2012 · Los Angeles · Training Facility
Interest didn't announce itself.
It showed up as weight.
The gym felt the same when Gu Kai walked in—same lights, same floor—but every mistake seemed louder. Every pause felt longer.
Two chairs sat by the baseline today.
One was empty.
The other wasn't.
The man from yesterday hadn't returned.
Someone else had.
Older. Thicker notebook. No pretense of hiding.
Gu Kai didn't look over.
He didn't need to.
---
The first run started rough.
Not because Gu Kai played poorly—
but because the margin disappeared.
A pass half a beat late became a turnover.
A step too deep collapsed the spacing.
On the second possession, Gu Kai drove, drew help, and kicked to the corner.
Open.
Miss.
Transition the other way.
The coach didn't say anything.
He just stared.
Gu Kai felt it.
Interest doesn't make things easier, he realized.
It makes them expensive.
---
Mid-run, the defense changed again.
They showed help early—then recovered hard.
Baited the pass—then jumped the lane.
Gu Kai read the first look correctly.
The second one nearly picked him.
The ball grazed fingertips and skidded out of bounds.
The notebook lifted.
A pen moved.
Gu Kai exhaled and reset.
---
He slowed the next possession.
Not the pace—
the decision.
He brought the ball up, waited for the switch, and called the action himself. A simple drag screen. Nothing fancy.
The defender went under.
Gu Kai didn't shoot.
He took one dribble, pulled the help two steps closer, then slipped the pocket pass.
Finish.
The notebook paused.
---
The run tightened.
Bodies bumped harder.
Talk got sharper.
A wing tried to test Gu Kai—shoulder to chest on a drive, extra contact after the whistle.
Gu Kai didn't react.
He ran the next possession clean.
Then the next.
When the wing overplayed the lane, Gu Kai back-cut him and finished at the rim.
No stare.
No words.
Just points.
---
The whistle ended the run.
The coach waved everyone in.
"Hydrate," he said. "Two minutes."
The man with the notebook stood and walked over.
Not to Gu Kai.
To the coach.
They spoke quietly. Briefly.
Then the man turned and left.
No nod.
No glance back.
---
The system interface surfaced—measured, calm.
---
[External Evaluation Update]
[Interest Level: Maintained]
[Risk Exposure: Increased]
[Performance Note]
Stability under observation prevents downgrades.
---
Two minutes passed.
The coach blew the whistle again.
"Last run," he said. "Make it clean."
Gu Kai checked in.
This time, he didn't chase anything.
He didn't force the label.
He played the possession that was there—and only that one.
Drive when it opened.
Pass when it closed.
Cut when it mattered.
No highlights.
No errors.
When it ended, the coach nodded once.
"That's enough for today."
---
As the gym emptied, Gu Kai stayed seated, unlacing his shoes slowly.
Interest hadn't rewarded him.
It hadn't punished him either.
But it had done something else.
It had raised the bar—and left it there.
The system offered no reward.
No progress spike.
Just one final line.
---
[Reminder]
Attention is not opportunity.
Consistency turns one into the other.
---
Gu Kai stood and slung his bag over his shoulder.
Outside, the sun was lower now, shadows stretching long across the pavement.
He didn't feel lighter.
He felt calibrated.
Tomorrow, they would watch again.
And that meant—
He had to be the same player,
no matter who was sitting on the sideline.