Madrid, Spain – February 2015
The gym was quiet.
No cameras. No scouts. No tournaments.
Just echoes.
Eli Mercer stood at the free throw line.
Ball in hand.
Eyes closed.
He breathed in.
Held.
Released.
Swish.
Team Practice – Midweek
Coach Ortega ran light drills.
No scrimmage. No pressure.
Luis jogged beside Eli.
"You tired?"
Eli nodded.
"Little bit."
"You ever take a break?"
Eli looked at the court.
"I breathe. That's my break."
Luis laughed.
"You're weird."
Eli smiled.
"I'm just early."
School – Thursday Afternoon
Spanish class.
Eli sat in the back, hoodie down, notebook open.
The teacher asked about poetry.
Eli raised his hand.
"Breath is rhythm. Rhythm is control."
The class paused.
The teacher nodded.
"Well said."
Evening – Video Call Home
His mom answered.
His dad leaned in.
His sister waved from the kitchen.
"You look tired," his mom said.
"I'm good. Just breathing."
"You eating enough?"
"Yeah. Luis makes sure."
"We're proud of you," his dad said.
Eli smiled.
"I'm just getting started."
Friday – Solo Gym Session
Eli entered before sunrise.
Lights off.
Just the glow from the exit sign.
He walked to the far baseline.
Bounced once.
Turned.
Breathed.
Full court shot.
Release.
Swish.
He didn't smile.
He didn't record.
He just walked to the next zone.
Saturday – Team Meeting
Coach Ortega stood at the whiteboard.
"Next phase starts Monday. New teams. New scouts. New pressure."
Eli sat still.
Breathing.
Luis leaned over.
"You ready?"
Eli nodded.
"Always."