Date: November 7, 2024 — Dallas, Texas
The Mavericks' practice gym was unusually quiet.
Not empty—just quiet. Even the usual bass-heavy beats echoing from someone's speaker had been replaced with soft shoes on hardwood, distant whistles, and the rhythmic bounce of the ball. Everyone was still showing up, but the team energy had shifted.
One loss had done that.
The Mavericks were now 4–1. Still a good record. Still a top-three team in the West this early into the season. But it didn't feel like it. Not in the locker room, not on the bench, and definitely not in Zoran's mind.
He sat at the far end of the gym on the edge of the scorers' table, taping his wrists with calm precision. Not talking. Not smiling. Just observing.
Jaden Hardy was working on his finishing with a trainer. Max Christie was locking in on spot-up threes. Kyrie sat in a chair near half-court, still in street clothes, watching everyone. His crutches leaned against the wall, untouched. Anthony Davis was present too, doing some mobility drills with the medical staff nearby. Davis had started to speak more openly with Zoran since that second Miami game, dropping lines of encouragement, but now even he seemed a little reserved.
A storm was forming.
Not on the schedule.
Inside the team.
Inside Zoran.
SYSTEM"Morale Check: Team Connectivity Level – LOW"Passive Activated: Emotional Read – You gain better insight into team mood and body language. Duration: Indefinite while team morale is below 50%.
Zoran didn't need the system to tell him. He felt it already.
At shootaround the day before, P.J. Washington had brushed off his play-call suggestion. Dinwiddie hadn't passed to him for an entire possession despite Zoran being open twice. Even the assistant coaches looked conflicted—caught between advocating for the hot hand and staying loyal to their long-term roster pieces.
That was the unspoken thing.
Zoran was a ghost of a player. There, but not supposed to stay.
His 10-day was still ticking. His numbers—17 points per game, 55% shooting, 3.8 assists, 3.5 rebounds—were stellar. Not just for a fill-in. For anyone. And yet… not a word from the front office.
Nothing.
No calls. No feelers.
Just silence.
That night, he stood on the balcony of his apartment, staring out at the city lights of Dallas. The new place was still sparsely furnished—a bed, a couch, a desk, and a couple framed sketches. One of them was from his notebook: a ghost screen into a fade cut. Simple. Elegant. Effective.
He thought about that—how basketball, at its core, was just decisions and space. A language he spoke fluently.
And yet here he was, being treated like a temp.
His phone buzzed.
It was a notification from Bleacher Report:
"Is Zoran Vranes Making the Mavs Front Office Nervous?"Below it, a headline from The Athletic:"Dallas' Dilemma: When a 10-Day Turns Into a Core Piece"
He clicked neither.
Instead, he opened his messages. Scrolled.
One stood out.
Orlando Magic – Player Personnel Assistant:"Would you be open to a conversation in a few days if you're still available?"
His heart stopped for half a second.
Was that real?
A starting opportunity? A real contract?
His thumb hovered over the screen.
But before he could reply, another message popped up—this one from his agent.
"Don't respond. I just heard from Nico. They've seen it. And they're not happy."
Zoran stared at the screen.
Then turned it off.
No answer. Not yet.
Next Morning — Practice Facility
The tension hadn't gone away.
Jason Kidd called for a short five-on-five halfcourt scrimmage. Zoran ended up on a unit with Christie, Gafford, P.J., and Hardy.
"Let's run punch 5 double," Zoran said as they got into formation.
P.J. looked at him, half listening.
"Just play. I got it," Dinwiddie said from the other unit.
Zoran's jaw clenched, but he nodded.
Then the play began.
Zoran cut baseline, shook free, caught a bounce pass, and elevated. Gafford's man came to help.
Wrong move.
Zoran twisted mid-air and hammered the dunk down with his right hand—body to body. (shoutout WillMissQ)
The gym stopped.
Even Kyrie nodded.
"Still think he's a ghost?" Davis muttered to no one in particular.
SYSTEM"Momentum Surge Activated: You have generated a critical moment. Confidence boost applied to all teammates on court (+3% short-term morale boost)."
It didn't last.
After practice, Nico Harrison was seen walking past the gym. He didn't glance at Zoran. Didn't even slow down.
And Zoran knew.
The Magic weren't just a maybe anymore. They might be the only door still open.
And even that?
Was hanging by a thread.