Sweat drips from their eyebrows, there’s six cups of coffee split between the three of them, the medium rectangular office has been open for eight hours, they spent six of those arguing, flared nostrils, pointed fingers, and a lot of yelling was the first sign of life this organization received.

Léo, the GM of the New Mexico Bobcats, sits on top of his desk, one hand massaging his temple while staring at the vacant spot of their draft,  “She’s old, she’s out of her prime, she’s gonna be a Robin without Batman and she’s really expensive. We would have to take out Yuki and Annika just to put her sorry old ass on the team and then grab a rookie or something.”

Laura, the head coach, takes a deep long breath, she can’t punch the table again. “Léo, we told you that she was gonna be in it from the jump, we need her, and she’s 30, Breana is also 30 and if she was open we would put all of our cap room on her.”

“Did you hit your head on the way in? There’s no way you can compare 6x All-WNBA 1st Team, 2x MVPS, 2x Final…—”

“I know what she won, you don’t have to tell me.”

“...3x All-Defensive 1st Team Breana Stewe and Hannah Court.”

Gabriel, the assistant coach, raises his hand as he says, “Hannah has also been in her fair share of All WNBA teams, and if I recall our first meeting, you told us that we would have all the power in the expansion draft, and we can get Hannah and Yuki if we don’t grab Patricia.”

“She’s the best unprotected player! We clearly need a leader”

“Hannah can be the leader, she's a veteran too!” Laura says while throwing her hand in the air.

Their arguments were circling back again, it has not been the first time they discussed the category of player Hannah is and it probably won’t be the last, Leo lets out a deep sigh, already thinking about the repercussions this simple choice will have.

“Explain to me again, how could we get her and still have a contending team? Because I doubt that one undersized point guard and glass bones Mulan will win us a trophy?.” 

“She’s actually not Chinese” Gabriel corrects, receiving just a sigh as an answer from the GM, “and, we have already explained, winning is not about talent or ability, it’s about will.”

Léo is well aware that the two people in front of him are not normal professionals, they are stubborn, unrelenting, and with way more courage than necessary, that is the reason he hired them, to carve their name in history, to win a championship as an expansion team. He looks up, meeting their eyes, he was always good at reading people, but he wouldn't need to be, their resolve is palpable in the air. After another sigh, he says. “Fine, it’s your funeral.”

Very far away from them, in Washington, Hannah is sitting in front of her notebook for the past three hours, after the usual excruciating training she just went home, not bothering to hang out with a team that hates her, she doesn't have the energy to do anything but wait, she knows her fate has already been decided long ago, no self respected organization would decide who they were going to draft in the last day.

A notification on one of the five messaging apps that her manager forced her to download takes her eyes off of the Youtube video teaching her how to be more consistent on her jump shot, something she hopes she already is.

The notification reveals itself as Janice, Hannah’s mother who somehow turned into the biggest gamer after retiring, she always brags about how she needs to “carry her team just like my daughter carries hers.” and never actually calls anyone anymore.

“Sup kid! Your father was explaining to me that this was your draft night? Didn’t that happen a  long time ago? Are you moving again?” Janice is an older woman, blonde hair with strands of white, beige skin and olive eyes. She uses a big LED headset and her background shows a classic suburban kitchen, Hannah is still surprised, no matter how many times she sees it.

“No, I mean, may— There’s a new team in the league, and that means they can choose a bunch of players to form their roster, and I may be chosen… that’s why I can be drafted again.”

Her mom puts one hand on her own chest, “That’s BS, how can they pick anyone? They’re gonna be so OP”

“Please stop using gaming lingo in real life.”

“I’m for real! How can your team win without you, you should riot! Use your fame girl, post on instagram and rally your squad.”

Looking over the screen, her eyes focusing on one of the empty frames on her kitchen counter, “It’s not like that, the teams can protect people, eight, they can save eight people from the new team. And I was not one of the chosen ones.”

Janice doesn’t immediately answer, but Hannah can hear her typing away, probably going on a twitter rampage while unfollowing all of the people in the Washington Sorcerers, her voice comes out after a few seconds, almost like she was thinking of the best thing to say, “It’s their loss! You’re gonna win it all at the New York Freedom!”

