On Another Level
After a light training session, a pickup game between the Seoul Thunders' second team and the tryout participants got underway.
Seo-jun sat beside Su-bin's parents, waiting for the game to begin. His expression was filled with trust and easy confidence. If it was Su-bin—who had sharpened himself through relentless training alongside him—this kind of matchup would be no problem at all.
His parents, however, couldn't share that same calm.
Kim Yoon-mi kept her hands clasped tightly to her chest as if in prayer, while Shin Won-hyung kept swallowing nervously. They knew their son had grown, but they had no idea just how far he had come.
The game began with the sharp squeak of basketball shoes echoing through the indoor gym.
Su-bin, playing small forward, was matched up against Choi Sung-hoon—the same player who had hurled insults at Seo-jun. At 193 centimeters with broad, powerful shoulders that spoke of years in the pros, Sung-hoon had been a starter for Seoul as recently as two years ago. A strong defender, too.
Sung-hoon curled his lip into a smirk.
I was planning to completely shut down Lee Seo-jun and shock the front office… Well, devouring Shin Su-bin isn't a bad alternative.
Facing Su-bin at close range, Sung-hoon raised an eyebrow.
What the hell? His frame is thicker than I expected.
He hadn't noticed earlier because Su-bin had been standing next to Seo-jun, but Su-bin possessed a formidable frame of his own. The results of the year-long bulk-up training he had done with Seo-jun were clearly visible now.
Hmph. You think bulking up is all it takes? Basketball is about speed. Speed. I'll teach you that myself.
He smiled arrogantly and began dribbling. Sung-hoon launched his attack, planning to overwhelm with speed. After shaking his defender side to side, he would rise into a quick pull-up jumper.
Thump. Thump. Thump. He thought the rhythm and timing were perfect. If there was a difference in speed, there was no way to keep up with this move.
But.
“…”
“Ugh…!?”
Su-bin remained perfectly calm. He simply stood in front of him, unperturbed. Sung-hoon knew an attempt to go up would result in a monstrous block, so he tried to create space. Yet Su-bin followed with crisp side steps, completely cutting off any shooting window.
In other words, Su-bin was a level above him in speed as well.
With five seconds left on the shot clock, Sung-hoon was forced to pass. The resulting jumper clanged off the rim.
“Hup!”
Thud! Su-bin boxed out beautifully and secured the rebound. His movement stood out among everyone on the court.
Seo-jun smiled with deep satisfaction.
He went toe-to-toe with those tank-like Europeans who had insane size. Of course he's good. Not to mention I drilled box-outs with him every single day.
Seo-jun clapped his hands.
But Su-bin was already gone. The moment he grabbed the rebound, he exploded toward the opposite court. A coast-to-coast fast break. The Thunders staff nearby let out gasps of admiration.
“He’s fast!”
“His dribble control is outstanding!”
And as if to put the perfect finishing touch on it all, Su-bin drew every eye in the gym before slipping a subtle backward pass, giving his teammate an easy layup.
“Whew!”
After letting out a breath, Su-bin pointed a finger at Seo-jun and smiled. It was as if he had copied his brother’s signature play move for move.
“Haha. That kid.”
Seo-jun beamed with pride, feeling the reward of having raised him right.
Kim Yoon-mi cheered with rising excitement while Shin Won-hyung sat stunned. The shock was especially strong for Su-bin’s father.
Our Su-bin has grown this much?
A year ago he had already been seen as a highly promising high-school player, but this was on an entirely different level. He was toying with professional players on both ends of the floor—especially dominating them on defense. In truth, it was only natural.
The opponent Su-bin had faced throughout the Serbian league finals was Bogdan Bogdanovic. While he hadn’t completely shut him down, the current opponent felt so easy it was almost boring by comparison.
Thud! He finally rose up and blocked Choi Sung-hoon’s jumper from the front, snatching the ball out of the air for a clean steal.
“You little…!”
Choi Sung-hoon’s face crumpled. Su-bin paid him no mind. He dribbled straight up the court and faced Sung-hoon at the top of the key. Now it was Su-bin’s turn.
He began dribbling lightly. Thump. Thump. Thump. Slow, steady rhythm.
“…”
“Huff! Huff…!”
Sung-hoon dropped into a low stance, body tensed and ready to react at any moment.
