Chapter 71: Beyond the Original

“…It’s not about loyalty, Brett. We’re not asking you to fire Daniel; he’s a professional. But Kobe wants Julian to take the lead on the creative design. He spent the afternoon working with him, and Julian understood exactly what he was trying to create.”

Rob leaned back, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear. The conference room had emptied around him, leaving a glass of water, his legal pad, and the sketches Kobe had insisted he take another look at.

“Look, Rob, it’s unusual. Mercer’s already running the project. Now you want us to hand the creative side of Kobe’s shoe to an intern?”

“I want you to give him a chance.”

“He’s twenty-two. Has he ever designed a shoe that made it into production?”

“No,” Rob admitted. “And I’m not asking you to put him in charge of production.”

He pulled the revised drawing from the stack and placed it beside Kobe’s originals. He hadn’t witnessed most of their afternoon together, but the improvement was obvious. The proportions were cleaner, the silhouette more deliberate. More importantly, Kobe had been excited about it.

“Julian understood what Kobe was trying to explain,” Rob continued. “And he brought something of his own to the design. Kobe wants to keep working with him.”

“And Mercer?”

“Another assignment. That’s Adidas’s decision, not ours. Kobe respects his work. He just wants to take this shoe in a different direction.”

Brett sighed. “You realize how much we’ve committed to this kid.”

“Seventy million dollars. I’m aware.”

“Then you understand why we can’t let an intern experiment with the whole project.”

“Which is why he needs experienced people around him. Give him the creative concept. Let your engineers and developers handle the technical work, testing, and manufacturing.”

Rob turned the drawing toward himself. The line from the heel to the forefoot was cleaner than anything in the original stack.

“I’ll need to talk to footwear development,” Brett said. “And we’ll have to work out what this means for his internship.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m not promising anything yet.”

“I’m asking you to look at the drawings and take Kobe seriously.”

Brett was quiet for a moment.

“Send us the sketches, and I’ll get back to you.”

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The call came later that afternoon.

Adidas had agreed to a provisional arrangement. Julian would lead the creative concept for Kobe’s signature shoe, supported by experienced engineers and developers responsible for feasibility, materials, prototypes, testing, and manufacturing. His new responsibilities and compensation would be handled internally.

Daniel Mercer would return to his other design assignments.

Brett emphasized that Julian’s drawings would still face the same technical scrutiny as anyone else’s.

“I’d be worried if they didn’t,” Rob replied.

Once they’d settled the details, Rob asked whether Julian had been informed.

Apparently, the young designer had stared at the representative for several seconds before asking whether he was serious. He’d asked again after the arrangement was explained.

Rob smiled as he dialed Kobe.

“Hey,” Kobe answered.

“You’re getting your guy.”

A brief silence. “They agreed?”

“Provisionally. Julian leads the creative concept. They’re putting experienced engineers and developers around him, and they’ll review the arrangement as the shoe progresses.”

“And Daniel?”

“Back to his other assignments. Adidas is handling it.”

“Thanks for handling that, Rob.”

“Julian took the news pretty well, considering he apparently asked twice whether they were serious.”

Kobe laughed. “He thought they were messing with him?”

“Yesterday he was an intern. Tomorrow he’s sitting at the main table working on Kobe Bryant’s signature shoe. I’d probably ask twice, too.”

“He earned the chance.”

“He did. Now he has to make something of it.”

“That’s the plan.”

Rob turned his pen between his fingers. There was something else Kobe needed to know.

“Oh, and remember that thing in Julian’s portfolio about his grandfather being an artist?”

“Yeah?”

“I found out who he was.”

“Who?”

“Alexander Calder.”

Kobe went quiet.

“The sculptor?”

“That’s the one.”

Rob explained that he’d noticed the surname, contacted the National Gallery of Art, and left his information. Julian’s mother had returned his call and confirmed the relationship.

“He didn’t tell me,” Rob added. “I found out after you asked me to put him on the project.”

Kobe looked toward the drawings spread across his desk. He remembered Julian stopping him midway through a suggestion, explaining why it wouldn’t work, and offering something better.

“I want him for what he showed me,” Kobe said. “Not who his grandfather was.”

“I know. Just thought you should know.”

“Does Adidas know?”

“Not from me.”

