After the scrimmage,
The hotel room door clicked shut behind Arjun Reddy, sealing him inside the modest suite the Lakers had booked for Summer League participants. The air-conditioning hummed softly, a sterile white noise against the distant buzz of Las Vegas traffic far below. He dropped his gym bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and sank onto the edge of the king-sized bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
The scrimmage replayed in his mind like an endless highlight reel on loop. Not the stats—those had come exactly as the system promised—but the voices. The words that had followed him off the court and into the locker room, whispered just loud enough to sting.
"Last pick… Indian kid… marketing gimmick…"
"Bet you can't even guard a chair."
"Watch. They'll trade his ass before camp even starts. Last picks always get moved for cap space."
Darius's sneer. Marcus's open disgust. Jamal's bitter laugh. The quiet resentment from the overseas guys who had grinded through years of G-League obscurity while he had been handed a 60th overall selection. Every syllable echoed louder in the silence of the room.
Arjun stared at the carpet between his feet. They were right. Painfully, brutally right.
This was the NBA. Not some fairy-tale story where the underdog from Hyderabad simply showed up and earned everyone's respect. The league was a business first—salary caps, luxury tax, asset management. A last-pick rookie on a minimum deal was the easiest piece to move when front offices needed breathing room. He had lived it once before: the polite meeting in 2024, the GM's sympathetic tone, the quiet exit. History didn't care about heart or hard work if the numbers didn't line up. And right now, the numbers said he was expendable.
He shook his head slowly, trying to push the thoughts away. The Allrounder role had delivered exactly what it promised—7-5-5-4 in every scrimmage, clean, efficient, winning basketball. Coach Phil had praised him publicly. The stats were there in black and white on the whiteboard. But deep down, Arjun knew the truth those numbers couldn't hide.
This score is just good in the eyes of coaches and players… but people will think I am just a bench warmer. Oh God.
The realization hit him like a chest pass to the sternum. Fans outside the practice court didn't see the extra assists or the timely rebounds. They saw the 60th pick. They saw the kid from India with almost no college tape. They saw the guy riding the pine while LeBron and AD ran the show. In his first life, that label had slowly strangled him—Mr. Irrelevant, benchwarmer, the guy who never quite earned his minutes. The drinking had started there. The regret had festered there. And now, even with a second chance and a literal system in his head, the fear clawed back up his throat.
What if nothing had really changed?
He thought of his mother's voice on draft night, thick with pride: "We are watching live, beta. Proud of you no matter what." His father's quiet words: "Don't forget where you come from." They had sacrificed everything—long hours, empty bank accounts, years of uncertainty—just so he could chase this dream. In his previous life he had repaid them with failure and an early grave. If the Lakers traded him before he even suited up for a real game… if he became that same invisible bench piece again… what would he tell them? How could he face the kids back in Hyderabad who still called him "Coach Reddy, the NBA player"?
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand, but more came. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in. Eighteen years old on paper, but carrying the soul of a man who had already died once with nothing to show for it. The system had given him tools, but it couldn't silence the world outside. It couldn't stop the trade rumors already swirling in hushed front-office meetings he wasn't privy to. It couldn't change the fact that most fans would look at his stat line and shrug: "Nice numbers in Summer League… but he's still just a last-pick rookie."
Arjun stood suddenly, pacing the narrow space between the bed and the window. The Las Vegas Strip glittered far below, bright and indifferent. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, breath fogging the pane.
"I won't let it happen again," he whispered fiercely. "I died once because I accepted being average. Not this time. Not for them. Not for me."
The blue panel of the Basketball Role Play System flickered to life unprompted, as if sensing the storm inside him:
**Allrounder Quota Maintained Across Scrimmages: 100%**
**"Silence the Doubters" Quest Progress: 2/5**
**First Official Summer League Game in 48 Hours**
**Hidden Parameter Updating… Public Perception Variable Detected**
Arjun stared at the glowing text. Public perception. Even the system knew. The real battle wasn't just on the court against jealous teammates—it was against the narrative already forming around him. The story of the benchwarmer who almost made it.
He straightened, jaw set, the tears drying on his cheeks. The fear was real. The words from the other players were real. The danger of being traded like spare parts was real.
But so was his second chance.
Tomorrow he would step onto the Thomas & Mack Center floor for the first official Summer League game. Cameras rolling. Scouts watching. The world waiting to label him once and for all.
This time, he wouldn't give them the chance to call him a benchwarmer.
trauma