40 - Green Room
The Serbian league had a two-tier structure.
First came the First League, running from October to March, where 14 teams battled it out, and the top four advanced to the Super League starting in April.
Then, those four teams were joined by four more who'd competed in the EuroLeague or Adriatic League, making eight teams vying for Serbian supremacy in the Serbian Super League.
The GM's really playing hardball.
I barely got any playing time.
Mine and Mitic's minutes were limited to just 4-5 per game.
We'd become garbage time players.
Maybe they figured there was no point running a guy who was leaving anyway as a core piece, or perhaps it was their final bargaining chip. Who knew.
They might think if they don't give me minutes, I won't get drafted.
Either way, a psychological war with the club had begun.
The pro world is the same everywhere.
Soccer was no different. If a club didn't want to re-sign you, they'd bench you as a power play—it was routine.
If anything, this was tame compared to soccer. There, they'd sometimes keep you out of training altogether, but here at least they didn't go that far.
They even favored us in practice.
"Pass on your know-how to the others before you go," they said, turning us into mentors of sorts.
That led to Mitic's point guard reading clinic and my wing defender defense class, both of which drew a crowd.
I gathered five players and the coaches to teach post-up defense and box out tips.
"The key to physical battles is controlling your contact area."
"Contact area?"
Mitic, who'd joined my session, tilted his head.
I grabbed Radovich as my demo partner and showed them.
"When the opponent's pushing in, maximize your contact area. It spreads the impact evenly, making it easier to hold ground. Conversely, when you're pushing, minimize it. That concentrates the force, making it tough for them to brace. And most importantly... it hurts like hell. Irritates the opponent, throws off their game."
Thud! Thud! I shouldered into Radovich.
He had the size edge at 210cm, but he grimaced, struggling with my movement.
"Textbook post-ups use hips and back to push in, impossible to shove off. But tilting halfway between face-up and post-up, driving with the shoulder? It messes with their drive psychology, plants frustration. They rush, gaps open."
Screech! I pivoted, slipped in, and finished under the rim.
That was my bully ball secret: instill pain and irritation with the push, create mental lapses.
"Palm to hold, fist to strike. That's the feel. Got it?"
Mitic burst out laughing. "Hah!"
"Fun stuff. Big man hunting's usually speed and skill breakthroughs... but you're body-hunting bigs?"
"Yeah, something like that. My dribbling's still raw too."
"Hmm. Alright, noted."
Next, box out tips. Nothing groundbreaking.
"Minimize contact to shove 'em out, then expand to hold. Ideal is positioning early and anchoring."
This time, Jokić—taking a breather—was my guinea pig.
He boxed out with me a few times, then bailed in genuine disgust.
"Whoa."
"Going toe-to-toe with Jokić on box outs..."
"This is insane. A three surviving center box outs? Unreal!"
Talk was cheap, though—boxing centers was more con than pro for me.
It drained my stamina hard. And even locking one behind you, their wingspan meant higher tip-ins; rebounds could still slip away.
Best box outs were against size-matched guys.
"Alright, that's me done."
Now for Mitic's reading clinic.
Word spread, and Subin ditched team drills to join in a flash.
Mitic's lessons helped me tons.
My style wouldn't make me a Chris Paul or Steve Nash field general, but reading wasn't just that archetype.
Mitic pointed it out.
"Seojun, if you wanna be a 1-option in the NBA, master this offensive pattern."
Pick-and-roll into drive or kick-out pass.
LeBron James's signature.
Drive—if help comes, kick out. No help? Rim attack finish.
Pass or score, easy choice.
"Without this, you'll cap at 2-option forever. Just a guy waiting for the handler to feed you."
This was active offense: me handling, initiating.
"Want me to coach it? Your call."
"Music to my ears. Please do."
He'd cover handling and screen usage.
Tougher than expected.
Mess up the screen, trapped. Rush out, screen fails.
Create mismatch, hesitate—recovery.
Worst: reading teammates' positions mid-flow.
That's why point's brutal.
Watch the ball, max court vision, time pressure.
Finally set, then convert the drive.
