After chatting with Sean, Jake made his way to the seating area. A few scouts stood up instantly, offering him the best seats—a clear mark of respect in this setting. As the top management representative here, Jake was always the object of flattery from the lower-ranking staff. After a few brief exchanges, he settled into his seat, scrolling through his phone, exuding an air that kept most from approaching him further. His presence had already shifted the atmosphere in the gym.
"Who do you think Jake's here to see?" whispered one of the scouts, huddled with his colleagues.
"No clue," another replied, eyeing his boss. "Just got a message to keep track of him. See who he's watching."
A simple training scrimmage like this one would usually have gone unnoticed by the higher-ups. Yet Jake's presence here was like a spark in a powder keg, prompting other managers to pay sudden attention. Some even started live-updating their bosses.
"Today's the day, boys!" an agent said in a hushed but excited tone to his players. "Jake's here, and this game's got more eyes on it than ever. Show up, and the right people will see it."
Soon, the game began. Jake stood up, moving to the railing for a better view, his sharp gaze fixed on the players. Around him, scouts from other teams took note, stealing glances to see where his attention lingered. Typically, these trial games were loosely organized—one scorer, two referees, no real structure. Every player knew that their chance was slim, and they fought intensely for every shot and possession.
As Jake watched, Cliff Alexander received the ball inside and muscled his way to the hoop, finishing with a hook shot. For a player once ranked as the top high school power forward in the country, Cliff's raw talent still shone through. Jake nodded approvingly, appreciating the former star's skill. Cliff's physical limitations—a modest 6'8" height for a power forward—had ultimately kept him undrafted, but his wingspan and tenacity were undeniably intriguing.
Jake's focus shifted to the two players he was here for: TJ McConnell and Tyler Johnson. TJ, with his sharp defensive instincts, was undersized but had an almost robotic discipline for executing plays and defending on the perimeter. His consistency was a coach's dream, but his height left something to be desired. Tyler, on the other hand, was a product of Miami's rigorous program—a tough, two-way guard who could defend the perimeter and had a reliable shooting range, though his passing could be improved.
As Jake continued his observations, he saw TJ fake a defender, side-step to the left, and nail a shot. If only he were a few inches taller, Jake mused. He leaned forward, examining the court, when a much shorter figure appeared beside TJ, catching Jake's eye.
"Who's that?" Jake squinted. The player was so diminutive for the court that it seemed surreal. Something about him looked familiar.
Suddenly, Jake's memory clicked. " Fred VanVleet?" Jake murmured to himself, watching the undrafted legend in the making who'd later be scooped up by the Raptors and become a core part of their success. He realized VanVleet, now a senior, was likely here to get an early feel for pro tryouts, anxious about the draft.
Quickly, Jake pulled out his phone, making a note to himself. VanVleet—a potential steal if he slips under the radar next year. A small smile crossed his face, knowing he'd spotted a hidden gem early.
Those around Jake noticed the sudden flash of interest and watched eagerly, though none could see what he wrote. "What's he taking notes on?" one scout muttered.
"Beats me," whispered another. "But he barely looked at the court before writing down something. Whatever it is, he seems pretty pleased with himself."
"He's definitely top-tier in this league. Way beyond our level—I can't even begin to guess what he's up to!" one scout whispered to another, glancing in Jake's direction.
"Not even 30, and already this good. It's maddening to even compare ourselves!" his friend sighed.
Meanwhile, Jake remained unaware of the stir he'd caused. Wrapping up his observations, he packed up his notes and made his way to the exit, considering dinner plans as he walked. "Maybe I'll grab a bite before heading home. Wonder if there's a good spot around here," he mused.
Just as he reached the stairs, an agent suddenly stepped in front of him. Jake recognized the face—it was Alexander's agent. The man wore a hopeful expression.
"Jake! So, what did you think today?" the agent asked eagerly. "Alexander put up 18 points and 9 rebounds. Do you think he has a shot at trying out with the Kings?"
Jake was ready to brush him off, but a glance toward the exit showed a few scouts loitering, clearly watching him from the corners of their eyes. It looked like they were waiting to catch him on his way out, hoping for a hint about his thoughts. An idea sparked.
"Of course, of course!" Jake replied, turning back to Alexander's agent with a slight smile. "I'm definitely interested in Alexander's potential. My flight leaves in a few hours—why don't we sit down for a meal and chat about him?"
The agent's face lit up, his eagerness plain. "That sounds fantastic! I know a great Italian place nearby. Let me treat you."