A/N:Was anyone else surprised that LeBron signed with the 76ers while taking a drastic pay cut?
The United Center scoreboard read 61-48 in favor of the Wildcats with just over four minutes gone in the second half. Michigan State had emerged from the locker room with a renewed intensity, chiping away at the deficit in the opening minutes, but every single time the Spartans seemed to find the rhythm necessary to mount a serious comeback, Aaron materialized in the exact right spot to shut it down.
Up in the broadcast booth, Tom Hart and Jon Sundvold had spent the last several minutes trading increasingly awestruck observations regarding the Kentucky freshman's performance.
"Jon, we are just over 24 minutes into this ball game, and Reed has already racked up 24 points, 13 rebounds, and 6 assists," Tom Hart stated, checking the numbers on his stat sheet as the cameras tracked Aaron receiving an entry pass in the mid-post. "If he closes out the night anywhere near these metrics, we are talking about one of the most complete individual performances in recent college basketball history."
"And what stands out to me the most, Tom, is that none of those numbers feel forced," Sundvold replied, leaning closer to his microphone. "There hasn't been a single sequence in this game where Reed has tried to do too much. Every bucket, every assist, every rebound has been the exact right play at the exact right microsecond. That is pure basketball IQ."
On the hardwood, Aaron caught the ball with his back to the basket, Payne riding his hip defensively. Instead of forcing a turn toward the cup, he pivoted toward the perimeter, created separation with a sharp step-back that left Payne half a second behind, and uncorked a fluid mid-range jumper from the free-throw line that snapped through the net without even touching the rim.
63-48.
From one of the luxury boxes reserved for special guests, Derrick Rose tracked the flight of the ball, nodding slowly as it dropped.
"That was a big-time play," Derrick commented in a low voice, turning toward Jimmy Butler, who sat with his elbows propped on his knees, his gaze locked onto the floor with a mask of absolute concentration. "The step-back from the mid-post, the timing on the release. That kid features the whole package, bro."
"I know," Jimmy responded without taking his eyes off the court, utilizing the exact measured cadence he reserved for the rare occasions he was genuinely impressed. "He's spent the whole night making me remember the first time I saw Shaq play at the Garden. That absolute certainty that no defender down there can physically handle him."
"With Shaq, it was pure, unadulterated physical power," Derrick said, leaning back slightly in his leather seat. "With this kid, it's different. It's the mental side. He's thinking three sequences ahead of everybody else on that floor, including Michigan State's veterans."
Jimmy fell silent for a moment, watching as Aaron organized Kentucky's ensuing offensive set from the high post, flashing quick hand signals to dictate the spacing he wanted Andrew Harrison and James Young to occupy before the ball even hit his hands.
Down on the floor, Kentucky's next possession unfolded exactly as Aaron had mapped it out with that discreet signal. Harrison cleared out to the right wing, Young flared out to the left corner, and Aaron caught the entry pass right in the teeth of the paint with Payne pinned tightly to his back. Instead of spinning toward either expected side, Aaron executed a deliberate half-second hesitation—just enough to force Payne to commit his weight heavily to the right—and then spun baseline to the left with an almost insulting smoothness, laying the ball in off the glass with his non-dominant hand.
65-50.
"That hesitation beat right before the spin was absolutely lethal," Sundvold commented from the booth. "Reed knew exactly how Payne was going to react, waited for him to bite on the bait, and then executed. That is elite-level defensive manipulation."
"How old is he again?" Jimmy asked, even though he already knew the answer perfectly well.
"Eighteen," Derrick answered with a knowing smirk. "Eighteen years old, a true freshman in college, and he's dismantling Michigan State as if he's been anchoring this level for a decade."
"That kid is going number one overall in the draft next year," Jimmy stated finally, uttering the words with the quiet certainty of someone stating an inevitable fact rather than speculating. "There's no debate to be had. No team holding that top pick is going to pass on what we're witnessing tonight."
"One hundred percent agreed," Derrick replied. "And whatever franchise drafts him has their anchor locked down for the next fifteen years."
It was at that exact moment that a deep, familiar voice drifted over to the two players from the adjacent seat.
"Number one pick?" the voice repeated, featuring the measured, analytical cadence of someone accustomed to making multimillion-dollar decisions based on exactly these types of conversations.
Derrick and Jimmy turned their heads simultaneously. Gar Forman, General Manager of the Chicago Bulls, was observing them with an expression that blended professional curiosity with the exact same fascination the rest of the arena had been displaying for the past thirty minutes.
"Gar," Derrick greeted with a smile, showing no particular surprise at his presence. "I didn't know you were going to be in the building tonight."
"I originally came out to scout the Duke-Kansas matchup," Forman responded, his eyes never wavering from the court, where Aaron had just intercepted a transition pass from Appling and ignited a fast break with a pinpoint outlet pass to Julius Randle. "But this kid has kept me glued to my seat for the last half hour."
The three of them fell silent for a brief moment as they watched Aaron jog back into defensive position with that trademark composure that had come to define his presence on the hardwood all night long.
"How much do you guys know about him?" Forman asked finally, his voice barely rising above the ambient roar of the stadium.
"Enough," Jimmy replied with a grin. "We ran a scrimmage against him this morning."
Forman furrowed his brow slightly.
"How did that happen?"
"Long story," Derrick interjected, a smile making it clear he had no intention of offering further details regarding that private run. "What matters is what you're watching right now, Gar. The kid is already league-ready."
Forman processed Derrick's words without letting any visible expression cross his face. He had been in this business far too many years to get swept away by the emotion of a single night. He had seen too many draft prospects look like superstars under the bright lights of a big tournament game, only to fizzle out entirely when the grueling demands of the professional level completely altered the landscape.