Then—
Thump! Su-bin gave a hard fake to the right. The instant Sung-hoon bit, Su-bin changed the rhythm of his dribble.
Thump—bang! A crisp crossover.
Even then, Sung-hoon managed to stay with him. He could at least slide sideways and contest the shot. But the hesitation move that followed was on another level entirely.
“Wha—!?”
Completely fooled by the sudden stop, Sung-hoon lost his defensive balance. Bang! Su-bin drove past him, blew by the defender, and finished at the rim.
He had shown Sung-hoon his basketball—the game played through timing rather than power or speed. This was the answer Su-bin had found during his European days. The path a player lacking elite physical tools should walk.
“Haa… Haa… Fuck…”
Choi Sung-hoon’s face was stripped of all composure, despair now visible in his eyes. Su-bin looked at him coldly.
So don’t you dare look down on him or dismiss him. Su-bin glared at him with fierce intensity. The anger and fighting spirit in his eyes were anything but small. Choi Sung-hoon unconsciously looked away.
Seo-jun had become the hottest topic in Korean sports.
Could he really succeed in the NBA? What kind of players were on the Atlanta Hawks? What were the season expectations?
Alongside all the positive buzz came negative chatter. One of the loudest was the “Lee Seo-jun Bubble Theory.”
It wasn’t mainstream, of course. Most people genuinely cheered for Seo-jun, who had gone to Europe and succeeded through his own efforts. Still, the bubble talk persisted for a combination of reasons.
First was skepticism. It had been the same for the player who joined Manchester United as the first Korean in the EPL. People said he was just Asian money, that he wouldn’t play, that he’d only warm the bench. Even local fans had shaken their heads at the signing.
The situation with Seo-jun was eerily identical. People claimed he would follow the same path as that explosive two-assist debut, or that the league office—having tasted money with Yao Ming—was forcing him through. Above all, even Atlanta fans were strongly against using the ninth overall pick on him. This draft was considered an especially deep class, after all.
The real problem came afterward. The soccer player at least had a passionate fandom to shield him. Seo-jun had no such base, and the reaction from basketball insiders was completely different. While the Korean soccer world had celebrated that player’s move to Manchester United, the Korean basketball world was bound together by jealousy and did everything possible to tear Seo-jun down.
Seo-jun’s success naturally brought heavy criticism down on the Korean basketball establishment. If going to Europe and succeeding like Seo-jun could attract NBA scouts, why hadn’t anyone done it before? The domestic basketball world reacted defensively, NBA fans poured on mockery, and the whole thing exploded.
NBA fans were already calling Seo-jun the Korean basketball GOAT. This thoroughly touched the nerves of Korean basketball fans and players, sparking another war. The ancient cycle in which fans create haters and haters create fans continued to burn hotter than ever.
Then, on August 30, the 2014 FIBA Basketball World Cup opened in Spain. The national team treated it as a tune-up for the Asian Games and ended up going 0–5. Originally an event most ordinary citizens wouldn’t even know about, it received massive attention because of Seo-jun’s influence—terrestrial broadcasters picked it up.
Seo-jun himself had announced a minor injury after consulting with Atlanta and stayed home, which only amplified the reaction.
Domestic basketball fans enthusiastically began tearing Seo-jun down.
The emotional divide between Korean basketball fans and NBA fans grew deeper. Yet, to the disappointment of the Korean basketball fans, Su-bin firmly set the record straight at his homecoming press conference when reporters praised his performance.
The same attitude continued through the Asian Games that began in mid-September. In Group D, Su-bin dropped seven threes combined against Mongolia and Jordan, scoring 17 and 18 points respectively. He emerged as a supernova in the domestic basketball scene. Even though the talent gap was large, a homegrown player putting up those numbers drew massive attention.
Su-bin’s handsome features also caused female fans to multiply exponentially, creating an explosion of interest. Yet through it all, his attitude never changed.
Fans couldn’t help but wonder—just how good was Lee Seo-jun that Su-bin kept lowering himself like this?
The national team had advanced to the Asian Games quarterfinals. Those quarterfinals were also played in group format; they would face Kazakhstan, the Philippines, and Qatar in succession.
As for my own participation, I had agreed to play from the knockout semifinals onward, but for these group-stage quarterfinals the plan was to wait and see. Atlanta’s main concern wasn’t strong opponents but weak ones. Serious injuries tended to happen more often against weaker teams.
