Daniel sat on the bench near half court, an ice pack strapped to his knee, clipboard resting on his thigh. The light was softer now, filtered through the high windows. The door creaked open, and Ector Troy strolled in – twirling a ball on his finger, grin sharp as a blade.
Daniel didn't look up. "Next victim, step right up."
Ector caught the ball and spun it again. "Man, victim? Don't call me that. I get buckets."
Daniel smirked. "Buckets? You mean those heat-check airballs?"
Ector laughed. "Hey, confidence counts."
"Sure does," Daniel said, peeling the ice pack off his knee and standing with a slow groan. "So let's work on turning that confidence into something that actually scares people."
Ector dribbled once. "So what's the plan, Coach? You gonna teach me some mellow jab-step stuff like you did with Jesus?"
Daniel shook his head. "No, son. You're not a Melo. You're a Westbrook."
Ector blinked. "...Who?"
Daniel stared at him in mock disbelief. "You telling me you don't know Russell Westbrook?"
"I mean… yeah, I know him," Ector said, shrugging. "Dude's wild. Built like a ninja turtle, runs like his house's on fire. He also can't shoot for–"
"Language," Daniel cut him off, pointing the clipboard like a weapon. "And you just described yourself perfectly."
Ector snorted. "Nah, nah, nah, I'm smoother than that. I got finesse."
Daniel arched an eyebrow. "You've got energy. You've got explosion. But finesse? Nah, boy, you don't."
Ector grinned. "You funny for an unc."
"Uhu," Daniel gestured for him to move to the top of the key. "Westbrook, Ector. You and him – you're cut from the same cloth. Both chaos. Both built like… ninja turtles. But he learned how to use it. Let me show you."
He walked slowly, dribbling at half speed. "Westbrook's power isn't just speed – it's pace. He changes tempo. You see that?" He slowed to a crawl, then burst past an imaginary screen with startling sharpness, his sneakers screeching against the floor.
Ector tilted his head. "Okay, that looked mean."
"Exactly," Daniel said. "Without that change, you're predictable. But when you control your gears, you own the game. Now watch the details."
He gestured again. "High pick and roll. Russ lives there. He comes off the screen and–" Daniel mimed the move, snaking through the space. "If the hedge man's slow? Boom. He burns him. If the defense overplays? He waits, then hits them with a delayed burst. Sometimes he just stops and pulls up. It's rhythm control, not pure explosion."
He pointed to the center of the court. "Right here is your home. The middle. You've got space to move. No baseline trapping you, no corner cutting you off. That's your hunting ground."
Ector dribbled up, eyebrows raised. "So you telling me to chill? Me?"
Daniel chuckled. "I'm telling you to choose when to kill. Westbrook ain't scary because he's fast – he's scary because nobody knows when he'll go fast."
He bounced the ball to Ector. "Try it. Imagine Tyrone sets the pick. Come off it slow."
Ector nodded, came around an invisible screen, and accelerated – too soon. Daniel clapped once. "Too early. You gave it away."
Ector frowned, tried again, slower this time. He came off the screen, hesitated just a second longer, then exploded. The echo of his sneakers cracked through the gym as he finished the layup.
Daniel smiled. "That's it. Controlled thunder."
Ector wiped his brow. "Feels weird holdin' back like that."
"Feels like growth," Daniel said. "Anybody can go full speed. Few can stop and start like it's nothing."
Ector grinned. "So what, you gonna make me shoot like him too?"
Daniel laughed. "No, God forbid. I want you efficient, not cursed."
That made Ector crack up, clutching his stomach. "Damn, Coach, that's cold!"
Daniel sat back down, ice back on his knee. "Look, Ector – your game's already dangerous. But right now it's raw power with no steering wheel. Once you learn to control when to explode and when to glide, you stop being a player… and start being a storm."
Ector bounced the ball thoughtfully. "A storm, huh?"
