First Impressions
The gymnasium they led me to felt strangely desolate.
The team was away on their preseason road trip through Memphis, Miami, and Chicago.
I had chosen not to join that trip.
This was my first time linking up with the team since the medical tests right after the draft, so they needed to run me through athletic testing, skill evaluations, league orientation, and help me adjust to life in Atlanta.
They had to check all the basics.
For that reason, two of the Hawks’ analytics staff and two assistant coaches had stayed behind to work with me…
And one of the faces looked oddly familiar.
“…?”
When I tilted my head and stared at him, the middle-aged white coach let out a small chuckle and extended his hand.
“It’s been a while. We never actually introduced ourselves back then, did we?”
“No, we didn’t….”
“I’m Neven Spahija. I was the head coach of KK Cibona—the team you played against in your pro debut.”
“Ah…!?”
It was the same team Dario Saric had played for, the opponent in my professional debut game.
That coach had now joined the Atlanta Hawks as an assistant.
“It’s good to see you, Coach!”
“Likewise. I never imagined we’d meet again like this.”
They said he had over fifteen years of head-coaching experience in Europe. The fact that someone like him was willing to serve as a mere assistant coach spoke volumes about the sheer prestige of the NBA.
The other man, a Black coach, introduced himself as well.
“I’m Darvin Ham. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Coach. I look forward to working with you.”
“Alright, let me start by showing you around the training facilities.”
Darvin Ham, who guided me through the gym, told me to just call him “Hammer” for short.
“This is the training gym. You’re free to use it during personal training hours outside of scheduled sessions, but don’t overdo it. Even if it’s a hassle, make sure you check in with a coach first. Next up is…”
I wandered through the facilities in a daze.
So this is what they mean by American scale.
European facilities were generally subpar.
It was almost like they clung to tradition. They often neglected to renovate arenas, and especially training centers. They’d say things like, “We won with these facilities back in the day,” and then lecture players about mindset instead of investing in better equipment.
America was different. If something was old, they replaced it with something new. They took renovation seriously.
They gave players every possible resource, and if the player still couldn’t perform, the organization would coldly cut them, saying they had done everything they could.
The result was right in front of me.
A training facility that was a feast for the eyes.
State-of-the-art saunas, a cutting-edge weight room, a swimming pool, and even a meeting room that looked like it belonged on a movie set.
“And finally, this is the locker room. We set you up next to Korver. He specifically asked for it.”
“Korver…!”
In basketball, each player had their own chair in front of their locker. A “seat mate” referred to the players whose lockers were directly beside yours.
My number 13 chair had Kyle Korver’s number 26 chair on the left and Mike Muscala’s chair on the right.
“Alright, since you just got in today, we’ll skip the heavy lifting and focus on orientation instead.”
What he called “orientation” turned out to be more like a crash course in professional etiquette.
Team rules and regulations. The league’s unwritten laws. The penalties for illegal betting or doping. The unique differences between FIBA and NBA rules and how those differences affected gameplay.
That was how I spent my first day—absorbing information—before unwinding in the luxurious thirty-pyeong apartment that would be my new home.
The real evaluations began the next day.
I went through individual training sessions while the analysts and coaches began assessing me.
.
.
.
Acting GM Robert Gilchrist observed Seo-jun’s evaluations from start to finish.
It was the fifth day. The team was returning to Atlanta after wrapping up their trip to Chicago.
Robert called all four coaches and analysts into a meeting and asked for a comprehensive report.
What they told him was quite surprising.
All four of them unanimously praised two areas in particular.
“His athleticism and on-ball defense are both elite…?”
At the skeptical tone, Darvin Ham nodded firmly.
“They’re easily top-tier even by NBA standards. He has excellent natural speed, but more importantly, his reaction time, strength, and ability to anticipate an opponent’s movements are outstanding. That lets him play tight, compact on-ball defense. He can control the line between a foul and a clean play. I’d say he can guard one through four without much trouble.”
“…!!”
That was high praise indeed.
A wing defender who could guard from point guard to power forward was valuable enough to justify a top-nine pick all on its own.
“What about team defense?”
“That’s tied to basketball IQ, so we’ll need to see it in full team drills. But players like him usually excel in team defense too.”
“Speculation is fine for now. So his athleticism and on-ball defense are both NBA-ready.”
“Not just ready—he’s an immediate rotation player.”
“Hmm. There must be weaknesses too, right?”
“Of course.”
The four of them began rattling off Seo-jun’s shortcomings.
Ball handling, dribbling, shooting, screen usage, and more.
Robert frowned. He could accept most of it, but—
“Shooting? The previous scouting report said he had high shooting upside.”
“Ah… yes. His shooting potential is versatile. The problem is he lacks the specific shooting skill we need right now.”
They were talking about spot-up shooting.
