Word count: 2294 His eyes settled on Kobe.
For a moment, Dr.
Buss said nothing.
His gaze moved over him with quiet interest, taking in the damp hair, the practice clothes, and the towel draped across one shoulder.
Then he looked toward Jerry West.
“How did it go?” Jerry stepped farther into the office.
“Better than I expected.” Buss’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Coming from Jerry, the words carried more weight than a longer explanation would have.
“That sounds promising.” “It was.” Jerry motioned toward Kobe.
“Dr.
Buss, I’d like you to meet Kobe Bryant.” Buss rose and came around the desk, extending his hand as Kobe approached.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kobe.” “The pleasure is mine, Dr.
Buss.” Buss held the handshake for a moment, his smile easy and welcoming.
“Jerry doesn’t bring many players up here after a workout.” Kobe glanced toward West.
“I wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign.” “It usually is,” Buss said.
“When it doesn’t go well, they don’t make it this far.” A faint smile touched Jerry’s mouth before disappearing.
Buss released Kobe’s hand and gestured toward the chairs in front of the desk.
“Sit down.
You’ve already survived the difficult part.” “I’m not sure he believes that,” West said.
Kobe lowered himself into one of the chairs.
“I’m beginning to think the difficult part changes depending on who’s asking the questions.” Buss laughed as he returned to his seat.
“Then you’re learning quickly.” Jerry took the chair beside Kobe, leaving Buss to study the two of them across the desk.
The exchange had lasted less than a minute, but the tension Kobe had expected never arrived.
Buss had not begun by examining his age, his body, or the decision to leave high school.
He had welcomed him into the room and allowed the conversation to find its own pace.
That felt deliberate.
Buss settled into his chair and folded his hands on the desk.
“Jerry doesn’t usually interrupt my afternoon unless he thinks it’s worth it.” Buss smiled, while Jerry offered no response.
He turned back to Kobe.
“And I’ve learned over the years that when he’s this quiet, I should probably pay attention.” Kobe noticed the corner of Jerry’s mouth shift almost imperceptibly before settling again.
It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close enough to tell him Buss wasn’t exaggerating.
The two men had spent years working together, long enough that silence had become its own language between them.
Buss turned back to Kobe.
“So tell me something.” He leaned back slightly.
“When you walked into our gym today, what were you hoping we’d see?” Kobe considered the question for a moment.
“I hoped you’d see someone ready to contribute,” he said.
“Not someday.
Someone who can contribute now.” Buss held his gaze without interrupting.
“That’s a confident answer.” “I don’t think confidence means much if you can’t back it up.” A smile tugged at the corner of Buss’s mouth.
“Fair enough.” He leaned back comfortably, folding one leg over the other.
“Almost every player who sits where you’re sitting tells me about their talent.
Some tell me how many points they’ll score.
Others tell me how quickly they’ll become All-Stars.” His expression remained relaxed, but there was an attentiveness behind his eyes that suggested every answer mattered.
“You didn’t mention any of that.” Kobe nodded.
“Because talent gets you drafted.
It doesn’t keep you in the league.” Neither Buss nor West spoke.
“The NBA is full of talented players,” Kobe continued.
“The difference is what happens after someone realizes talent isn’t enough.” Buss glanced sideways at Jerry before returning his attention to Kobe.
“You’ve given this some thought.” “I’ve had to.” Kobe smiled faintly.
The room settled into a comfortable silence before Buss spoke again.
“When people talk about the Lakers, what do you think of?” Kobe didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes drifted for a moment toward the photographs lining the shelves behind Buss’s desk.
Wilt Chamberlain.
Jerry West.
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.
Magic Johnson.
Every generation had left something behind for the next one.
“Expectations,” he said.
Buss tilted his head.
“Not championships?” “Championships are the result.” “And the expectation?” Buss prompted.
“That you’re supposed to compete for one every year.” Buss’s smile widened just enough for Kobe to notice.
“Keep going.” “I think great organizations expect excellence before they achieve it.
