Coach Spencer stood in front of us, pushing his chest out in a way he assumed to be an authoritative stance, though only coming across as smug.

“I’m not going to waste your time with a long speech. You’re here to be a part of our glorious football team, and I’m coach Spencer, who will manage the guys lucky enough to earn that right of helping the actual heroes of our school prepare.”

I barely held myself back from shaking my head in dismissal. Around me, I could see several frowns appearing on people’s faces at the accidental insult. No wonder the practice squad was looking for more members.

“Who here played football before at least a year?” he asked, unaware of the effects of his words. I raised my hand, along with six others. “Position and time?” he asked.

“Wide receiver, three years in high school,” said the first player confidently. “But I joined the college as a point guard for the basketball team?”

“Why the change?” the coach asked, though I could catch the derision in his tone.

“I received a full scholarship for basketball,” the boy explained, unable to hide his pride. Though, considering he was trying to get into the practice squad, he had likely received the news that he would be cut out, so he was searching for an alternative sport.

His pride suggested that he saw moving from the practice squad to the actual team as a given. It was the reason he told his role in the basketball team without prompting in the first place.

Big mistake, I thought even as I noticed the way the coach’s frown tightened. Coach Spencer was clearly an entitled asshole, and the worst thing to do against an entitled asshole like him was to hurt his fragile pride.

The way our unlucky friend highlighted that his identity as a basketball player, implying that basketball was a better sport than football was enough to earn that.

Of course, his point was not unjustified. Football might be the more popular sport, but it was also more injury-prone and painful. Not to mention, at a player level, it certainly earned more. That didn’t prevent football coaches from getting hurt when their preferred players chose to play basketball.

Somehow, they were surprised that students preferred a sport with more money, longer career, less injury --- and the attractiveness of not being allowed to be tackled by a grown man in excess of three hundred pounds made of pure muscles running at full speed.

Still, while the general saltiness of the football coaches about being the second choice was one thing, the reaction of an entitled asshole was something else. “Good, a promising candidate,” he said, his words poisoned with anger. Somehow, the guy smirked, missing the tension, making half of the squad look at him in shock.

Some people couldn’t be educated. Our newest WR was for a life of pain.

Two other guys spoke before it was my turn. “Linebacker, two years in high school,” I said.

“Why the change?” he asked, though the moment I mentioned that I was a defensive player, his expression tightened again.

His ego again, I realized. Considering the way the defense worked excellently, while his offense was in shambles, it wasn’t hard to guess his pride was tarnished again. “I wasn’t good enough,” I simply said, accompanied with a slight slouch that implied defeat, hoping that I read the reason for his annoyance correctly.

And since it earned a dismissive glance rather than an angry one, it seemed I managed to defuse the correct fuse. His attitude was clear, if I wasn’t good enough for high school, I certainly wasn’t good enough for college.

I took that dismissal as a win.

My guide didn’t share the same attitude. “How can he simply dismiss you!” she gasped in shock, looking at the coach, who, luckily, couldn’t see her, not wasting time before moving to the next one. “Defend yourself,” she ordered passionately, waiting for action.

Fucking impatient guide, I thought, my annoyance reaching a point her amazing cleavage failed to take the sting. I dipped my head down before whispering. “I’ll show him with my abilities,” I whispered.

The guys next to me heard it, but luckily, they assumed I was trying to psyche myself.

Coach Spencer continued to assess people, asking about their past experience, occasionally making them run through certain drills to test their abilities, before separating the ones with significant ability, from the others.

Interestingly, he had separated three defensive players with the best experience into the discarded group, claiming one was too slow, one was too undisciplined, and one was too tall. Though the basketball player that angered him earned the same treatment as well.

When he finished, he picked seven players, five offensive and two defensive. “Not bad,” Coach Spencer said even as he separated us. “The rest will work with me for another half an hour to show me their potential.”

Then, he looked toward the area main team was practicing. “Kevin, Thad, come here!” Two players, one a muscular blond-haired guy, the other much thinner. A lineman and a quarterback, I guessed.

The fun thing, I remembered the black-haired one from the morning. He was the one that egged the convention center while shouting insults.

Such a great example of poise.