Daniel nodded. "Yeah. 'I pride myself on being a force of nature on the floor.' His quote. Be that. That is the mentality. Make defenses panic just from seeing you pick up the ball."
Ector smiled wide. "Alright, Coach. I like that."
"Alright," Daniel said, "we worked on pace. Now let's talk about weapons." He pointed at Ector's hands. "Your problem is you want to murder every possession. That's not offense – that's a crime scene."
Ector grinned. "Coach, if it goes in, it's legal."
Daniel ignored him and walked to the free-throw line. "Russell Westbrook ain't just speed. He's deception. He makes you think he's going to kill you – then he waits until you flinch first. That's the trick."
He held out a hand. "Give me the ball."
Ector passed it, and Daniel crouched low, his knees creaking softly. "Westbrook's most dangerous move is stupid simple," Daniel said. "Hanging hesitation."
He began dribbling slow, then raised up slightly – the ball pausing in the air, rhythm snapping like a held breath. "This is it. He just… stops time. Defenders tense up, expecting the drive. He doesn't need to do more."
He shot forward suddenly, two sharp steps into the paint, then pulled up for a clean jumper.
"See that?" he said, catching his own rebound. "If they back up – it's free pull-up. If they don't – they're on their heels. You've already won the angle. That hang buys you everything."
Ector squinted. "Looks too easy."
Daniel tossed him the ball. "That's because it is easy. Try it."
Ector copied him – slow dribble, stop, half-rise.
His motion was too stiff.
"Relax," Daniel said. "It's not a move, it's a question. You're asking the defense, are you ready? They always lie and say yes."
Ector exhaled, dribbled again. This time the hang flowed naturally – ball paused in his hand, midair, shoulders rising – then boom, he exploded forward, planting for a hard layup.
Daniel clapped once. "That's it. You didn't rush – you baited. You controlled the clock in his head."
He pointed to the top again. "Now the second weapon – exaggerated in-and-out."
He dribbled hard to the left, rolling his wrist over the ball, body swaying wide, then crossing back sharp. The sound cracked like a whip.
"Westbrook sells this with his legs," Daniel said. "He exaggerates every movement – over-the-top. The defender reads it like something dumb, but there's logic in it. If the defender shifts just one inch too far, he's gone. If they freeze, pull-up. Every choice is wrong."
Ector mimicked him – wide sway, deep cross. It was raw, unpolished, but his burst was vicious. The sound of his sneakers skidded against the wood, the air filled with the faint echo of power.
Daniel smiled faintly. "That's the problem with players like you, Ector – you don't even realize how scary you already are. You just need to aim the energy."
Ector caught his breath, dribbling low. "So… what, I just run this every time?"
"No," Daniel said. "You read it every time. Hesitation, in-and-out – they're not moves, they're language. You're speaking to the defender through your rhythm. You force them to answer. And once they do, they're finished."
He stepped closer, tapping Ector's chest. "Don't let anyone tell you you're just speed and muscle. You're a conductor. The whole game moves to your beat. Westbrook doesn't just play fast – he makes the world chase him."
Ector nodded, eyes narrowed now, his grin gone. "So basically… I make them dance."
Daniel chuckled. "Exactly. You're the rhythm, they're the noise. Sell your movement with your legs – make it look wild, but know exactly where you're going. That's what separates a good guard from a problem."
Ector dribbled twice more, body rocking with new rhythm – hang… burst… sway… boom. The echo hit the far wall.
Daniel's ice pack slid down his knee as he smiled. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. "That's controlled thunder."
Ector drove into the paint, launching himself forward like a missile. The ball clanged off the rim and bounced back toward the free-throw line.
Daniel caught it with one hand, shaking his head. "Too fast," he said.
Ector wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Man, I'm tryna get there first. Before the defense could react."
Daniel pointed at him with the ball. "And that's exactly why you don't."
He tossed the ball back. "You think Westbrook finishes because he's faster? Nah. He finishes because he uses their speed against them."