Seo-jun had been an elite shooter in Serbia, hitting 39 percent from three. But there was one important detail to consider.
Most of those shots had come when he wanted to shoot. If he felt it, he shot. If he didn’t, he passed.
A role player didn’t have that luxury. Sometimes the offense required him to shoot whether the rhythm felt right or not.
“When he catches and shoots in a passive situation, his consistency tends to drop.”
“I see… So he’s a rhythm shooter?”
“Probably.”
Tap tap tap. Robert drummed his fingers on the written scouting report, lost in thought.
He had been preparing for the worst-case scenario.
He thought of Thanasis Antetokounmpo, whom they had taken with the 43rd pick in the second round. Expectations for him had never been high, but the evaluation had been even more disappointing.
His skills were deemed insufficient, so they had immediately sent him to the D-League.
“We don’t need to send this kid to the D-League, do we?”
All four men nodded strongly in agreement.
Coach Spahija even waved his hand dismissively.
“Lee shines brightest in real games. I know because I faced him myself!”
Robert nodded.
“One last question. If we redrafted him right now, where would you take him?”
The answers were eye-opening.
“I think the pick we made was fair.”
“I’d say around eighth overall?”
“I faced him, so I know! Fourth… No, third overall. Third pick!”
And finally, after a brief hesitation, Darvin Ham spoke.
“Robert, if that kid had played in the NCAA, there’s no way he would have fallen to ninth.”
“Meaning…?”
“This pick has a very high chance of becoming a steal.”
A ninth pick becoming a steal could only mean one thing.
“That boy is clearly a number-one overall talent.”
October 17th. Friday.
The day before the preseason home game against Cleveland.
I joined the full team practice for the first time and was introduced by Acting GM Robert Gilchrist in front of all the players and staff.
“Nice to meet you all. Please feel free to call me Lee. It’s easy to say.”
NBA players often went by their initials. Kevin Durant was KD, LeBron James was LBJ, that sort of thing.
In my case, though, the S in my initials made that tricky.
It sounded too much like “ass,” which could easily be turned into a slur.
“Welcome, Lee!”
“Glad to have you!”
When Al Horford and Kyle Korver started clapping, the rest of the team followed suit.
The overall atmosphere was warm, but this was still a professional environment.
“…”
“…Hmph.”
Plenty of players looked at me with displeasure.
Among them, DeMarre Carroll and Dennis Schröder’s gazes were especially sharp.
For Carroll, I was an annoying rival who had shown up while he was chasing a big free-agent payday. For Schröder, it was suspicion and jealousy over draft position.
As the 17th pick in the first round last season, he clearly didn’t like that a ninth pick had joined the team.
He must already know I’m competing with him for ball-handling minutes.
Team practice began in that tense atmosphere.
They ran defensive drills in preparation for tomorrow’s game. The main focus was using hedge-and-recover to neutralize the opponent’s pick-and-roll.
Head Coach Mike Budenholzer raised his voice, saying this would be the biggest challenge of the season.
“The opponent has Kyrie Irving and LeBron James! The moment you give up a mismatch, you might as well hand them points! So do not give them any mismatches!”
Al Horford was the one struggling the most.
He could easily become a target for both Irving and LeBron.
But that wasn’t the only problem.
“Keep bully ball in mind when you rotate! Paul! If it looks like James is hunting Carroll, switch quickly or get into a good help position!”
Coach Budenholzer even demanded that Paul Millsap be ready to switch, warning that DeMarre Carroll could be hunted in the post by LeBron.
The complexity and detail of their team defense was something I had never experienced before.
Just how destructive is LeBron that they’re going this far…?
From the way things looked, the only player who could guard LeBron one-on-one was Paul Millsap, and even he couldn’t stop all of LeBron’s offensive options.
After all, LeBron was one of the most creative passers in the league.
On top of that, Kyrie Irving was a hunting machine that only Jeff Teague could guard one-on-one. The defensive difficulty was off the charts.
While the starting five worked on pick-and-roll coverage and mismatch defense, something unexpected happened.
“Lee!”
Right as the first session ended, Darvin Ham waved me over.
“In the next session, you’re going to play the opponent. You’ll be our fake LeBron.”
“…!”
“I’m not asking you to imitate his moves exactly. Just run some pick-and-rolls.”
So they wanted to see my ball-handling ability.
“Yes, Coach!”
A chance to prove myself had arrived sooner than expected.
After a ten-minute break, the second session began.
My partner was Dennis Schröder, who had been playing the role of Kyrie Irving.
That meant the ball-handling opportunities went to me, the fake LeBron.
And then—
“…!?”
The moment I received the ball at the center circle, an overwhelming pressure I had never felt before crushed down on me.
Was it nerves?
