The light from San Antonio's evening sun slanted through the blinds of Brian Wright's office, casting long shadows across the polished surface of his desk. The Spurs' General Manager leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the whiteboard where Gregg Popovich stood, marker in hand, methodically detailing his vision.
Pop had removed his jacket hours ago, sleeves now rolled to the elbows—a physical manifestation of how deep they'd gotten into this conversation. The rest of the coaching staff and front office executives sat in various states of attentiveness, some hunched forward in their chairs, others making notes on tablets or legal pads.
"Let's be clear about what we have," Pop said, tapping the marker against a photo of Victor Wembanyama. "A generational talent. Seven-foot-four with guard skills, defensive instincts that can't be taught, and a basketball IQ that's off the charts."
He shifted the marker to another photo—Markus. "And now we have this kid, who's shown more in summer league than most prospects show in their first two years. The connection between them is already special."
"Chemistry you can't manufacture," Brett Brown added from his seat near the window. "Reinhart sees passes before Wemby even makes his move."
Pop nodded. "Exactly. So the question becomes: how do we build around them? What's the timeline?" His eyes swept the room. "Because if these two are who we think they are, we're not looking at a standard rebuild."
Brian Wright straightened in his chair. "We've run the projections based on summer league data, accounting for standard rookie adjustment periods. Even conservative models suggest Wembanyama as a top-five defensive player immediately, with Reinhart projecting as a top-fifteen point guard."
"Top fifteen is underselling him," Pop said with unusual bluntness. "I've been coaching since before most of you were born. What I'm seeing from Reinhart isn't just good for a rookie. It's special, period."
The room fell silent. When Pop made declarations like this, people listened.
"So we accelerate," Wright concluded, pulling up a spreadsheet on the large monitor dominating the far wall. "Current roster has pieces that don't align with our new core's timeline or playing style. We've identified potential moves that could transform this team from developmental to competitive without sacrificing future flexibility."
Pop stepped back from the whiteboard, giving Wright the floor. The GM touched his tablet, and the screen filled with trade scenarios, contract details, and roster projections.
"Two major moves," Wright explained, highlighting the first proposal. "Trade Tre Jones and Keldon Johnson plus our 2024 second-rounder to Toronto for OG Anunoby. Elite 3-and-D wing who shoots 38% from three, brings championship experience, and is entering his prime at 26."
Pop nodded approvingly. "Defensive versatility. Low-maintenance offensively. Fits perfectly with Wembanyama's timeline."
"Second move," Wright continued, "sends Doug McDermott and Devonte' Graham to New York for Mitchell Robinson. Elite rim protector and rebounder who allows Wembanyama to play his natural position at power forward instead of banging with centers."
Mitch Johnson, one of the assistant coaches, leaned forward. "These aren't minor tweaks. We're talking about overhauling half our rotation before the season even starts."
"It's aggressive," Wright acknowledged. "But look at the projected lineup."
The screen changed to show the potential starting five:
PG - MARKUS REINHART - 19 SG - DEVIN VASSELL - 22 SF - OG ANUNOBY - 26 PF - VICTOR WEMBANYAMA - 19 C - MITCHELL ROBINSON - 25
"Average age under 23," Wright continued. "Four of five starters under team control for at least three years. Defensive potential through the roof with Anunoby, Wembanyama, and Robinson. Four shooters around Robinson for optimal spacing."
Pop studied the projection with narrowed eyes. "It's putting a lot on Reinhart's shoulders. Making him the primary creator for a playoff-caliber team as a rookie."
"That's the billion-dollar question," Wright agreed. "Is he ready? Because these moves essentially declare him our point guard of the future. No safety net, no veteran mentor. It's his team to run alongside Wembanyama."
The room fell silent again as the magnitude of the decision settled over them. They were contemplating betting the franchise's future on a 19-year-old second-round pick who'd played exactly zero regular season NBA minutes.
"Let's watch him in preseason," Pop finally said. "See how he handles NBA defenses, real game situations. If what we're seeing is real..." He let the thought hang unfinished.
"If it's real," Wright completed, "we make the moves early and start building something special."
Pop capped his marker and set it down. "Alright. Let preseason tell us what we need to know. But have the framework in place. Because if Reinhart is what I think he is, we're not waiting."
As the meeting adjourned and staff filed out, Pop remained, staring at the whiteboard with its web of possibilities, contingencies, and projections.
"Something on your mind?" Wright asked, the last one remaining besides Pop.
"Just thinking about Tim," Pop replied, referring to Duncan, the cornerstone of the Spurs dynasty. "Sometimes you get lucky enough to find a special one. I think we might have found two."
-
The training facility's weight room hummed with activity—the rhythmic clang of metal plates, the controlled breathing of athletes pushing their limits, the occasional grunt of exertion breaking through ambient music playing softly from overhead speakers.