Hannah could explain that she can only go to a new team, and that it’s not even a guarantee that she will, but she decides against it, there’s no point in actually explaining anything, it’s not like she understands why she was not protected, and talking about her failures never really helped her.

“So… did ya reach the top 500 yet?” Hannah asks, knowing that her mom will blabber about whatever new game she decided to master this month.

After thirty minutes of just agreeing and nodding, not really participating in the conversation, just lost in her own mind, she decides to interrupt her mom, lying about someone being at the door, and quickly exchanging goodbyes, promising to call more and letting out a big sigh after leaving the call.

Slowly, she moves out of hyer, going to her fridge, her apartment is a lot bigger than the first one, she really expected to be here forever, everything is already home, portraits with pictures of her and her teammates, the “perfect” sofa, she even painted the walls blue, everything, from the big fluffy carpet to the five different silverware, everything was supposed to stay here forever.

Taking one of the thirty precooked meals, she will probably have to donate the rest if she is actually drafted, and carefully placing it in the microwave, she does her own ritual of walking around her kitchen table while waiting. She knows this “exercise” is utterly useless, but she can’t stop herself from doing it.

Her ritual is interrupted by five loud knocks, in a loud tone she says to the visitor, “be right there.” And then finishes her last lap around the table, when she is already close to the door, the person knocks again, only stopping because the door moved out of the way.

Hannah’s eyes were first met with what she assumed was a green wall on her entryway, but then she realized it was just a shirt, looking up, almost having to tilt her head 90 degrees up to look at her in the eyes, she saw her friend, Yuki.

Yuki was in the same draft class as Hannah, the first pick, standing at seven foot and two inches. At the time she was supposed to be the “WNBA’s Yao Ming”, unfortunately, injuries and lack of effort turned her into the “WNBA’s biggest bust.” There’s theories that she was literally made to play basketball, being the daughter of two professional players in Japan.

She has the same huge smile on her face, that spreads all over her face, almost closing her hazel eyes, silky black hair that reaches just a little over her shoulder, messy bangs and a well toned body. She wears a green cardigan with all of its buttons open with a lime crop top under it, showing her abs to the world and a simple black skirt that leaves her long legs free.

It makes Hannah feel a little underdressed with just one big hoodie with the words “Texas Longhorns” on the back that reaches just above her knee and tiny gray shorts covered by the other clothing.

“Happy birthday!” she yells, giving a quick hug to Hannah, who is already used to this kind of rapid demonstration of affection.

“It was yesterday.”

“I know! And I was here, with you! We were together yesterday and today! We just spent it playing games on your ps5 tho, because you don’t like to leave the house.” She lied, resting her shoulder against the doorway.

Shaking her head, Hannah agrees, “Sure… but I don’t have one, so you brought yours and I destroyed you in 2k.”

She gives enough space for the other girl to enter the house, as Hannah closes the door she hears a scoff, Yuki asking soon after, “Why did I lose? We could’ve had a good competition, where you win just at the last second.”

“But your hand is still hurt, you can’t play that well.” Hannah mocks, barely holding a laugh as she moves to the kitchen.

Yuki lets out a knowing hum, happy with the cover story they arranged. The shorter girl opens the door of the microwave as the countdown reaches 00:01, she never lets herself hear the beeping noise.

Unbeknownst to Hannah, every movement she does is watched by Yuki, blonde hair styled in a simple cut that has grown way more than she wanted it, light blue eyes, a small nose and plump lips that Yuki would love to kiss. Her body is trained to what she considers perfection, enough muscle that she can’t be pushed around, but not enough so that she will slow down. She is small, for a basketball player, standing just shy of 5’9. Like always, her voluptuous body is hidden behind baggy clothes and blinders.

But Yuki is not really focused on her body, she notices the things no one sees, the way Hannah bites her bottom lip as her attention is directed somewhere else, the small nose crunch she does when she searches for the right fork. It even takes Yuki a second to remind herself why she is here. “By the way, I’m sorry I hu—”

“It’s fine, I was quite literally asking for it,” Hannah interjects.

“Yeah, but I was sti—”

“Nothing to worry about. Let’s go to the couch?”