“Keep it that way until you talk to him. If he wanted everyone knowing, he probably would’ve put it in his portfolio.”

“I’ll catch him privately tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good.”

He returned to the drawings on his desk. His originals lay beside Julian’s revisions, the differences easier to see now that he wasn’t trying to explain them to someone else.

The heel still bothered him. He wasn’t sure whether they could make the upper as light as he imagined, either.

Tomorrow, there would be engineers to answer those questions.

And Julian wouldn’t need Kobe to explain the entire idea from scratch.

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Rob arrived at the Adidas offices before most of the design department.

The lobby smelled faintly of carpet shampoo. A cleaning cart stood beside the elevators, and only half the overhead lights were on as he made his way down the corridor.

He found Julian at the same corner workbench he’d occupied the previous afternoon.

The young designer was hunched over a spread of sketches, his black T-shirt visible beneath a rumpled corduroy jacket. A paper cup sat untouched beside his sketchbook.

Rob knocked on the glass partition.

Julian looked up, pencil in hand.

“Morning.”

“Morning. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

Julian started gathering his drawings.

“Leave those,” Rob said. “This won’t take long.”

Julian paused. “Everything okay with the assignment?”

“As far as I know.”

Rob led him into a small lounge near the elevators. They took seats across a low table, the vending machine humming against the far wall.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about your family,” Rob said.

“My family?”

“Was Alexander Calder your grandfather?”

Julian went still.

Then he leaned back, releasing a quiet breath.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you find out?” he asked.

“Your portfolio mentioned growing up around your grandfather’s sculptures. I noticed the surname, contacted the National Gallery, and left my information. Your mother called me back yesterday.”

Julian’s mouth twitched.

“That sounds like her.”

“You didn’t mention his name in the portfolio.”

“No.”

“Any particular reason?”

Julian ran a thumb along the edge of his sketchbook.

“It’s not a secret. I just don’t want it to be the first thing people know about me.”

Rob waited.

“I grew up around his work. I love it. But when people hear the name, sometimes they stop looking at what I’ve actually made.” Julian shrugged. “I wanted someone to decide whether my drawings were any good before they found out who my grandfather was.”

Rob thought of Kobe standing over those drawings yesterday, arguing about the shape of the heel and asking Julian to show him another version.

“Well,” he said, “that’s exactly what happened.”

Julian looked up.

“Kobe asked for you before I knew anything about your family. He liked what the two of you came up with. That’s why I called Adidas.”

“I know. I just don’t want anyone thinking I got the assignment because somebody wanted a Calder working on Kobe Bryant’s shoe.”

“They won’t hear it from me.”

“Thanks.”

“I should tell you, though. I mentioned it to Kobe last night.”

Julian’s expression shifted.

“What’d he say?”

“That he chose you for your work. He also asked me not to bring it up with anyone here until I’d spoken to you.”

Julian looked down at his sketchbook. This time, the smile came a little easier.

“That’s good.”

“If you want the company to know, you can tell them. Otherwise, it stays between us.”

“I’d rather keep it that way for now.”

“Fair enough.”

Rob glanced at his watch.

“You understand what Adidas agreed to?”

“Lead concept designer. Provisionally.”

“Right. You work with Kobe on the creative direction. The engineers and developers handle the technical side, and they’ll tell you when something won’t work.”

“I figured they would.”

“Probably more than once.”

Julian laughed. “I spent half the night finding things I didn’t like about yesterday’s drawings.”

“You’ll have something to show them.”

They returned to the design department, where two engineers were already reviewing papers at the main table. Copies of Julian’s sketches had been arranged across its center, with an empty chair beside them.

Julian slowed.

One of the engineers looked up.

“Calder? We put your drawings over here. Figured we’d start with those when Bryant gets in.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Julian took the chair and opened his sketchbook. The engineer leaned over to examine the first page.

“Is this a new version of the heel?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about what Kobe and I discussed yesterday.”

Julian turned the page toward him and began explaining the change.

Rob lingered near the doorway. Yesterday, Julian had worked alone at the corner bench. This morning, an experienced engineer was asking him questions about his drawings.

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Kobe noticed the change as soon as he entered the design room.