Markus moved through his prescribed circuit with focused intensity, each exercise executed with perfect form. The team's strength coach had designed a program specifically for him—focused on posterior chain development, rotational power, and lower body explosiveness without adding unnecessary bulk that might compromise his mobility.
"Last set," Troy called out, monitoring Markus's trap bar deadlift with attentive eyes. "Eight reps, controlled tempo."
Sweat dripped from Markus's forehead as he gripped the handles, muscles already burning from the previous three sets. Physical training had become more demanding than anything he'd experienced at Davidson—targeted exercises that exposed and addressed specific weaknesses, pushing capacity without risking injury.
As he completed the final rep, the weight settling with a controlled thud, Troy nodded approvingly. "Good. Heart rate recovery now, then cooldown routine."
Markus grabbed his water bottle and towel, making his way to a stationary bike for the active recovery portion of his workout. His phone buzzed with a notification—Aisha's daily check-in from Philadelphia.
Missing you. How's the body holding up to professional torture?
A smile crossed his face as he typed back: Body feels like it's been redesigned from the ground up. In a good way, mostly. Call tonight?
The response came immediately: 8pm your time. Don't be late, basketball boy.
Their connection had only strengthened with distance, each pursuing their respective passions while maintaining the bond that had formed at Davidson. Her research position at Penn was going well, her insights about athletic psychology occasionally proving directly applicable to challenges Markus faced in his NBA transition.
"Looking good, rookie," came a voice from nearby. Devin Vassell, the Spurs' young shooting guard and presumptive starter, slid onto an adjacent bike. "Training staff saying you're already hitting targets they didn't expect until midseason."
"Just following the program," Markus replied, though he couldn't completely hide his satisfaction. The physical development aspects had been his biggest concern transitioning to the NBA—his basketball intelligence had never been questioned, but his body needed to catch up to professional standards.
"Humble too," Vassell laughed. "Man, with you feeding me and Wemby, I might actually make that leap this year. Your passes hit different—always in rhythm, perfect shooting pocket."
"That's the job," Markus said simply.
"Nah, man. That's a gift." Vassell increased his pace slightly on the bike. "Most rookie guards are so busy trying to prove they belong that they forget about making teammates better. You've got that shit backwards in the best way."
The conversation shifted to the upcoming preseason—their first real test against NBA competition. Opening against Oklahoma City would provide an immediate measurement of where they stood, particularly for the rookies facing established professionals for the first time.
"Shai's gonna test you," Vassell warned, referring to the Thunder's star guard, Gilgeous-Alexander. "Slippery as hell, changes pace like nobody else. Defensive nightmare."
"Looking forward to it," Markus replied, and he meant it.
As they finished their cooldown, Vassell glanced around to ensure they were alone before lowering his voice. "Heard anything about roster moves? Front office been huddled up for days. Something's brewing."
"Nothing specific," Markus answered truthfully. "Why? You worried?"
Vassell shrugged, but tension showed in his shoulders. "Four years in the league teaches you to always be prepared. Spurs are loyal, but they're not sentimental. Pop will make moves if he thinks it helps win."
"That's business," Markus noted.
"Yeah." Vassell stood up from the bike.
As Vassell walked away toward the shower area, Markus remained on the bike for a moment longer, contemplating the subtle warning beneath his teammate's words. The NBA's business realities were becoming clearer every day—friendship and loyalty existing alongside the ever-present possibility of trades, cuts, and roster overhauls.
Just part of the journey, he reminded himself, completing his recovery session before heading to the training room for his post-workout treatment routine. The path forward required adaptation to all aspects of professional life, not just the on-court challenges.
-
Game night transformed the AT&T Center into a cauldron of anticipation—preseason attendance unusually high with fans eager for their first glimpse of Victor Wembanyama and, increasingly, Markus Reinhart, whose summer league performances had created genuine buzz around the second-round pick.
The visitors' locker room housed the Oklahoma City Thunder, a young team with playoff aspirations built around Shai Gilgeous-Alexander's emerging superstardom. The matchup presented a perfect early test—established NBA talent with cohesive system experience versus the Spurs' raw potential still finding its form.
In the home locker room, Coach Popovich addressed his team with directness. "Preseason isn't about winning or losing," he began, scanning the faces of veterans and rookies alike. "It's about establishing identity. Finding out who we are collectively. Testing combinations. Learning tendencies."
He gestured toward the whiteboard where assistant coaches had diagrammed opening sets and defensive coverages. "Simple executions tonight. Basic actions, properly executed. I want to see communication, particularly on defensive rotations. Questions?"
When none came, Pop nodded once. "Starters: Reinhart, Vassell, Johnson, Wembanyama, Collins. Ten-minute rotations to start. Let's work."
As the team broke their huddle and began final preparations, Markus felt a tap on his shoulder. Pop stood there, his expression unreadable.
"Nervous?" the coach asked quietly.
"A little," Markus admitted, seeing no benefit in false bravado.
