The game continued. Jason Silver once again displayed terrifying speed and explosive power, finishing with a brutal tomahawk dunk that set Haizaki Shogo's blood boiling with excitement. That kind of raw dominance.
On the next possession, Nash brought the ball up and, as expected, passed it to Haizaki again. Catching the ball, Haizaki quickly assessed his defender. The tricks I used before won't cut it here. This is a different level. Only real strength matters.
He took a deep breath, lowered his center of gravity, and executed a sharp feint. The defender bit instantly. Haizaki rose, smooth, fast, precise, and released a clean three-pointer.
SWISH! A textbook shot. No flash, no gimmicks, just pure fundamentals executed at high speed. Everyone on the court lit up at the sight. This kind of shot was a weapon. Nash, Jason Silver, Allen, and Zack all gave Haizaki a new look of approval. That wasn't a flashy move, it was repeatable, reliable scoring. And that was what truly mattered.
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The scrimmage continued in this rhythm. With his overwhelming skill and refined basketball IQ, Haizaki gradually earned the recognition of the Jabberwock members, blending into the team. Five days of training passed in a flash.
For Haizaki, the gains he made in these five days were unprecedented. Honestly, a whole semester in Japan wouldn't compare to this. Training daily with Jabberwock's main roster and reserves gave him a clear understanding of American basketball's average level. The so-called "Generation of Miracles" level? In the U.S., it wasn't rare, it was simply excellent. And the reason those players seemed overwhelmingly strong back in Japan was largely due to their special abilities. Strip those away, and they'd just be part of the crowd here. Of course, those abilities were exactly why they were called miracles.
Haizaki himself was no exception. His physical talent still wasn't at the absolute peak, he needed to keep pushing, keep breaking his limits. I need to get stronger, physically. That thought rose higher than ever in his priorities.
======
John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York. Haizaki boarded an international flight alongside the rest of Jabberwock. Their destination: Paris, France. He still didn't quite understand why the match was being held in Paris instead of New York or Serbia.
"Hey, Shogo, you know how passionate Paris girls are?" Jason grinned.
"How passionate?"
"Heh heh, they're like fire. Enough to burn through all your energy."
Haizaki chuckled. "Just don't get drained dry. Remember why we're here."
Jason burst out laughing. "Trust me, compared to girls, I love cash more."
Haizaki shook his head. Now that he knew him better, Jason Silver was clearly a loudmouth, straightforward to the point of being simple-minded.
Among the team, the strongest were clearly Nash, Haizaki, and Jason. And because of that, the others naturally kept a certain distance. Strong people gravitated toward each other. Simple as that.
Nash, however, had little patience for Jason's personality, so Jason naturally latched onto Haizaki instead. Compared to Nash, Haizaki's outward attitude, arrogant, wild, almost reckless, made him easier to approach. Though what's inside is another matter entirely.
Their group consisted of eleven people: nine players, one sponsor liaison, and one administrative staff member handling visas and logistics. A brutal 16-hour flight followed. There was no time to adjust to jet lag. They could only rest on the plane and conserve their strength for the match two days later.
=======
Paris, Champs-Élysées. At a lively outdoor café, a group of tall European men sat watching the bustling streets. Their attention frequently drifted toward the stylish, bold, and strikingly beautiful women passing by.
"Jack, I hear our opponents aren't simple, an American streetball team," said Levic.
Jack smirked. "Don't be intimidated by the name 'America.' The NBA being strong doesn't mean everyone there is."
"True, but Nash and Jason are trouble."
Jack laughed. "Relax. We've got me, Velia, and you."
"Right."
These men were none other than the Serbian Eagles Youth Team, who had arrived in Paris ahead of time. Their towering captain, Jack, sat calmly, his massive frame somehow blending into the environment. Paris, the streets, the cafés, the fashion, the couples kissing openly, intoxicated everyone who set foot here.
======
Meanwhile, Haizaki and the others landed and headed straight to their hotel. Paris Marriott Champs-Élysées Hotel. They checked in without crossing paths with the Serbian team just a few streets away.
Nash gathered everyone. "Rest well. No time to adapt to the climate or timezone. Doesn't matter anyway." He paused, his tone sharp. "Money. That's why we're here." Simple. Direct. Brutal.
And everyone understood. Most of Jabberwock came from streetball backgrounds, some from poverty, surviving on welfare. They knew hardship. They knew hunger. Opportunities like this? They didn't waste them. That was why, during those five days of training, Haizaki had seen their relentless effort.
Nash's goal was clear, take this team around the world, win everywhere, build a legend. And that required more than talent. It demanded sweat. Sacrifice.
=======
Before going to bed, Nash called Haizaki and Jason into his room. "Tomorrow, Jason, you take the lead. I'll anchor. Shogo, you come in as our trump card."
"Got it."
"Understood."
"They know about me and Jason. But you?" Nash looked at Haizaki. "You're a blank slate to them." A faint grin formed. "So when the moment comes, strike hard."
"I will."
"Jason, go all out from the first quarter. No holding back."