“Yes, coach,” they said loudly, but their lack of respect was clear from the looseness of their stance. Though, while the black-haired ones read like laxness, the blond-haired guy’s attitude read like defiance. And from the way Coach looked at them, he didn’t miss that disrespect.

Interestingly, he didn’t lash out.

Clearly, whoever pulled the strings to get him the job wasn’t strong enough for him to lash out against the defensive players, which meant the defensive coordinator was not someone he could touch.

Unfortunately, that also meant that he was going to lash out at the defensive players at the practice squad even more.

Not exactly the hallmarks of a great coach, but hardly the greatest nepotism either.

“I will watch the newbies running drills. Those seven claim that they are good enough to get into the practice team. Test them, and see if any of them actually good enough to earn a place as a backup.”

There were seven of us on the line. The other six looked at each other, dismissing me completely, taking my statement about not being good enough at the face value.

The receiver he had separated looked at the coach like he wanted to complain. “You stay with me, basketball boy,” said the coach with great vindictiveness. “You’re even better than the others, you’ll help me train the newbies.” Apparently, while he didn’t like his smugness, it wasn’t a point of discarding him like potential defensive players.

“But-“ he started.

“No talking back to your Coach, or I’ll kick you out immediately,” he shouted, making the boy blanch in fear. The quarterback just smiled smugly, enjoying the sight, while Thad shook his head in disgust, but didn’t intervene.

“Come with us,” said the thin one, gesturing us to follow. As we walked, he spoke. “I’m Kevin, the backup quarterback,” he said with a smug tone, like he was declaring himself the King of America.

“And I’m Thad, lineman, a defensive tackle,” the larger boy said, whose voice, thankfully, wasn’t disgustingly oily. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to fulfill Coach Spencer’s high expectations,’ he added, loud enough to be heard by the coach in question. Though the glance he threw at Kevin even as they walked side by side suggested that the Coach wasn’t the only person that earned his annoyance.

“Since we have both defensive and offensive players, why don’t we do just do some practice throws, maybe even have a small bet, Thad? For fifty rounds?”

“Of course,” Thad answered. “How about if I take your sweet convertible for the weekend.”

“God, I didn’t know you were a chicken,” Kevin answered, loud enough to be heard by nearby players, who clearly belonged to offense. “How about we play for the keys, mine against yours. I always wanted to have your classic Mustang.”

God, no wonder they were in a continuous losing streak, I thought, if the players were this busy trying to pull childish ploys against each other.

It was a bullshit bet even without the fact that the coach didn’t allow the best defensive players from taking the game.

The one-on-one drill was a simple concept. In the case of defensive backs versus receivers, it means trying to prevent the pass from connecting, either through blocking, or through interception. However, sprinting in full power was an exhausting affair, enough to make five-versus-two a deadly advantage.

Thad clearly intended to reject it, but then, Kevin revealed his ploy. He raised his hand, and the nearby offensive players started making chicken sounds, clearly planned.

And unfortunately, defensive linemen, the enforcers of the team, were not famous for their calmness. Thad seemed to be particularly bad. “I’m no chicken, bastard. You’re on!”

While his quick acceptance --- and the fact that he was driving a classic Mustang in the first place --- suggested that he came from a well-off family, ultimately, it was definitely not something that could be written off simply.

And the sudden realization on his face suggested he realized that fact the moment those words left his mouth. Still, he looked at Kevin’s smug face, then sighed in defeat. Apparently, while his car was valuable, it wasn’t as valuable as his reputation.

Such fun team dynamics, I thought with a shake of my head.

Kevin dragged the five receivers to his side, while Thad walked toward us. “Okay boys, do your best and keep the score even slightly close, and you’re invited to the party at the team house.” He seemed to be accepting defeat.

The other player looked enthusiastic at the opportunity to join the party, like I would have felt just the day before. Good food, unlimited alcohol, and most importantly, horny sorority girls trying to add another football player as a notch to their bedposts.

We were in a football-dominant party college. Those parties were legendary.

I had more important things to worry about than a party. Normally, that would have been all I needed to keep my head down and act invisible. Thad’s mustang was hardly my problem.

However, Thad must have been a lucky guy. The attitude of the coach and the egg-throw in the morning, the courtesy of his precious backup quarterback, was just enough to annoy me.

They didn’t call me Assassin for my great ability to forgive and forget.