Lina Novaković

11

New England Nova Training Camp – Day 1 The gym was silent except for the faint squeak of sneakers against polished wood. Marko Ivanić stood at midcourt, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the roster before him. The New England Nova had talent, but talent meant nothing without understanding. “Basketball is not chaos,” Marko said, his Serbian accent cutting through the stillness. “It is movement. Angles. Timing. You do not understand this? Then you do not play.” Lina Novaković straightened her stance, hands on her hips. She had heard this speech before. Marko had been the first coach to see her potential back in Europe, pushing her beyond what she thought possible. Now, she was here, trying to prove she could do the same in the AHL. Marko took slow, measured steps, pointing to the whiteboard behind him. A triangle of arrows crisscrossed inside the paint. “This is not run-and-gun basketball. Not hero ball. We move. We cut. We punish lazy defenders.” He tapped the board. “Novaković. You know this. Explain.” Lina dribbled once, eyes scanning the court like she was already in a game. “It’s about control,” she said, her vowels stretched just a bit longer. “You don’t rush. You don’t force. You see the play before it happens.” Marko nodded. “Da. Good. But seeing is not enough. You must execute.” He clapped his hands, his voice firm. “Now. We work.” Training camp had officially begun.