If the expectation changes every season, eventually the standard drops.” Jerry shifted slightly in his chair but said nothing.
Kobe looked from one man to the other.
“I don’t want to play somewhere that’s satisfied with making the playoffs.
I want to be somewhere losing in the second round feels like failure.” The words hung in the room.
Neither Buss nor West heard arrogance in them.
Buss rested his elbows lightly on the desk.
“Do you know why I bought this team?” Kobe shook his head.
“Because I believed basketball could become more than just basketball, more than just a sport.” Dr.
Buss leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the window overlooking the practice courts.
“Winning has always mattered to me,” he said.
“It always will.
But I never wanted this organization to be known only for banners.
People should walk into the Forum expecting to see the best players in the world.
They should expect to be entertained.
They should feel like they’re part of something they can’t find anywhere else.” “That’s a high expectation,” Kobe highlighted.
“If it weren’t, everyone would meet it.” A quiet smile crossed Buss’s face.
He rested his hands on the desk and looked over at West.
“What do you think?” West didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes stayed on Kobe for another moment before he finally spoke.
“I think he understands what we’re trying to build.” It was the longest sentence Jerry had spoken since they entered the office.
Buss gave a slow nod.
“So do I.” .
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Buss turned to Jerry, a thoughtful expression settling over his face.
“Well,” he said with a smile, “now we have a problem.” Jerry raised an eyebrow.
“We have the twenty-fourth pick.” Buss nodded.
“And he’s not going to drop that low.” “No,” Jerry agreed.
The room settled into a brief silence before Buss looked back at Kobe.
“I suppose you’ve heard where you’re expected to go.” “Somewhere in the lottery,” Kobe responded.
“That’s what we’ve heard too.” Jerry folded his hands.
“The question isn’t whether we want you anymore.” Kobe met West’s eyes.
“It’s whether you can get me.” A faint smile appeared on Jerry’s face.
“Exactly.” Buss stood and walked toward the window overlooking the practice court.
He watched it for a moment before turning back.
“We’re already trying to reshape this roster.
Free agency is coming, trades are coming, and the league is going to look very different in a few weeks.” He smiled.
“The details can wait.” His expression became more serious.
“What can’t wait is making a decision.” He looked directly at Kobe.
“We’re going to draft you.” The words hung in the room.
Buss glanced toward Jerry.
“However he gets here, that’s your department.” Jerry gave a small nod.
“I’ll figure it out.” Buss laughed quietly.
“I never doubted you would.” Kobe didn’t say anything right away.
He simply nodded once.
“I won’t disappoint either of you.” .
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Jerry walked Kobe through the hallway toward the front entrance.
The workout was over, the interview had ended, and the most important thing had already been discussed.
When they reached the glass doors, Jerry stopped.
“I appreciate you coming in today.” Kobe extended his hand.
“Thank you for the opportunity.” Jerry returned the handshake, holding it for a brief moment.
“You earned it.” Kobe nodded before pushing through the doors into the warm California afternoon.
A black sedan waited near the curb beneath a row of palm trees.
Leaning against the driver’s door with his arms folded was Rob Pelinka.
The moment he spotted Kobe, he straightened and smiled.
“There he is.” Kobe walked over as Rob glanced toward the entrance behind him.
“I was beginning to think they’d decided to keep you.” “They tried.” Rob laughed.
“I’ll take that as a good sign.” “It was.” Rob studied Kobe’s expression for a second.
After representing players for years, he had learned to read body language almost as well as contract language.
Kobe wasn’t trying to hide anything, but there was a calmness about him that hadn’t been there that morning.
“So,” Rob said, opening the passenger door, “how did it go?” Kobe looked back once at the Forum before climbing into the car.
“They asked the right questions.” “And?” “I think I gave them the right answers.” Rob smiled as he walked around to the driver’s side.
“That’s not exactly the detailed report I was hoping for.” “You’ll get one.” “When?” “Let’s grab some In-N-Out, and I can catch you up to speed over some food.” Rob chuckled as he started the engine.
