Zoran woke up before the sun.
Not from excitement—just habit. His body had been trained into this rhythm long before the system ever activated. Early workouts, cold solo gym sessions, silent apartment hallways—that's where his clock had been set. He didn't need an alarm anymore. His bones just knew.
The Mavericks-provided hotel room still smelled like fresh linens and cheap air freshener. Zoran sat up, stretched his shoulders, and reached for the phone.
[SYSTEM BOOST REMINDER: Shooting Efficiency + Film Retention | 14 hours remaining]
He blinked once, expression unreadable.
"Alright. Film first."
By 6:30 a.m., he was buried in clips.
No mixtapes. No flashy crossovers or half-court lobs.
Just defense. Corner rotations. Baseline traps. How the Mavericks' bench units scrambled when they got beat. He paused, rewound, and scribbled notes in the margins of a crumpled spiral notebook. The kind of notes nobody else would care to write.
He had three categories: Holes, Habits, Opportunities.
He muttered to himself as he reviewed, pen tapping against the desk. "That angle's too flat. If they recover late, weakside has to rotate early. They missed it twice."
Two hours later, he was dressed, bag slung over his shoulder, headed for the facility. No one asked questions. The front desk had already seen him leave early twice. They stopped making small talk.
The gym was cold when he arrived. It always was.
Jared Dudley was already inside, clipboard tucked under his arm, talking to one of the younger assistants.
"Today's not a show. We're doing short-clock possessions. Want to see how they think under pressure."
Zoran jogged up and started warming up silently. No chatter. No eye contact unless it served a purpose. His movements were clean, efficient. He didn't waste steps.
He got paired with Max Christie and Brandon Williams for the morning scrimmage.
They weren't All-Stars. But they were smart. Brandon spaced the floor well. Max had a defensive engine. And Zoran? He played like a conductor—no wasted dribbles, no blind passes, just timing.
High pick-and-roll. Bounce pass to a short roll.
Defensive switch? Pullback into a step-in jumper.
Every time the ball left his hand, it looked like it had been there before.
Dudley leaned in toward Jason Kidd, who stood by the sideline.
"He's not scoring twenty. But he's touching everything."
Kidd gave a small nod. "Some guys need volume. He needs rhythm. That's harder to teach."
After practice, most of the players filed out. Zoran stayed.
Not because he wanted to be seen.
Because he hadn't finished his work.
He put up free throws for thirty minutes straight. Same motion, same footwork. Every time he missed, he rebounded it himself and didn't react. Just reset.
Headphones in. No music. Just ambient crowd noise—programmed by him, years ago. Boston boos. Golden State cheers. New York silence. Simulations.
He wasn't practicing for a highlight.
He was practicing for a moment.
Later, he met his cousin Stefan for lunch. They hadn't spoken face-to-face in nearly three years. Stefan had moved to Dallas two summers ago and worked IT for a logistics firm.
"You look taller," Stefan joked, sliding a tray across the table.
"It's the shoes," Zoran replied with a half-smile. "They're finally newer than five years old."
"Ma said she cried when you called her. Told everyone you were on TV now."
Zoran paused, poking at his salad before answering.
"She's always believed in me. Even when it didn't make much sense. I owe her more than a few televised practices."
"She says you never ask for anything. Not even growing up."
"She was already giving everything she had. Asking would've felt wrong."
Stefan leaned back, visibly impressed. "You always talk like you're ten years older than you are."
"Feels like I've lived that long, just trying to catch a break."
That night, in the hotel, Zoran sat on the floor again, cross-legged with his back against the bed frame. He scrolled through an old high school clip on his phone. Grainy footage. His mom had filmed it. Vertical, of course. No flash. He wasn't even scoring—just rotating on defense, pointing at cutters, running the floor in transition.
He watched it twice.
Then a third time.
He wasn't the flashiest. But he was always there.
He opened the System log on his burner device.
[PROGRESSION UPDATE]
Shooting IQ: +2%
Play Recognition: +3%
Scout Value: +6
Tiny increments.
But that was the point.
There were no quantum leaps here. No superpowers. Just momentum.
He lay down, phone face-down beside him. No distractions.
Tomorrow was Day 3 of his 10-day trial.
And Zoran wasn't interested in making a splash.
He was interested in staying.