Yuki really wanted to keep pushing, to properly apologize, but she saw the way Hannah’s body slightly stiffened and her eyes looking down, and she knew that the conversation is as good as over. In eight years of friendship, it was always like this, they could talk about anything, except Hannah.

Leaning over the kitchen counter, Yuki tilts her head to the side with a smile, “It's insane how our communication is always so perfect. We should start a podcast.”

“Speaking of podcasts, is there a reason why you are here? Besides the honor of my company of course,” Hannah says with a simple slime as she moves to the couch, sitting down on the edge of it while keeping her eyes on Yuki.

As she moved, Yuki’s eyes were always following her, when she stopped, the taller one had fully turned around, her attention completely focused on the other girl, “Well, we’re gonna be drafted to the Bobcats, we should celebrate.”

Hannah stops midway through the first bite, her relaxed state falling from her face, sighing, she begins in a slow tone, searching for the right words, “Yeah… I reall— I don’t think we would be a good pair, I like being friends with you, would hate to stop that.”

“Jesus, we can still be friends, I’m used to you being a little too focused,” Yuki says while throwing her body at the couch, lying down with a smile. Hannah still doesn’t look at her, gaze still fixed on her food as she imagines a million possibilities.

“It 's just… I’m kind of an arse in general, but I’m way worse when it comes to my teammates, especially ones like you that don’t care about winning.”

This makes the girl at her side get up, a little angrier than she would normally be, this is the first time in years they actually talk about their jobs, usually it’s just complaining about it, not actually talking about themselves, her voice cracks a little when she asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just… you don’t put enough effort, you don’t care about winning and I can’t just watch as someone stumbles their way through my team.”

From the corner of her eye, Hannah watches as Yuki’s face gets three shades redder, her eyebrows furrowing and her fists closing, their eyes meet as the taller girl protests, “Of course I do, it’s not my fault I get hur—”

“Yes it is! You can prevent it from happening, yoga, body training, diet, everything that you don’t do, because winning is not important to you, you only care about your money and having sex behind your boyfriend’s back.”

Yuki leans over, fury all over her face, “Why don’t you just say it? Say what you really feel.”

“I just di—”

“No, say that you’re dying of jealousy because you need to work three times as much to be half as good as me, not even me, half as good as the worst roleplayer with a little bit of height.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, actually feeling a little hurt by the words she has heard more than a million times from everyone else, she rubs her eyes, leg shaking on the couch, “Yeah, and how’s being better than me working out for you? Because at least I play when we lose, you sit down and watch while your team tries to carry you to the finish line.”

Not realizing that she’s screaming, Yuki throws her arms in the air, “Oh my God, I was in recover–”

“You’re always in recovery, your whole WNBA career is a recovery.” Hannah interrupts.

“Didn’t seem like it when I dropped forty on you.” She answers back with a bitter smile, receiving just a scoff from the other girl.

“If I was your height, forty would be a bad game for me,” The shorter girl mutters under her breath, loud enough for the other to hear.

Amidst a loud sigh, Yuki gets up, even angrier than before, “I knew it! At least you admitted it, it’s not that you’re a bad teammate as the articles say, it's that you’re just jealous of everybody.” She walks to the door, “I hope we don’t play together, because I’ll make sure to always finish your team in the playoffs, like I always do.”

Ducking a little, she leaves the apartment, closing the door with all of her strength, the loud thud makes the painting at the side of the door to shake, leaving Hannah alone, holding her food with no more appetite.

Forcing herself to eat all of it in a quick motion, gulping down everything without actually tasting it, she begins to think about her time with Yuki. It is not uncommon for them to have a big discussion, usually because they both hate lying, so they would always argue about the decisions of their teammates.

As she begins to do her first set of yoga, she still feels the anger boiling deep on her stomach, she is jealous, but she’s also right, her thoughts are interrupted by the music “Money, Money, Money” which is the ringtone of her agent, quickly, she moves to grab it from the kitchen counter, already knowing what this call is about.

“You got it! We are going to play for New Mexico! And there’s your two friends there! I always wanted to see the beaches!” The excited voice of Markus booms from the phone as soon as she answers the phone.

“Oh…” is the only thing she can say back, already dreading what will happen when she meets Yuki on the floor, this time, as teammates.