hurled it long.
"It's not over! Backcourt!!"
Mičić screamed.
Coach Milojević bellowed too.
Roberneau's pass flew true to Bogdanović, already past half-court.
The clock starts when the ball hits the player.
So if Bogdanović caught it and shot in 0.8 seconds and made it? Good for two.
"Ah…!"
From the three-point line, it'd be a floater—decent odds, but my mind flashed the make.
Then the crushing regret of dropped opportunity.
The ball sailed to Bogdanović just like that image.
But fingers slipped underneath.
Subin, chasing him down.
"…!"
Everyone held their breath.
And.
Tip! Subin's middle finger grazed the bottom. The ball lost speed.
The clock ticked as it did.
"Damn…!"
Bogdanović slowed, snagged it, went for the shot—but beeeeep! Buzzer sounded first.
His shot bricked anyway, and our bench swarmed the court.
"Wooooaaah—!!"
"Yesss!!"
"Champions! We're the champions!"
They rushed me, but I bolted to Subin.
"Insane, bro! You blocked that?!"
Subin grinned wide, emotions raw.
"Didn't you see hyung's Slam Dunk? Watch for Yun Dae-hyeop at the buzzer!"
"Obviously, man!"
I bear-hugged him, and the team piled on in chaos.
-Wooooooh—!!
Partizan fans' vicious boos rained down.
But now? It felt different.
Praise. Cheers for our win.
Empty bottles and food boxes flew, but to us? Confetti.
Adriatic League champions.
Globally? Maybe fifth-tier behind NBA, EuroLeague, NCAA, EuroCup. But first title joy? Indescribable.
###
Post-game.
After sharing joy on court, I headed to the locker room like usual—but not today.
Court interview for TV broadcast.
Coach shoved me to center court. Female interviewer welcomed me.
"Haha… Thanks. What language? English okay? Or awkward Serbian?"
-Wooooh!
Boos erupted again. Crowd down to 7,000, but loud enough to pause the interview.
My stats: 38 minutes, 37 points (FG 14/23, 3PT 6/11, FT 3/3), 5 assists, 12 rebounds (1 off, 11 def), 2 steals, 2 blocks, 1 turnover. Beat Bogdanović's 26.
Team scored 81—over half my offense, assists included.
Smooth interview skills.
Then Jokić, Mičić, and Subin snuck up, shook a water bottle over my head.
"Yeeeah!!"
"We're the champions!"
"Hurry up, hyung!"
They doused me and bolted to the locker room.
Interviewer smiled warmly.
"GM spilled. Yeah. Famous club. Emailed, called… no reply. Showed up at the gym—bounced by security."
Arena murmured.
Fans hadn't heard the broadcast—news to them.
Chaos in the stands.
Fans hunted for Danilović, but he'd slipped out.
I wrapped the interview and headed to lockers. Angry fans filed out, emptying seats like Swiss cheese. There, Nuggets GM Tim Connelly muttered low.
"Can we really snag him in round two? 37 points. Finals. Shut down Bogdan Bogdanović too. He's projected late first, around 26."
Carlo Alcaraz was speechless.
Of all matchups, killing it against Bogdanović. Flaunting that three-point stroke too.
"Well… Jokić should still be second round…"
Jokić bombed today. Fouls killed his aggression.
Comfortable on him, but I overperformed.
The two stateside scouts agreed.
"Not a fluke. Undefeated in his starts, league scoring leader. Other teams will pounce. Too optimistic for round two—he'll get snatched."
"Agreed. Enough sample. League level concerns, sure, but draftable talent."
Plan A slips? Plan B. B gone? C. D if needed.
I could be B, C, or D.
"Teams with those plans might take him first round."
Alcaraz scratched his head.
"Back to drawing board, then."
But Connelly shook his head.
"Nope! We found him—ain't letting go."
"…!"
One meaning.
###
Locker room party raged.
No champagne pops, but shoulders slung, rowdy cheers, trophy tosses.
Jokić dropped it once—mood iced—but no damage, laughs all around.
"Hyung, Mom asks if you're eating dinner. You in?"
"Bit late… but yeah. Korean spot in Belgrade, owner Korean. Texting address and number—check reservations."
"Got it."
Sent Subin off. Met with Coach Milojević and GM Kakić.
Kakić begged re-signs again.
EuroCup qualified—aim for EuroLeague.
Danilović warmed to re-signing, but Mičić and I held firm.
Kakić went nuclear: threat over remaining schedule.
Leavers? No Serbia League play. Prioritize stayers for EuroCup.
Petty, but fair. EuroLeague revenue's huge.
"Do what you gotta."
Mičić smirked, unfazed.
I shrugged.
"Don't care."
Denver locked me in—no sweat.
Kakić surrendered.
"Sigh. Fine. Out. That was a joke—don't hold grudges."
Done, Mičić asked:
"Seojun, team bus?"
"Nah, Belgrade overnight. Off tomorrow."
"True. Plenty nightlife. Join?"
"Dinner. Korean food—you in?"
Mičić grimaced. Mom's kimchi jjigae last time? Scorched him.
"Pass. See you training day after."
Mičić gone. Packed locker, left arena.
Shhh! Taxi pulls up.
"…Lee. Hop in."
Scout Carlo Alcaraz.
"Smederevo?"
"No, one more night Belgrade. Downtown hotel."
Vroom! Taxi sped off.
Alcaraz couldn't hide turmoil, voice low.
"Plan A busted."
"…"
"Not asking why?"
"I dunno…"
"Ha! Shameless. Your show today wrecked it."
TV broadcast—every NBA team checked me.
"Round two too risky now."
Alcaraz sighed, continued.
Hotel close—taxi stopped quick.
He smiled as I got out.
"Congrats. You're Green Room bound."
Vroom! Taxi gone.
I stood stunned.
Green Room?
What's that?
End