It was 5:30 a.m. in the third day morning.
This was the last day at the examination center.
Jin, usually an early riser, was already on the basketball court, dribbling the familiar orange rubber ball. He wanted to practice his usual 500 3-pointers, and thought he might increase it to 700 shoots per day in preparation for the Inter-Galactical.
He usually started his morning with a cup of coffee. Today was no exception.
So he walked to the dining hall.
It was still dark; and quiet, with not a soul in sight.
The shooting guard was a little surprised. If the last two days were anything to go by, the cooks would usually be there by now, preparing their breakfast.
'Maybe they were caught up in traffic or something.' He thought.
Thinking nothing of it, he proceeded to the Thermoflask Coffee Dispenser and helped himself to a cup of coffee, with a splash ofcondensed milk.
He downed the coffee in quick successive gulps; he didn't want to waste any time.
After he emptied the coffee, he set the cup down on the dirty dishes tray and walked back to the court, holding the ball in his left hand.
Then, he positioned himself at the 3 point line, and began to dribble.
Aimed, jumped, released.
His smooth, seamless movement sent the ball into the air in a trajectory of a perfect parabola, and it flew through the net with a quiet swiish.
He smiled; he liked the sound of that.
Then he proceeded to another position, dribbled, aimed, jumped, released.
Again, the ball went it without even touching the rim.
Contended, he positioned himself in yet another spot, now closer to the half court line than the 3 point line.
Then, something struck him.
His stomach was making grumbling noise, which was unusual. He was not always hungry like Akagi or Sendoh, who gobbled up everything. Jin, in fact, ate very little, and thought of eating as nothing more as sustenance than to be enjoyed.
Grumbled some more.
Then, with a sudden urge, he dropped the ball and ran towards the toilet.
While sitting on the toilet, he felt like he lost half his guts to the bowl. Which was a huge feat considered he was as skinny as a twig.
Relieved, he went back to the court.
He still had 498 balls to go.
Dribbled, aimed, jumped, released.
Now it became more urgent.
Without even waiting to see if ball would go in, he turned and dashed back to where he just came from.
This time, he felt like he lost another half on his guts, if that was even possible.
Returned to the court again, he didn't even have time to shoot another ball before he had to run back again.
'Oh no!' he thought. It was now official.
He was now having diarrhea!
To the coaches and the team's horror, he was not the only one; the cook was down with diarrhea too.
They began to suspect that something the duo ate or drank had been laced with laxatives.