“I suppose that’s fair.” The sedan pulled away from the curb and disappeared through the front gate.
Jerry watched until the car merged into traffic on Manchester Boulevard.
Only then did he turn and head back inside the building.
When he stepped into Buss’s office, Dr.
Buss was standing beside the window with his hands in his pockets, watching the empty driveway below.
“He carries himself like he’s already been in the league for years,” Buss said.
Jerry closed the door behind him.
“He does.” Buss turned away from the window and studied him.
“So you’ve made up your mind?” Jerry didn’t hesitate.
“I have.” Buss smiled knowingly.
“I thought so.” He walked back toward his desk and rested a hand on the chair.
“I’ve watched enough workouts over the years to know when you’ve seen something special.” Jerry’s eyes drifted toward the draft board mounted on the wall.
“I have.” Buss followed his gaze.
“The problem is our pick capital is nonexistent.” Jerry folded his arms.
“Then we’ll have to find another way.” Buss smiled.
Jerry’s gaze stopped on Charlotte’s selection at thirteen.
He didn’t touch the board, but Buss noticed where his eyes had landed.
“You already have someone in mind.” Jerry didn’t answer immediately.
“I have a few conversations I need to have.” Buss smiled.
He had seen that look before, before trades, before draft-night deals, before decisions that everyone else thought were impossible.
Whenever Jerry started talking about conversations, something usually happened.
Buss picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and headed toward the door.
Just before stepping into the hallway, he looked back.
“Bring him to Los Angeles.” Jerry’s eyes never left the draft board.
“I intend to.” The door closed softly behind him.
For a long moment, Jerry stood alone in the office, studying the names spread across the first round.
One by one, he looked at the teams selecting ahead of the Lakers, weighing possibilities, and matching needs against assets.
Eventually, his hand reached for the card labeled Kobe Bryant.
He pulled it free and placed it at the very top of the board.
This was no longer about finding the best player in the draft.
He already had.
Now he just had to find a way to bring him home.
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Over the next two weeks, the league entered its annual guessing game.
Every day brought another rumor.
Agents leaked information, executives denied interest, and mock drafts changed almost by the hour.
The days after the workout moved quickly, though Kobe felt every one of them.
He returned to Philadelphia and trained as if nothing had changed.
Each morning began before the city fully woke, with the familiar squeak of sneakers against hardwood and the steady rhythm of the ball striking the floor.
He worked through shooting drills, footwork, and conditioning.
The Lakers had made their intentions clear, but intention was not the same as execution.
Until Jerry West found a way to move up, there was nothing for Kobe to celebrate.
Rob called often.
Sometimes he had information.
More often, he had fragments.
Other teams were asking questions.
Scouts were comparing notes.
Executives were trying to determine which rumors were real and which had been planted to manipulate the draft.
Philadelphia remained committed to Allen Iverson with the first pick.
Toronto liked Marcus Camby.
Vancouver had its eyes on Shareef Abdur-Rahim.
After that, the order became less certain.
The Lakers never disappeared from the conversation.
“They’re working on it,” Rob told him one evening.
Kobe sat on the edge of his bed, pressing the phone against his ear while a muted television flickered across the room.
“That’s what you said yesterday.” “Because they were working on it yesterday.” “And today?” “They’re still working on it.” Kobe leaned back against the wall.
“You’ve found a very creative way to tell me nothing.” Rob laughed.
“Welcome to the draft.” Kobe remembered how draft night had unfolded the first time.
But this life had already begun to diverge.
Jerry West had seen a different workout.
Different conversations had taken place.
It only took one altered decision to change everything that followed.
On the morning of June 26, Kobe woke before the alarm beside the hotel bed.
For a few moments, he remained still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling as the room slowly came into focus.
Beyond the curtains, muted sunlight slipped between the fabric, outlining the Jersey skyline in soft gray.
He closed his eyes once, then pushed himself out of bed.
It was…
Draft day.
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Late-night upload!
It’s almost midnight here, but I wanted to get this chapter out before calling it a night.