He remembered vividly the first time he had watched Derrick Rose play during a pre-draft workout back in 2008—that identical sensation of standing in front of something entirely different, something raw numbers and analytics couldn't fully capture on their own. But even Rose, with all his exceptional speed and lethal offensive instincts, had required a full season to truly grasp how to manage the burden of being the franchise piece for an NBA team.
What he was witnessing from the Wildcats' number 15, however, was fundamentally distinct in one key area: the kid already looked like he knew how to process that pressure. He didn't ignore it; he didn't shy away from it. He internalized it, converted it into actionable data, and used it to make superior decisions on the floor.
Down on the court, Keith Appling attempted a pull-up jumper from beyond the arc under heavy defensive pressure from Andrew Harrison. The ball rimmed out, clanging hard off the iron. Aaron and Payne exploded upward simultaneously, but Aaron secured the interior position with his right elbow firmly planted, pulling down the defensive rebound with one hand before instantly firing a bullet pass to Harrison to trigger the break.
"Rebound number 15 for Reed tonight," Tom Hart announced emphatically. "And look at that instantaneous outlet pass, Jon. Not a single microsecond of hesitation. He secured it and advanced it as if his mind had already mapped out the break before the ball even hit his palms."
"That is precisely what makes him an absolute nightmare to game-plan against," Sundvold responded. "There isn't a single moment of second-guessing in any of his decisions. By the time the defenders are processing what he might do, he's already executed it."
Forman nodded slowly, offering no immediate reply, his eyes remaining glued to the floor as the game maintained its relentless pace. On the following possession, Aaron established deep position in the low block, executed a baseline spin with the fluidity of a perfectly rehearsed drill, and dropped a soft left-handed hook shot cleanly over Payne's contested contest.
67-50.
Forman turned slightly to his side without uttering a word, scanning the row two tiers back in the executive section until he located one of his staff members.
"Tom," he called out in a discreet but firm tone, signaling with his hand for the assistant to approach.
The man in question, a young scouting analyst who had spent the last three seasons working under Forman in the Bulls' basketball operations department, leaned forward immediately.
"I need a comprehensive background report on Aaron Reed. 2014 draft class, Kentucky center," Forman directed in a low voice, keeping his tone entirely flat to ensure no one could guess his internal evaluation. "High school athletic background, biometric metrics, play-model breakdowns, historical comparables. Everything we have on file."
"You'll have it on your desk first thing tomorrow morning, Mr. Forman," the assistant replied with identical discretion, jotting a rapid note down on his tablet before leaning back into his seat.
Derrick, who had listened to the exchange without making any effort to hide it, turned back to Forman with a raised eyebrow.
"Already clocking hours for the draft?" he asked with a half-smile.
"I'm always clocking hours for the draft," Forman responded simply, before returning his full attention to the hardwood.
"You're going to need a ridiculously high pick to get anywhere near him," Jimmy chimed in, entirely devoid of malice, simply stating what everyone in that conversation already recognized as fact. "Because if what I saw this morning was obvious, imagine how many scouts are sitting in this arena right now thinking the exact same thing you are."
Forman didn't reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward for a fraction of a second.
"That's exactly why I need the report," was all he said.
At that moment, Tom Hart's voice boomed from the broadcast booth, injected with the signature energy he reserved for a game's defining sequences.
"Another block by Reed!" Hart shouted, as the slow-motion replays showcased Aaron erasing a Branden Dawson dunk attempt with an authority that rattled the entire stanchion. "28 points, 15 rebounds, and that thunderous rejection so far tonight for the Kentucky freshman. Michigan State has found absolutely no answers, and the clock just keeps winding down."
"Tom, right now there isn't a college program in the entire country that possesses an answer for what Aaron Reed is doing on this floor," Sundvold added with absolute conviction. "And there are plenty of people inside this industry who would tell you there aren't many professional teams that could claim otherwise with any degree of certainty."
Forman listened to Sundvold's closing commentary with particular focus, as if he needed someone else—someone entirely detached from the cold business of draft positioning, contract structures, and salary cap projections—to vocalize out loud what he had been thinking in complete silence for the past 20 minutes.
Down on the floor, Aaron did something Forman had never seen from a college prospect in his fifteen years working executive basketball operations. After violently swatting Dawson's dunk attempt, instead of playing to the crowd, pointing to the rafters, or pounding his chest for external validation like any typical freshman, he simply secured the loose ball, tossed it cleanly to the nearest official, and trotted back to his defensive assignment with the exact same neutral expression he had maintained since the opening tip.
No excess emotion. No theatrics. Just the next play.
That was the exact brand of competitive maturity NBA front offices paid tens of millions of dollars to secure in mid-career veterans with five years of professional experience under their belts.
What set Reed apart from the pack was that the pressure didn't even seem to register. It was as if he had been born knowing exactly how to command it.
He was looking at absolute comprehension.
Aaron Reed understood the game of basketball in a way Forman could not recall witnessing in an eighteen-year-old kid in his entire career as an NBA executive. And what was even more terrifying from the perspective of any franchise not holding the number one overall pick was that this specific type of spatial and mental comprehension couldn't be taught over time. You either entered the league with it wired into your DNA, or you never truly possessed it at all.
Forman watched as Aaron glided back into the low block, maintaining that unsettling composure as if thirty-plus minutes of maximum-intensity basketball against four-year NCAA veterans hadn't required an ounce of physical toll.
The scouting report could wait until tomorrow morning.
He had already seen everything he needed to know tonight.
Authors thought
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