As I lay on the turf, the scorching cold wind of Midwest winter worked as a perk to cool down my burning body as I tried to breathe. Yet, I had a smirk on my face, happy with my performance. Though, even with that, I appreciated the morning sun on my skin…

Until a shadow blocked the warm light. "Don't be too smug just because you completed the warm-up," she commented as I continued to breathe further, but her words didn't annoy me, mostly because I was able to catch a softness in her tone that was not there before.

She was clearly satisfied with my performance.

"Yes, Coach," I murmured, noticing the flicker of a smile on her face before she managed to erase that, suggesting that it wasn't just my performance that kept her happy, but also my willingness to push to my limits to keep her happy.

Of course, it wasn't the exact case, as I had more interested in the speed my exhaustion evaporated, noticeably faster thanks to my Recovery Trait. Of course, I had no intention of informing her about that particular detail.

"So, coach, what's next," I said, deliberately using her title again — even though the conditioning coach hardly qualified as a coach — doing my best to act like I was talking to Coach Bill, suppressing my amusement. No need to poke something that was clearly sensitive.

"Give me a plank," she ordered, and I followed immediately despite still being tired. If she wanted to push me to the limit, I was more than happy about complying even without my Traits. I had always liked to push myself to the limit, and more importantly, it allowed me to focus on the present.

One advantage of the plank, the position allowed me to throw some interested glances at her beautiful legs, clear even with the loose sweatpants she was wearing. "Good," she said after I reached the two-minute mark, my stomach burning with exertion. Normally, two minutes was not a challenge, but it was different after such an exhausting run. Yet, since she didn't tell me to stop, I continued, curious how long I would be able to last. "Coach Bill said that you'll be joining us for for a while, to see whether you're worthy enough to occupy one of our precious roster spots."

"Yes, coach," I answered.

"So, what's your play experience," she said before she took a deep breath. "Don't tell me you are one of the track athletes that they pick just to fill the roster. Have you played before? Because if not, we might as well go to Coach and get you out. We can't afford to develop a brand new linebacker this late into the season."

I had no doubt that she was talking about Coach Bill, rather than Head Coach Spencer.

"Don't worry, coach. I have played during high school, except my senior year when I switched to chess."

"Chess," she growled, her dismissal clear, but I let that roll off without comment. "We need to make sure that you can handle our training then. We don't want to lose one of the precious geniuses of our school to fall victim to over-exhaustion."

"As you wish, Coach," I murmured, doing my best to suppress my annoyance at her sudden dismissal. It was expected, which was why I had mentioned it early, to handle the inevitable underestimation between two parts of the training, to be destroyed through my resilience and physical performance.

Sometimes, it was better to let the sensitive stuff slip early.

"Much better," she said smugly as I continued to plank even as my stomach started to burn. She kept me for almost five minutes before asking for another five laps, then we moved toward the other aspects. We run through several basic exercises, sweat invading my face. The next session didn't last long, barely fifteen minutes, but without a single break, exhaustion started to take hold despite the limited intensity. She called for another rest.

"Appreciated, Coach," I said obediently even as I desperately drank some water. Toward the end, things were getting especially difficult as she was clearly pushing the training more than what was reasonable, but I kept my mouth shut. Her position was clearly fragile enough for her to make push aggressively.

Admittedly, her beautiful face played some role in me keeping my mouth shut. I was honest to admit that my personality was prickly enough to react to such actions rather explosively, but a pretty face — one that she did her best to keep it hidden to be taken seriously — went a long way to take the bite of her attempt to push her authority.

"Not a bad performance for a nerd," she murmured as I breathed hard, trying my best to recover.

"Thanks, Coach," I answered, once again using her title deliberately.

"So, do you think you can handle something a bit more serious than shuttle runs," she said even as she grabbed her whistle.

"Yes, coach," I answered, curious about what she had in mind.