Yesterday, the table had been crowded with rough sketches and scattered papers. This morning, his originals occupied one end, Julian’s revisions filled the middle, and two technical binders sat open beside them.

Julian looked up from the main table and gave him a small nod.

“Morning,” Kobe said, taking the empty chair beside him.

“Morning.”

“Rob said you got some good news yesterday.”

Julian smiled. “Still getting used to it.”

“Better get used to it quick. What’d you come up with?”

Before Julian could answer, an Adidas representative named Anselm introduced the two engineers. Steve was the older of the pair, a broad-shouldered man with glasses. Lyle was younger and quieter, with several technical drawings arranged beside his binder.

“Julian will lead the creative concept,” Anselm explained. “Steve and Lyle will work with him on technical development. Today, we want to establish a direction worth investigating for a prototype.”

Kobe nodded.

Julian spread three drawings across the table.

“I worked on simplifying what we had yesterday.”

The first retained their low silhouette but cleaned up the proportions. The second lowered the collar slightly and explored reinforcement around the heel. The third was the simplest: a predominantly black upper, a narrow white accent, and restrained Adidas stripes near the rear.

Kobe picked up the last drawing.

“You did all three last night?”

“Those are the ones worth showing.”

“How many weren’t?”

Julian glanced at his sketchbook.

“More than three.”

Kobe laughed. The shoe was beginning to resemble what he’d imagined, though the heel still wasn’t quite right.

“I like this one.”

Steve leaned forward.

“Visually, I can see what you’re going for. But there’s something we need to address.”

He pointed to the collar.

“You’re bringing this down pretty far. The question is what happens when Kobe cuts hard and his foot starts shifting toward the outside edge.”

Kobe studied the drawing. He knew the sensation Steve meant. A shoe could fit perfectly when he laced it up, then feel entirely different when he planted and changed direction.

“I don’t want my foot sliding around,” he said. “But I don’t want a shoe that feels like it’s holding my ankle in place, either.”

“That’s the balance,” Steve replied.

Lyle suggested bringing the upper higher around the sides.

Kobe frowned. “That’s starting to look like what I wanted to get away from.”

“It’s one option,” Lyle said. “Not necessarily the one we’ll use.”

“When I make a cut, I want my foot connected to the shoe. No delay. No feeling like I’m dragging something around with me.”

“Then we need to look at how the heel, midfoot, and lacing work together,” Steve said. “The collar is only part of it.”

Julian pulled his second drawing closer.

“I thought we could bring the reinforcement farther around the heel. Keep the collar low, but give the foot something firmer to sit against.”

Steve examined the sketch.

“That might help at the back. What happens when his weight shifts toward the outside edge?”

Julian followed the line with his pencil.

“I don’t know yet.”

“That’s what we’ll need to figure out.”

Julian studied the drawing again.

“What if we carried some of that structure forward into the midfoot? Not all the way up the side. Just enough to connect it.”

“Possibly,” Lyle said. “But depending on the material, you could make the shoe too stiff.”

“Then could we try a couple of versions before choosing the material?”

Steve exchanged a glance with Lyle.

“That’s worth exploring.”

Julian made a note.

Kobe watched him. Yesterday, Julian had been willing to tell Kobe when an idea didn’t work. Now he was asking questions of men with considerably more experience, acknowledging what he didn’t know without abandoning the design.

He hadn’t solved the problem. He’d given them something to investigate.

“That’s the version I want to start with,” Kobe said.

“Start with, sure,” Steve replied. “But we’re not promising it’ll work.”

Kobe smiled.

“Then we’ll change it.”

The discussion moved to the rest of the shoe. Kobe wanted the forefoot to flex naturally when he pushed off, responsive cushioning when he landed, and a close-to-the-court sensation without unnecessary weight.

Steve and Lyle translated those preferences into practical questions. Leather could provide structure, but too much would work against the lightness Kobe wanted. Textile components and synthetic reinforcement offered other possibilities. The outsole and cushioning would need separate evaluation.

Julian listened, asking how each choice might affect the silhouette.

When Lyle explained that one reinforcement could interfere with forefoot flexibility, Julian moved the line farther back on his drawing.

“Does that change the shape?” Kobe asked.

“A little.”

Kobe compared it with the previous version.

“Can you keep this part?”

