Erik Kuhlmann woke earlier than usual.
The room was too quiet in that rural-California kind of way – no cars, no hum of city life, just wind moving through open land. He stood on the balcony with a mug of coffee in one hand and a cigarette between two fingers, listening to the silence. Somewhere in the hills, birds were already up and fighting about something. The air even smelled clean – that strange sweet scent the biology professor back in Pasadena once said came from local shrubs trying to seduce pollinators.
"California," he muttered to himself. "Even the wilderness tries to flirt."
"Hm, the sun indeed looks like an orange, who wrote that… Nabokov?" he pondered, then took a long drag.
A knock at the door cut through the quiet.
Daniel stood in the doorway looking like he'd just walked through a morgue. Hands buried in his pockets, voice low.
"Uh… Coach. We've got a problem."
Erik flicked ash off the balcony. "What happened?"
"The kids are all in the gym, but they look half dead."
He shrugged once. "It's six in the morning. Being half dead at this hour builds character."
Daniel didn't smile. "They didn't sleep. At all. The local boys snuck in weed, the euros cigarettes. They rolled spliffs and snuck out past midnight. They were out on the golf course – way out near the tree line. Didn't get back in until four."
Erik blinked once, slow.
"Marcus found them this morning already in the gym. He didn't know about the night stuff – none of us did. He just started warmups because they were there and upright."
Erik ground the cigarette out on the balcony rail, exhaled hard through his nose.
"Team building, heh…" he said flatly.
"That's what they called it," Daniel confirmed. "They look like ghosts."
Erik set the mug down. The peaceful morning was gone. "Close the gym. Nobody touches a ball."
Daniel gave a tight nod. "And the punishment?"
Erik stepped back inside, voice already shifting into command mode. "They want to smoke and play army in the dark? Fine. Let's see how much fun it is with no sleep and consequences."
Daniel turned to leave, but Erik added one more thing before he exited.
"And Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"If any of them thinks this place is summer camp, today cures that."
Daniel left without another word.
Erik glanced once more at the horizon. Without the city noise, without the traffic, the silence stopped feeling serene and took colours of the upcoming fray.
~~~~~
The gym smelled like floor polish and stale sweat when Kuhlmann walked in. The kids were scattered across the bleachers and baseline – not talking, not moving, just existing. Eyes red, bodies slouched, limbs heavy.
Marcus was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them like a babysitter who'd already given up emotionally.
Coach didn't need a briefing. One look at the room told him enough.
"Up," he said. Not loud – but carried. "On the baseline. All of you. Now."
There was a slow rustle of movement. No excuses, no complaints – they were too tired to argue. Ector moved like someone had unplugged him. Novak nearly tripped over his own feet. Jesus blinked hard like he was trying to stay conscious. Nevsky didn't look tired, but he looked annoyed to be awake. The two African bigs shuffled into line without a word.
When they were all spaced along the baseline, Coach pointed at the far end.
"Forty laps around the court."
A heartbeat of stillness – then Mason squinted. "Forty?"
"Did I fucking stutter?"
They started moving. First lap looked like warmup jogs. By the tenth, chests were heaving. Feet dragging by the fifteenth. Someone's breath whistled like a kettle. At twenty, Ector cursed under his breath. At twenty-three, Jesus stumbled and slapped the wall to steady himself.
Kuhlmann didn't yell. Didn't motivate. Just counted.
"Thirty-five."
"Thirty-six."
"Thirty-seven."
"Thirty-eight."
"Thirty-nine."
They braced for "forty."
"Thirty-nine."
A couple heads snapped his way in disbelief, but nobody stopped.
"Thirty-nine."
Sweat dripped off chins. Shoes squeaked slower and heavier.
"Thirty-nine."
Novak wheezed something in Serbian that sounded like a prayer or a threat.
Finally: "Forty."
They finished like corpses crossing a finish line. Some bent at the waist, some hit the wall, some just dropped to sit on the floor.
Coach let them breathe for exactly fifteen seconds.
"Eyes up."
Slowly, they lifted their heads. Faces red, chests rising like broken bellows.
"You got one fuckup from me," he said, voice even. "Just one. Last night was it."
Nobody spoke. Even Mason looked like arguing might kill him.
"You don't smoke, sneak out, or play smartass behind my back. You want to get high – fine. Do it when you're retired and broke, not when I'm investing time and money into you."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"From now on? You'll earn every hour of sleep. Today you get one-on-ones until someone throws up or passes out. Tomorrow, same. Starting next week – no hiding."
A few of them blinked, confusion cutting through exhaustion.
"We're scrimmaging real teams," Coach said. "California programs. Compton Magic, St. Joseph, Sierra Canyon's JV, Mater Dei, De La Salle, if I feel generous. A couple prep schools that don't give a fuck where you came from."
That woke a few eyes. Even Ector straightened. Mason cracked a slow grin. Jesus wiped sweat off his face and tried to look less dead.
"You want to act like a team? Prove you belong in a gym with other humans first."
He pointed at the court.
"Drink water. Stretch. In five minutes, you're playing ones. First to five. Winners stay on. If you stop moving, you run again."
He turned without another word and walked toward the exit.
Marcus let out a low whistle as he passed by. "Man said good morning with a shovel."
Kuhlmann didn't slow. "Good. Now let's see who survives breakfast."