"Good. Means you care." Pop held his gaze steadily. "Tonight's not about statistics. It's about process. How you organize the team. How you handle pressure. How you adjust when the initial plan fails. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Pop started to turn away, then paused. "One more thing. Shai's going to test you defensively. He's crafty, uses angles, changes speed. Perfect learning opportunity."
Markus nodded, appreciate the specific guidance. "I'll be ready."
The pregame routine passed in familiar rhythm—dynamic stretching, shooting drills, layup lines flowing into the final moments before tipoff. The arena hummed with energy despite the game's lack of statistical significance. San Antonio basketball culture ran deep, the city's passion for the Spurs transcending preseason formalities.
When the starting lineups were announced, a noticeable roar accompanied Wembanyama's introduction, as expected. What surprised Markus was the enthusiastic response to his own name—not matching Wemby's reception, but substantial nonetheless. Summer league performances had clearly registered with the fanbase.
The game itself began with the controlled chaos typical of preseason basketball—crisp plays interspersed with miscommunications, flashes of brilliance alongside elementary mistakes. Oklahoma City's established chemistry showed early as they built a quick 8-2 lead, forcing a Spurs timeout.
"Settling in," Pop said simply in the huddle. "No rushed shots. Find your rhythm. Markus, get us organized."
Returning to the floor, Markus felt his perspective shift. Time seemed to slow slightly, his vision expanding to process multiple movements simultaneously, the court's geometry resolving into patterns and possibilities rather than chaos.
"Hawk action," he called, signaling a set play by tapping his wrist. Vassell nodded acknowledgment, moving to set a screen for Wembanyama while Keldon Johnson cleared the strong side.
The sequence unfolded precisely as designed—Vassell's screen forcing a defensive switch, Wembanyama rolling toward the basket with his defender trailing, the weak-side help committing a half-second too early. Markus delivered the bounce pass to a spot where only Wembanyama's extraordinary reach could secure it, resulting in a thunderous dunk that brought the crowd to its feet.
"There it is," Vassell said as they jogged back on defense. "Just like that."
The connection between Markus and Wembanyama became the first half's defining feature—a preternatural understanding between two rookies who seemed to anticipate each other's movements before they happened. Pick-and-roll sequences that should have required months of repetition to perfect instead flowed with intuitive ease.
On defense, Shai proved every bit the challenge Pop had promised—his herky-jerky drives and deceptive hesitation moves testing Markus's positioning and discipline. Several times the Thunder guard created space where none seemed to exist, leaving Markus a half-step behind.
"Learning opportunity," Pop remarked during a timeout, not critically but instructively. "He's changing pace to get you leaning. Stay balanced, read his hips, not his shoulders."
The adjustment wasn't immediate but progressive.
By the third quarter, he had begun to anticipate Shai's patterns, twice forcing turnovers by jumping passing lanes predicted through observed tendencies.
The game's final statistics reflected a typical preseason contest—irregular minutes, experimental lineups, emphasis on process over results. The Spurs secured a narrow 104-98 victory, though both coaches seemed more interested in specific sequences than the final score.
For Markus, the numbers told only part of the story: 14 points, 11 assists, 3 rebounds, 2 steals. More significant were the moments of genuine connection with teammates—Vassell nodding appreciation after a perfectly delivered pass led to an uncontested corner three; Wembanyama's subtle fist bump following a defensive sequence where they switched and recovered in perfect synchronization; Pop's brief "Good adjustments" as Markus exited for the final time.
The post-game locker room bustled with ice bags, recovery protocols, and the subdued satisfaction of professionals who recognized progress amid imperfection. Pop's brief address emphasized teaching points rather than praise or criticism—specific defensive rotations that needed refinement, offensive spacing concepts still developing, communication patterns requiring clarity.
As Markus completed his media obligations—brief for a rookie, but growing with each impressive performance—his phone displayed a text from Ryan Kessler: Multiple brands reaching out after tonight. Nike showing interest. Call me tomorrow.
The business of basketball evolving alongside the game itself, Markus thought, typing back a simple acknowledgment before continuing his post-game routine.
Later, showered and changed, he navigated the arena's back corridors toward the players' parking area. An unexpected voice stopped him.
"Reinhart."
He turned to find Pop emerging from a meeting room, tablet in hand.
"Yes, Coach?"
"Good reads tonight," Pop said without preamble. "Particularly the adjustment on Gilgeous-Alexander. You recognized the pattern, adapted accordingly."
"Thank you, sir."
Pop studied him with the evaluative gaze that had assessed basketball talent for decades. "You understand what we're building here?"
"I think so."
"It's not a conventional rebuild," Pop continued. "Not with you and Victor. The timeline's accelerated. Certain decisions will reflect that approach."
Markus nodded, sensing the conversation carried deeper significance than routine post-game analysis.
"Be ready," Pop concluded cryptically before continuing down the corridor, leaving Markus to contemplate exactly what readiness might entail beyond the obvious basketball context.