Now I get why it's 1-option cred.
Why folks called Westbrook OKC's core over KD's scoring, despite the skills.
One thing clear: Mitic was right.
To be 1-option, I needed this weapon.
The European season was winding down.
Nearly seven months in, Kim Yun-mi had adapted to life abroad.
Studying Serbian with Subin enabled basic chats—grocery runs, solo walks. Personal time unlocked.
She spoke it more fluently than my German now.
And she radiated happiness.
"Seojun, Subin's starting tomorrow too?"
"Probably. He was with the first unit in final scrimmage."
"Heehee. Gotta film it proper."
She beamed, grabbing the camcorder, then shot me an apologetic look.
"Wish you were out there with him."
She knew.
Subin's starts came at my expense.
"I'm good. I've had my run."
"Yeah... Thanks, Seojun."
Despite my benching, the team cruised into playoffs comfortably.
Jokić-centered revamp worked wonders.
Last regular round 14: home win over Zvezda, 86-84 thriller. 9-5, locked 3rd.
Semifinal foe: 2nd-place Zvezda.
I figured they'd use me now... nope.
GM Kakic kept me off the active roster.
Better to build experience than plug me for emergencies.
Time to respect it.
Not grudge-benching; big-picture management.
Coach Milojević disagreed, reportedly raging at Kakic. "Why detour when the path's clear?" Even threatened to quit, forcing a concession.
We—Mitic and I—entered bench rotation, owned that stretch.
Starters with Jokić's crew; bench us scoring. Pace never dipped. 91-76 blowout.
Game 2, neutral site—but Belgrade, basically Zvezda home.
Fan roar faded fast.
Game exploded early.
Star center Boban Marjanović sidelined injured; Jokić feasted inside.
Mark him? Instant kick-outs, threes rained. 101-73, 28-point garbage time.
Jokić: 24p/12a/14r triple-double. Career high.
I saw why he'd become Europe's GOAT.
This is Jokić unleashed!
Efficient paint scoring, solid boards, gravity pull, vision assists.
Defense iffy, but offensive genius shone.
......
A feast lay before us.
"Congrats on finals! Dig in!"
Kim Yun-mi's spread: Korean staples, Serbian classics.
She'd invited the team, Jokić included.
He raved over her Serbian dishes; Danilović braved kimchi and regretted; Mitic nodded at bulgogi—"Garlicky, but decent."
Merry times passed.
After seeing teammates off, I murmured to Subin.
"You could stay here. Just settling in, snagged starting spot."
Today's 14 points on 3/3 threes off Jokić dimes—mom's freakout justified.
Subin nodded vaguely.
"Told the GM similar. Play one-two domestic seasons, return. That's why the starts."
"Heard that. But no need. You know this league's superior. Stay, move up if better offer."
"...Can't. Mom'd suffer."
"She's adapted."
But he wry-smiled.
"She's faking fine. You saw in Korea—chatty, loves friends."
"Well..."
"You're here now, so okay. You leave? She cracks. Endures for me... I hate that."
No counter.
"Growth'll stall."
"Know. Got a plan."
"Plan?"
Subin grinned.
"Domestic, I'll run point."
"Sudden?"
"Need unique edge. Build PG reps there."
"Ah, why you bolted for Mitic's clinic."
"Yup."
Made sense. Team setup blocked PG reps here; drop leagues for experience.
"Secure PG role, back to Europe. Ultimate: Real Madrid."
"NBA?"
"If called, sure... but doubt it. I'll grind my way. You do US."
"Hm."
That resigned vibe irked.
I gazed afar.
"Subin, why so many Korean Premier League guys now?"
"Huh?"
"Zero ever before. Now six. Why?"
"Dunno...?"
Pioneers at United, Spurs.
"First path's hardest. Seconds easy. I'll blaze it—follow, even if long."
"Haha... Puts hope in me."
"Won't be easy. Remember: threes! Defense! PG reps, don't slack. Got it?"
"Never forget."
"Good. ...Whoa, mom's swamped. Let's help."
"Yeah."
Another Serbian day fades.
NBA Draft: D-19.
Departure nears.