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Summary
Unimpressed, Jannik shoots the criminal a dirty look. “What is that?” he asks, an accusatory finger pointing in the direction of the journal.
Djokovic’s answering grin is blinding. He holds the book against his chest to give Jannik an unobstructed view of the cover. “You like it?” the Serbian asks before laughing at the scowl on the redhead’s face, the surest sign of displeasure. “Do not pout! This is my little book of Jannikisms!”
Jannik’s eyes widen, darting between the man and journal in alarm. “Your book of what?”
This bewildered response only tickles Djokovic. “Jannikisms,” he repeats slowly, as if it were the phonetic arrangement of consonants and vowels that the younger man failed to comprehend.
In a world where Novak Djokovic doesn’t become the greatest tennis player in history, he becomes something much worse…
Jannik Sinner recognizes him anyway.