No. This is…
It was the pressure created by the players’ intense focus. The starting five, including Horford, were treating the drill like a real game, and the atmosphere on the court had grown heavy.
Even though I was only at the center circle, the squeak of sneakers filled the air as players scrambled to get into position.
So this is the weight of NBA players.
I forced my pounding heart to calm down and dribbled forward.
First step is to call for a screen from the fake Kevin Love, right?
Since the real Kevin Love was a three-point shooting center, it forced a defensive switch. On top of that, Love didn’t just screen for LeBron. He could set an off-ball screen for Kyrie Irving or suddenly slip the pick. He had so many options that guarding him was extremely difficult.
“Screen! Screen!”
Thud! The fake Kevin Love—Zaza Pachulia—stepped out to set a screen on my defender, Carroll, then popped out for a pick-and-pop.
But—
Squeak! Thud! Horford instantly closed out in front of me, and Carroll exploded through the screen at incredible speed to pressure me.
“Ugh…!?”
If this had been a real trap defense, I would have been double-teamed and stripped immediately. But since this was only a light pressure drill, Horford didn’t completely smother me. He slid sideways and recovered onto Pachulia.
Failed!
Either I had come off the screen too slowly or I had given the defense too much space, but Carroll had fought through and recovered quickly.
“Tsk!”
At this rate, imitating LeBron had failed from the very first step. Coach Budenholzer seemed to agree that my ball handling and screen usage weren’t helping the drill yet. He was whispering something to one of the assistants.
I can’t end it like this.
There was one more way to imitate LeBron, wasn’t there?
Squeak—bang!
I attacked straight at Carroll, lowering my shoulder and trying to bully my way through.
“Huh…?”
“Ohh…”
The energy on the court shifted.
Carroll frowned and began to respond in earnest.
Thud! Thud! As expected from an NBA player—and a swingman known for his defense.
At two meters tall, Carroll possessed a combination of strength and speed I had never felt from anyone my size before.
But it’s not enough to beat me!
Thud! Carroll was shoved back hard again, giving up ground into the elbow area. Though I couldn’t see it, his face must have twisted in frustration.
And at that exact moment—
LeBron wouldn’t force a drive here.
Coach Budenholzer had said it himself.
LeBron James was an eerily intelligent player who always made the most efficient choice.
If I was going to imitate him…
“…!”
The read appeared.
Shelvin Mack was taking his first step from the right corner, cutting toward the baseline.
Without hesitation, I fired a bounce pass past Carroll’s left hip.
The ball flew across the court.
Thump! Mack caught it cleanly and finished with a layup.
“Whoa!?”
Coach Budenholzer let out a high-pitched yelp.
Horford beside him, Kyle Korver who had lost Mack, Jeff Teague and Paul Millsap who had been watching me closely while preparing to help—they all reacted.
“What a play!”
“That was really good!”
“Nice court vision.”
“Pushing Carroll back that quickly? That’s some serious strength.”
Praise poured in from every direction.
Only Carroll and Schröder wore sour expressions.
Coach Budenholzer clapped like a seal and said,
“That play is exactly the kind of thing LeBron James would do! Let’s run it again!”
One more time.
This time we skipped the screen and went straight into the isolation. Since they had also planned for LeBron hunting Carroll, it was perfect practice.
Grind…! Carroll looked visibly annoyed, as if the situation was humiliating.
Sorry, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up.
If I could cook Carroll here, my evaluation would skyrocket.
Let’s go.
Thump, bang! A crisp crossover dribble into a drive. Carroll stepped in front of me as expected. Thud! Contact was made.
I powered through with sheer strength, driving toward the rim. Finally—squeak! Paul Millsap slid over with a side step to help.
Now!
Whip! I kicked the ball out to Elton Brand, who had been matched up with Millsap.
Brand rose for a three, but it missed.
Even so, applause rained down.
“That’s it! That’s exactly what I wanted!”
High praise from Coach Budenholzer.
This was the ball-handler role he had been looking for from me.
The fact that I hadn’t completely shaken my defender meant I still had a long way to go, but I had at least earned a passing grade.
“Keep going, keep going! This time use the screen too… Wait—yeah! Hunt Jeff!”
The coaches’ eyes widened at those words.
Hunting the point guard. In other words, he wanted to see me attack like Kyrie Irving.
The practice had completely flipped. What was supposed to be defensive work for the starters had turned into a showcase for my offensive ability.
Whatever the case, one thing was clear: the session had been productive.
Coach Budenholzer must have felt the same, because he ended it with applause.
“That was excellent. Let’s make this drill a regular part of practice.”
It was good work for the team and good ball-handling reps for me.
Coach Budenholzer seemed to think it was a win-win.
Perfect!
I had made a strong first impression from my very first team practice.
Naturally, Carroll’s and Schröder’s moods grew worse by the minute.