"I don't know how you got my number, but let me be clear—I don't have time to scout your players." Jake groaned, his voice raspy from exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes, he took a big gulp of his iced Americano, letting the bitterness revive him.
"Who was that?" Peja, seated across from Jake and sipping his own coffee, asked.
"Oh, come on, how would I know?" Jake took another sip, visibly irritated. "Some unknown agent hoping to get his players a shot. Doesn't he get how packed my schedule is?"
Jake rubbed his temples, then picked up a report to resume reading. Peja watched him, noting the weariness in his friend's eyes. After a pause, he finally spoke up. "Jake, you've seemed… different from last year."
"Different?" Jake looked up, surprised.
"Yeah," Peja replied carefully. "When you started here, you were all about overseeing everything. You wanted to be involved in every detail. But now, you're delegating more."
"Isn't that good for you?" Jake smirked, teasing. "Less on your plate."
"That's not it," Peja said, waving his hand. "It's just that lately, you're so buried in documents. You're… detached from the league in a way."
Jake frowned, trying to grasp Peja's point. "What do you mean?"
Peja hesitated, then clarified. "Take that phone call. You're one of the league's top figures now, and yet… last year, you would've at least humored the guy, maybe even taken a look at his player."
Jake set down his papers, reflecting on Peja's words. He realized there was truth in them—he had been absorbed in office work and daily operations, isolated from networking. The success of a top GM wasn't just about talent and decisions; it was about relationships. Without strong contacts, he risked losing touch with valuable insights from agents and scouts, and with them, his edge.
"Thanks," he said, glancing up at Peja. "I needed that."
He grabbed a stack of papers and pushed them aside. "Get Divac on the phone—he can handle the sponsor meeting today."
Peja took note, nodding. "So, if you're skipping the meeting, what are you planning to do?"
"I'm heading to the open tryouts," Jake replied, already packing up his things. "I'll see for myself what's out there."
Jake arrived at the training facility in a sharp suit, his sunglasses covering half his face but still unmistakable. As he entered the stadium, heads turned—agents, scouts, and analysts were all watching him, murmuring in small groups.
"Is that Jake?" a scout muttered, straightening up nervously. Jake had transformed the Kings in just a year, becoming one of the most respected GMs in the league. His swift rise meant he was now spoken of in the same breath as legends like Pat Riley.
A middle-aged man with a bald head, one of the agents at the tryout, hurried over, extending his hand. "Jake, thanks for coming to check it out."
"Just curious, Sean," Jake replied with a nod. "Don't mind me; I'm just here to observe."
Sean, a second-tier agent, led Jake to the roster for the day. "We've got some solid names out here—TJ McConnell, Cliff Alexander, Tyler Johnson."
Jake chuckled at the first name. As a longtime 2K fan, he knew McConnell well. For many players in the game, "self-built" players who couldn't make the league were often humorously labeled with McConnell's name in fan circles. These guys were mostly undrafted, fighting for a chance. In NBA lore, undrafted players had reputations for resilience and grit. Every one of them had a story—McConnell, a two-time All-Pac-12 First Team member, went undrafted but had won respect for his hustle on the court. Johnson, a former Mountain West standout, had been picked up by the Heat, while Alexander, once the top-ranked high school power forward, had seen his stock plummet.
Jake's focus sharpened as he took in the players warming up. This was more than a casual glance; he was here to find hidden gems.