Not an incorrect statement.
It was the same in soccer—when the skill gap was large, late tackles often caused injuries. Some overseas players had seen their careers ruined that way.
Above all…
Watching Su-bin shine brightly and rise as a star was satisfying enough on its own.
If I play, I’ll inevitably steal possessions.
Su-bin’s stat volume would shrink dramatically. So at this point, I actually wanted to delay my debut as long as possible.
During training before the first group match against Kazakhstan, we were sweating hard at the gym of an Incheon-based professional team rather than the national training center.
But Su-bin was furious.
He was angry that the players and coaches were ostracizing me. It was nothing overt—just petty things. They wouldn’t pass me the ball in drills. The water jug would be empty when I reached for it. My towel would be lying on the floor. They’d tell me the next schedule at the last minute. The kind of childish nonsense that made me laugh.
“Calm down. They’re only doing it to me, not you. They’re still keeping the line. If you charge in, it’ll only make things worse, won’t it?”
“Still…! Are you really okay with this, hyung?”
“I’m fine. I can understand how they feel.”
If they had heard the GOAT talk floating around about me, it would be a pride-crushing blow. Just winning in Europe and entering the NBA was enough for people to call me the Korean basketball GOAT. To these players, that would feel like their entire careers were being invalidated.
Above all, my mood today was too good. If I had wings, I felt like I could fly.
Still, I’ll have to clean house later.
If there was a next national team, I would overhaul everything through Director Song Kyung-bae. Of course, to wield that kind of influence I would need to stack up real accomplishments in the NBA.
After basic training ended and we were about to begin the main session, Head Coach Lee Jae-hak clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.
“Let’s finish with a practice game. I called some players to prepare for the Kazakhstan match in two days. Jung-gyu worked hard to get them here. Jung-gyu, introduce the guys.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Team captain Kim Jung-gyu began introducing the training partners he had called through his connections one by one. Seoul’s Shim Hyung-jun, Anyang’s Hwang In-ho, Wonju’s Park Sang-jun, Changwon’s Koo Sang-yoon, Busan’s Kim Hyung-taek. I didn’t recognize most of the names, but the coaches praised Jung-gyu for managing to bring them all in.
“Wow, the level of this practice game is no joke.”
“Is this really just prep for Kazakhstan? This is basically an All-Star game! If you sold tickets you’d move at least three thousand instantly!”
“Well, any basketball fan would want to see Shim Hyung-jun and Park Sang-jun playing together.”
I didn’t know the details, but I was naturally excluded from the practice game.
“Seo-jun, your injury hasn’t healed yet, right? If it’s too much, just sit and watch.”
Both players and coaches knew I didn’t actually have an injury. I had even said that since it was minor I could participate in a practice game. Yet the coach was saying this without even checking with the head coach.
Well, that might be exactly why they’re acting like this.
They were working hard while I sat out.
“Ah, yes. I’m fine. I have a separate special training session planned. I already told the coach.”
“Special training? Rehab work?”
“Something like that.”
“Then that’s perfect.”
The game was prepared. The coaches looked triumphant, as if they wanted me to feel how regrettable it was to miss the chance to practice against these top-tier players.
But at that moment, the reason my mood was so good I felt like I could fly finally appeared.
The training partners had arrived.
“Whew! Good thing the gym is close to the airport. Should we book the hotel around here too?”
“But isn’t Korea’s capital Seoul? I wanted to see Seoul.”
A white man and a black man strode into the gym—the support team sent from Atlanta. Kyle Korver and Al Horford.
In the NBA the three-point line was longer, changing pick-and-roll plays and spacing, so they had come to give basic instruction on those adjustments. Above all, their visit was also a marketing move to promote the Atlanta Hawks in Korea.
Whoa…! The day I finally meet Brother Korver in person has come!
I ran over to them immediately.
“Welcome, both of you! Sorry I couldn’t come greet you at the airport. We had training.”
They told me not to worry and asked where the locker room was.
“Then I’ll go change.”
“Korea sure is hot…”
As the two headed toward the locker room, the entire gym fell into silence.
Especially the players who had been preparing for the practice game—their expressions were a sight to behold. Written all over their faces was one clear emotion.
They were genuinely envious.