“I think so. We’d have to adjust what happens underneath it.”

He looked toward Steve, who nodded.

“Then let’s keep it for now,” Julian said.

By late morning, they’d narrowed the three concepts to two. Steve had marked several areas for review, and Lyle had begun a separate list of material and construction questions.

None of the drawings was ready to become a shoe.

But they were getting closer to knowing what they needed to test.

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The afternoon moved faster.

Julian combined the strongest elements of the morning’s work into a revised concept. Steve focused on the relationship between the heel structure and the base of the shoe, while Lyle examined how much forefoot flexibility they could preserve.

They discussed two reinforcement variations, both retaining the low collar. Neither was approved; both would need further development.

At one point, Lyle suggested a thicker section beneath the heel.

Kobe shook his head.

“That looks too high.”

“It might give us more room for cushioning.”

“I get that. But I don’t want to feel like I’m standing on top of the shoe.”

“We can investigate a lower-profile option,” Lyle said. “I can’t tell you yet whether it’ll give you everything you want.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Julian kept both versions for the engineers to evaluate.

By four o’clock, the table was covered in drawings and notes. At its center sat one concept that everyone kept returning to.

The upper was predominantly black, its lines sweeping toward a reinforced heel. A narrow white accent followed the side, and the three Adidas stripes sat near the rear without overwhelming the design.

Kobe turned the page slightly.

The shoe looked like it was moving even when it sat still.

Steve studied it from across the table.

“I think we have a direction worth developing.”

Lyle nodded. “We’ll need to work through the construction. Expect changes once we get something physical.”

“How soon can we get a prototype?” Kobe asked.

“Too early to give you a date,” Steve replied. “First, we need to settle enough of the technical details to build something useful.”

“All right.”

Anselm stepped closer.

“We’ll treat this as the preliminary concept. Julian can continue refining the appearance while the technical team investigates the construction. Nothing moves toward production until we’ve built and tested it.”

Kobe nodded. He wanted to get the shoe on his feet, but he understood that a drawing couldn’t tell him how it would perform.

Julian gathered the discarded sketches, leaving the selected concept in the middle.

“That one?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Julian slid it closer.

Kobe studied the low silhouette and the forward sweep of the upper.

“It looks like it’s about to take off.”

Julian glanced at the drawing. “Flight?”

Kobe considered it, then shook his head.

“No. I want something that feels like the beginning.”

Julian looked back at the shoe.

“Origin?”

Kobe repeated the word quietly.

“Origin.”

It was his first signature shoe. His first chance to build something entirely his own. And in a way Julian couldn’t possibly understand, it was the beginning of a second life.

“The Kobe Origin,” Kobe said.

Julian picked up his pencil and wrote beneath the drawing:

KOBE: ORIGIN

Kobe studied the name, then smiled.

“That’s it.”

“As a working name,” Anselm reminded him. “We’ll still need the usual approvals.”

“Fine by me.”

The engineers collected their notes, and Anselm took a copy of the drawing for the project file. Rob confirmed the next steps before leaving with the others.

Soon, only Kobe and Julian remained.

Kobe picked up the final drawing.

He remembered the Kobe 8 from his first life. He’d worn it, played in it, and knew its design by heart. That was the shoe he’d been trying to recreate when he’d first put pencil to paper.

But Julian had taken that familiar design and made it something more. The lines flowed more naturally, the proportions were cleaner, and the entire silhouette looked sharper without losing what had made the original special.

Kobe glanced at the name Julian had written beneath the drawing. It felt more appropriate now than it had a few minutes earlier.

He’d come here intending to bring the Kobe 8 into existence years ahead of its time. Instead, Julian had helped him create something that surpassed his memories of the original.

For the first time, Kobe wondered just how much further they could take it.

Kobe turned the drawing toward Julian.

“Can we make a logo?”

Julian looked up. “For the shoe?”

“For me. Something that goes on the shoe but isn’t just the Adidas logo.”

Julian considered the drawing.

“You have something in mind?”

Kobe glanced down at his Lakers jersey, then tapped the number on his chest.

“Let’s start with number eight.”

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Kobe has already taken inspiration from the Nike Kobe 8 to create his first Adidas signature shoe, KOBE: ORIGIN.

The only rule: The shoe must have been released after 1996.