Date: November 6, 2024 — Dallas, Texas
The next day wasn't a loss on the scoreboard.
But it felt like one.
The Mavericks were 4–1, with wins over San Antonio, Miami (twice), and Brooklyn. The only blemish was Detroit—a game they should've won. A game that exposed fractures the public hadn't yet seen.
Zoran Vranes sat alone in the back of the Mavericks' film room. The team had trickled in one by one—some in full sweats, others with half-hearted greetings. The mood? Quiet. Not somber. Just... disjointed.
Even after four wins, something felt off.
Coach Kidd didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The clips spoke for themselves.
Missed rotations. Lazy closeouts. Body language that dipped the moment adversity hit.
Then came a clip from the third quarter: Dinwiddie waving off Zoran during a broken set.
Rewind.
Play.
Rewind.
Play.
Nobody said a word.
Kidd finally turned. "Y'all want this to work?" His eyes flicked around the room. "Then act like it."
Zoran didn't look up. He already knew where things stood.
Not with the team's record.
With his place in it.
Later that afternoon, Zoran stayed after practice. Again.
The court was empty. Echoes of squeaking soles and rim clangs the only company. The system's boost from the last game was still active—"Temporary Buff: Shot Consistency +2% (Final 10 Minutes of Game)"—but that wasn't why he stayed.
He stayed because he couldn't stand the thought of letting things spiral. Not without fighting it.
Every rep mattered now. Not just for development—but for leverage. Six days into his 10-day, and no one from the front office had even hinted at a second deal.
And he didn't know what pissed him off more:
That they hadn't said anything.
Or that he wanted them to.
SYSTEM
"Mental Resilience Bonus Activated: You are adapting to locker room uncertainty."Temporary Buff: Court Awareness +1 (Next 2 Games)
He exhaled, stepped back to the corner, and drilled another three.
The gym door creaked.
Kyrie.
Still in rehab gear, still moving gingerly—but observant. Always watching.
"You don't sleep, huh?" Kyrie said, voice low.
Zoran shrugged. "Sleep doesn't get you a contract."
Kyrie smirked, stepping closer. "That why you've been playing like every possession is a job interview?"
Zoran paused. "Isn't it?"
Kyrie didn't answer at first. He walked over to the sideline and picked up a stray ball, spinning it lazily in his fingers.
"Sometimes the interview ain't for the job you think it is," he finally said.
"What does that mean?"
Kyrie gave a slow smile. "You'll see."
That night, Zoran cooked for himself—something quick, something familiar. Grilled chicken, peppers, and rice. No takeout. No distractions.
He FaceTimed his cousin in LA, only to hang up after five minutes of nonsense about TikTok trade rumors.
Then he pulled out the sketchpad again.
But this time, he didn't draw plays.
He drew jerseys. Ones with new numbers. New names.
He didn't realize he'd written "Boston" and "Toronto" until halfway through shading in a wing pin-down action.
His pen hovered.
Would I even accept another 10-day here?
He looked at the walls of his apartment. No posters. No team gear. Just the duffle bag, the practice sneakers, and a temporary lease.
It didn't feel like home.
And that's what stung most.
He wanted it to.
Elsewhere...
Nico Harrison sat in his office, arms crossed, laptop open to advanced metrics. He wasn't looking at box scores. He was looking at spacing data, off-ball impact, gravity metrics. All of it.
Zoran was in the top percentile in efficiency for 10-days.
But Harrison wasn't convinced.
"He's good," he said to assistant GM Matt Connelly. "But is he better than the guy he's replacing at full health?"
Connelly stayed quiet.
Nico closed the screen. "I don't think so. Not yet. And if we're talking playoff runs, we need defense. Rim pressure. He's sharp, but he's not changing the game yet."
"So what? Let him walk?" Connelly asked.
Nico didn't answer.
Because maybe—just maybe—he already had.
Zoran's Updated Season Averages (Through 5 Games)
PPG: 14.6
APG: 4.2
RPG: 3.9
FG%: 54.7%
3P%: 39.1%
+/-: +7.6