She said nothing as she went toward a bag to the side, and picked up a ball from the bag. "Let's run some angle drills. Five cuts, forty seconds of rest, and try to intercept the ball."

Interesting, I thought. Technically, angle drills weren't too different from shuttle runs in terms of the efforts that were required. It was just running, yet there was one important difference. Instead of just focusing on the speed and recovery, the player needed to focus on the ball the whole time, changing direction as required. It wasn't a particularly difficult drill.

It was certainly more complicated than anything that needed to be run by a conditioning coach, because while it was simple, there were still a lot of technical details that needed to be optimized. It was perfect in my rights to reject her running technical drills, as bad technical habits might have been the most dangerous thing for an athlete, regardless of the sport.

It was certainly something I wouldn't accept just because of a pretty face. Yet, despite her annoying desire to push for her authority, I wanted to see if she had the ability to run these exercises.

I just nodded as I started following her request, and started the moment she raised the ball, signaling the snap of the ball, running through five cuts in quick succession, before taking the required forty-second rest. The amount of rest she allowed wasn't random. In football, between each down, teams had a maximum of forty-five seconds to recover before another attempt.

"Keep your eyes on the ball," she ordered. "You have pulled your gaze away two times, and your center of gravity was off when you were planting your foot outside."

"Yes, coach," I said, smiling. I was officially impressed. I had let my gaze drift away twice deliberately, and the second one was barely noticeable, yet she not only noticed it, but also called it. Moreover, she had managed to catch my unintentional mistake of slipping center of gravity — owing to my lack of practice.

Maybe she really knew what she was talking about.

"Repeat," she ordered, and we run through the drill again, and again… I continued to run the maximum speed I could manage without slipping my position. "Now, backpedal and shuffle," she ordered, moving to another training, running backward and making sharp turns whenever she used her whistle, while continued to take notes, and after some practice, moved to another drill.

After the fifth different drill, I could read a small yet pleasant surprise on her face, and I was definitely replicating her mood. She had the technical competence to run the drills and the sharp gaze to catch the mistakes.

Most importantly, unlike a linebacker coach that would run the drills for the whole position and mostly focus on the starters, she was focusing on me completely. "That's enough for today, we still need to test your strength," she finally called, but only after pushing me for almost an hour through various drills, looking at me with a renewed gaze.

I couldn't blame her, as even I was surprised by my own performance. Normally, a strong drill session like that would have exhausted me enough to force a lot of mistakes during the drills — it was much harder to focus on the correct way to angle my feet when my lungs were burning.

Yet, with the assistance of Recovery, I managed to maintain my technique much better than I expected.

Of course, when I said much better, it was relative to the expectations from backup linebackers. I was not suddenly showing pro-level ability. And in terms of physical qualities, especially in terms of explosive speed, I wasn't exceptional even when compared to other college-level players.

Yet, discipline and maintaining a high performance despite exhaustion were good enough to compensate for some of it. The combination of Recovery and Stamina worked even better than I expected. And, together with the discipline, I was determined to put into the work, maybe I actually had the opportunity to make it into the team.

And, after the events of the last night, that starter position was not only a bit I was using to trick my guide, but the best way to actually improve myself. It was inconvenient that my guide was devouring the Intent I was able to correct prevented me from gaining more Traits, but the sooner she recovered, the sooner I started recovering my strength.

"Not a bad performance for a chess player," she murmured as we started walking toward the gym.

I grinned, though it was less about her words, and more about the amazing sensation of water traveling down my throat to battle the heat radiating off my body despite the cold weather. "I did my best to stay in shape, it helps."

"Good, how about nutrition?"

This time, my smile turned sheepish. "Unfortunately, there I had been suffering a bit," I answered. "I tried cooking, but…" I murmured, not finishing the sentence. Proper athlete nutrition was ridiculously costly.

"I see, we might need to give some boosters for the first month just in case, but it'll depend on the results of your strength test," she said, but her attitude was much softer compared to her sharp, unyielding introduction.

Another small win, I noted happily.