Ector frowned, dribbling idly. "What you mean?"
Daniel motioned for him to follow, jogging toward the basket. "Watch."
He started slow – dribbling down the middle, mimicking a transition play.
"Every big man has the same problem," he said, voice calm. "They backpedal. They're moving backwards as you come downhill. That means their balance is gone. That's your moment."
He took two strides, then – instead of going straight at the rim – stepped sideways, slicing across the lane in a clean, lateral Eurostep. His inside shoulder brushed an imaginary defender. His body twisted midair, finishing softly off the glass.
"Westbrook's euro isn't straight," Daniel said, landing light. "It's sideways. He's not avoiding the big – he's shifting him. He slides so far across that the defender ends up chasing instead of blocking."
He passed the ball back to Ector. "Your turn. Slow first."
Ector started from half court, charging in. Too direct – too fast.
Daniel's whistle echoed. "Slow down! If you hit him head-on, it's a foul."
Ector exhaled, nodded, then tried again.
This time, his steps flowed smoother – the first forward, the second sliding wide across the paint. He extended with his right arm, finishing high off glass.
Daniel nodded. "Better. Now, the secret."
He crouched low, showing how Westbrook protected the ball. "See this?"
He held the ball on his outside hip, away from the defender. His inside arm cut through the air like a blade.
"This isn't a foul. You're not pushing – you're swiping their hand away. You clear the lane. Quick, subtle. If you push the chest, they'll blow the whistle. But the arm?" He smirked. "That's fair game. They teach it in the streets."
Ector copied the motion, running through it again. Swipe, step, extend – this time, his layup looked clean. Controlled.
Daniel smiled faintly. "You can even give a little forearm if you hide it right. Make it look like part of the motion. Refs can't call what they can't see."
Ector grinned. "So we cheatin' legally now?"
Daniel chuckled. "No. We just learned how to survive in the paint as a little man. Westbrook knows – finesse wins contact."
He gestured for Ector to start again. "Now focus on your base. Two-foot takeoff. Keep it wide. That gives you balance. When your feet go narrow, you lose the center. That's why you miss the tough ones."
Ector tried again, this time planting both feet wide before jumping. The difference was instant – his body stayed stable through the hit, with Daniel who acted as a big man, finishing solid against the backboard.
"See?" Daniel said. "Now you can absorb the contact and guide the ball. That's how Russ gets his and-ones. When he's in control, he's efficient. When he flies in half-blind, he's dead."
He stepped closer, tapping his chest. "You need to know when to hit first. Sometimes, contact before the jump makes all the difference. You bump shoulder-to-shoulder, not chest-to-chest. It's not a foul because you're parallel. The refs see two trains passing, not a crash."
Ector nodded slowly, absorbing every word. "So… no more mid-air car accidents."
"On point," Daniel said. "And if you don't have the lane, don't force it. Take one more dribble, reset. Patience raises your efficiency more than vertical ever will."
He motioned for Ector to try again. "Now this time – drive, read, and finish toward the rim. No floating away. Rotate your hips toward the basket mid-air. Anchor your body."
Ector inhaled, focused. One dribble, two, then the euro – lateral slide, inside arm swipe, finish tight to the rim. The layup rolled in soft.
Daniel caught the ball and nodded. "That's it. You're learning to end plays, not just start them."
Ector leaned on his knees, breathing hard. "So what, I'm Westbrook now?"
Daniel smirked. "Not yet. But you're starting to understand him."
He rested the ball on his hip. "Russ isn't perfect – hell, half the time he is unpredictable even to himself. But when he is patient, when he decides how to attack instead of just when – he becomes something terrifying. He doesn't just play fast. He plays like time doesn't matter."
Ector tilted his head. "Like the world slows down for you?"
Daniel nodded. "Exactly. You are the eye of the storm."
Ector smiled, low and sharp. "I can live with that."
"Alright," Daniel said. "Call in the rest of the circus. We're going full speed."
…