Scout

*Sound Effects*

**Language**

'Thoughts'

"Dialogue"

(Point of View)

After the initial eruption of cheers, the spectators began to settle down. Some chose to leave now that the game was over. As my teammates' initial excitement subsided, they gave me some space while wearing radiant smiles.

The sheer excitement and pure bliss I felt completely overshadowed the pain in my hand. However, Coach reminded me that we needed to move quickly through the post-game ceremony so I could get my hand stitched up. I looked over at the Titans, who didn't plan on sticking around, most likely afraid of retaliation against their point guard who played dirty.

The announcers approached us with microphones, accompanied by cameramen. They joined our group, bringing along a large check that read "$5000."

We posed for a picture, our genuine smiles reflecting the high we were all riding.

The announcer conducted brief interviews with each player about the game, even talking to Dylan while expressing his hopes for a speedy recovery. Finally, he turned to me and asked, "It became noticeable after the first few plays when you came in that you were injured. What made you decide to come in?" I simply smiled softly before responding, "My team needed me, and I really didn't want to lose."

He chuckled before congratulating the team. Coach Will informed us that he would have the check deposited before splitting it evenly among the team members. 

Before he could continue, I interrupted, saying, "You can take my portion, Coach. After everything that happened... with protecting me yesterday and taking me back and forth everyday from practice, I would rather you have it." I expressed. He looked taken aback but before he could speak Elijah continued, "Yea, take mine, I don't need it honestly and just being able to play here has been worth it for me." 

The entire team insisted that he should take the full amount, but Coach Will was touched and initially declined. After some back and forth, we finally convinced him to accept half of the $5000, with the rest being split among us.

"Now you gotta get yourself a phone," Isaiah joked, eliciting nods of agreement from my other teammates. I chuckled and replied, "Alright, I'll make sure to get one."

As we celebrated our achievements, a sudden interruption caught my attention. A man in casual attire, standing nearly as tall as Elijah, approached us. My heart raced as I wondered, 'Could this be a scout?'

He passed me to speak with Isaiah and Elijah, handing them his business card and briefly introducing himself as a scout for Duke. He praised their talent and heart, leaving just as swiftly as he had arrived. I couldn't help but look down slightly and sigh.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was a sign. It seemed as though fate was trying to convey that I wasn't meant to play basketball. More scouts came over, introducing themselves and engaging with my teammates, but none of them approached me or even glanced in my direction.

I couldn't discern whether this was due to my injury or if they simply didn't see potential in me. Time passed, and I patiently waited, hoping one of them would talk to me after conversing with the others. However, that hope never materialized. Coach Will eventually persuaded me to head out since I still needed to have my hand looked at. I reluctantly agreed and turned to leave.

Before departing, I made sure to collect the phone numbers of all my teammates on a piece of paper, which I tucked into my pocket, ready to add them to my new phone. Just as I was about to make my exit, a man approached me.

However, as I exited the building, a man approached me, visibly out of breath. He appeared to be middle-aged, with fair skin, short, neatly combed light brown hair that hinted at a touch of gray, and a side part. His face had soft features, a straight nose, and a warm smile that reached his eyes, which were partly concealed behind thin-framed glasses. He was dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie with a complex pattern, possibly featuring animal motifs.

"Wait," he said, still catching his breath. "Can I help you?" I asked, puzzled.

"Sorry," he replied, still trying to collect himself. "I'm R.C. Bufford, a scout for the San Antonio Spurs. I wanted to see if you'd be interested in having a conversation in my office about potentially joining us for a few days."

I must have looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Making it to a D1 college was a stretch, and here was a stranger talking about joining the Spurs?

"I..." I began to respond, but before I could finish, he noticed my injured hand and said, "You're in a hurry, I get it. Don't worry; here's my card. Call me when you're ready." He handed me his business card and turned to leave.

I glanced at Coach Will, and his expression mirrored my incredulity. "Probably a scam," I said, and he nodded in agreement. Without further ado, we hurried back to the car and headed to the hospital.

Heading to the same hospital for my hand injury, I coincidentally encountered the same doctor. As I walked in, he met my gaze, then glanced at my injured hand before locking eyes with me once more.

I mustered an awkward smile as I entered the doctor's office, and he met my gaze before turning his attention to my injured hand. He carefully examined it and then delivered the verdict that there would be some scarring, though not too severe since the stitches were still relatively fresh. To be safe, he prescribed antibiotics to guard against any potential infections from the reopened wound.

As he finished up, the doctor gave me a stern yet understanding look and advised against playing while injured. I assured him it was a one-time thing and promised not to repeat it.

We quickly returned to the apartment, and I couldn't help but express my gratitude. "Thanks, Coach, for allowing me to get back in there," I said. He looked over and replied, "You're welcome. You left me no choice when I saw the determination in your eyes. Just don't make playing while injured a habit. You're lucky it wasn't more serious." I nodded in agreement.

Upon returning home, I excitedly recounted the game to my mom. Her enthusiasm waned, though, when she noticed the hospital band I had forgotten to remove. She started scolding me in Spanish, using my full name to emphasize her disappointment that I had played despite my injury. However, she eventually understood my reasoning when I explained that Dylan had been injured, and the game was so close that I didn't want our hard work to go to waste.

As the eventful day came to an end, I couldn't help but gaze at the ceiling, feeling a tinge of sadness as I remembered that I hadn't received any offers. However, I quickly reminded myself that I did receive one, though it seemed too good to be true. I mean it couldn't possibly be real.

"Right?" I whispered before drifting off to sleep.

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A/N: Hope you liked the chapter! We're about to begin the NBA Arc! Let me know if you're excited to see how the system will play out. If you like to support the story, leave a comment, review, or drop some stones down below. This story isn't a MTL, I'm making it entirely by myself so I'd appreciate the support.