The tactical meeting lasted for three hours, and as the clock ticked, I started to understand the reason for the intensity of the player. Coach Bill bombarded us with facts about the team that we were going to play, from player performance to detailed advanced analytics, enough that, toward the end of the meeting, most of the players looked about to collapse.

Yet, none of them slipped up, as whenever one looked like he was about to slip, a question came from Coach Bill, punishing without a miss.

Then, just as the meeting was about to end, it was my turn.

"Now, let's see how our newest player will fare, will he stay here for the rest of the night, or will he earn a quick reprieve," the coach said, his expression showing a ghost of a smile as he raised the remote once more, and a scheme appeared on the screen. "Bonus points if you can guess the offensive scheme they were trying to defend against, but you'll lose points for every mistake."

I expected another drawn scheme like the other players had received, but instead, he revealed an actual recording of the game. It was an important distinction, because it made it much more difficult to analyze. For a moment, I thought the coach was targeting me specifically, but I noticed the rest of the team looking at me in anticipation, their smirks wide.

A hazing ritual, I realized, one that was for the benefit of the team. The coach was both too experienced and too methodical to truly enjoy such a thing, but it was impossible to deny that such experience helped team cohesion.

Not to mention, it was a good way to test the mettle of a new player, to see how a new player operated under stress.

I couldn't help but smirk as I examined the screen carefully, preparing to answer. I always had a tactical approach to the game, and while my lack of studying during the last two years hurt me a bit, those mysterious Traits were more than enough as compensation.

Especially with the most recent upgrade, allowing me to catch small details even better, which allowed me to catch the subtle details, realizing he had started with a trick play. "Cover 2 defense, disguised as a blitz," I answered.

"Oh, really," the coach answered in his same monotonous tone, but unable to hide the spark of interest. Meanwhile, the rest of the group fell silent. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I answered, not letting his sharp gaze force me to second-guess myself. "The safeties are too far behind for it to be an actual Blitz, leaving a gap for the receivers to exploit around the fifteen-yard range. But if they pull back even further to cover the backfield, the linebackers will retreat and defend between the numbers, confusing the quarterback before he could pass, maybe even get an interception."

"Not bad," the coach answered as he pressed a button, and another scene appeared. "How about this?"

"Man-coverage, trying to shut out a passing game, baiting them for a run," I answered just as quick as I identified the small details of alignment, in particular, the middle linebacker standing too close to the defensive line, ready to attack the running back. This time, the coach didn't ask a follow-up question, and moved to the third scene, then the fourth, fifth…

Nice, I thought even as I answered yet another question. Apparently, Tactics and Strategy Traits were even more useful for football than I had assumed, especially with Pattern Recognition supporting me, a glance enough to allow me to catch the subtle differences hidden in the player's positions, the way they leaned, their footwork, even the direction they were looking.

It wasn't something that just come from the System, of course. My performance was only possible thanks to the years I had spent learning those football tactics, and trying to get a college recruitment quota. I had even made the occasional mistake, but I didn't let it bother me since they mostly stemmed from me not recognizing the players, and making assumptions about their strengths — which did not always succeed.

Yet, as the training continued, those mistakes lessened, because whenever I made a mistake, the coach played the full show, allowing me to fix my assumptions, with a speed that was only possible due to the glorious assistance of the Pattern Recognition.

"That's enough," the coach finally called.

The room was completely silent, except for Thad, who was chuckling in amusement. "Maybe we should recruit more from the chess team," he suggested, which earned a chuckle from the rest of the group.

"Drop by my office after the meeting is over," he ordered, which put a damper on my plans after the training, but I doubted it was a punishment. "You can go move to position rooms, to study with the position coaches," he ordered, before leaving.

I stood up, ready to follow Carter and the rest of the linebackers, though I had noticed more than one player looking at me with a surprised expression, though I noted more than one looking at me in dissatisfaction.

Maybe I over-performed just a little bit.

Still, I didn't show much care. Not like I was going to change my mind just because of a few assholes changing the topic.

Interestingly, I had seen Carter sending a sharp glare to one that looked the most restless about my performance, showing his ability as the captain. The walk to our assigned room was silent. The rest of the students walked inside, but before I could step in, Carter gestured for me to stay.

"How can I help you, captain," I asked, doing my best not to sound snarky even by accident. I had already alienated the offense, and more than one player in defense clearly didn't appreciate behind shown off by a complete newbie.

"I want to talk to you about your performance," he said.

"Sure, what about?" I asked, but looking at his serious expression, I expected him to tone down my displays of tactical competence in order to not to hurt the apple cart too much. An understandable concern, but one I had no intention of actually following, because I had more important concerns that maintaining team mood. A happy team wouldn't give me magical powers.

Playing in games would.

"How quickly do you think you can learn the full playbook to play the mike?" he asked.

"I don't think—" I started before freezing. "Beg your pardon," I corrected. "I must have misheard you, do you mind repeating?"

The slightest smile appeared on his serious expression before it melted back to his stony expression. "No, you didn't mishear me. I asked you just how quickly you can play mike?"

I paused, trying to process the enormity of his request. The position of mike was not a simple thing. For all intents and purposes, it was the Quarterback of defense, responsible for calling the last-minute adjustments when the offense changed their schemes, not to mention identifying and alerting the team to the last-minute tricks, like a run game disguised as a passing game.

"I'm guessing you're asking about the next year?" I suggested, but it was more to probe him rather than an actual question. If his intention was about the next year, he wouldn't have mentioned it on the first day.

"You look smart enough to know the answer to that question," he answered, equally calmly.

"Why, then?" I asked.

Carter took a deep breath. "In your opinion, what's the chances of a black linebacker from a small college to be drafted as a mike for a professional team, even as the last round draft?" he asked.

I didn't bother answering the question, as it was rather obvious. While the racism situation had improved significantly compared to the past, where the black players simply weren't allowed to play quarterback or mike — so-called thinking positions — it was hard to deny a bias still existed. Combined with the stigma of playing for a small college, it was obvious.

Of course, as an orphan, I was aware of that kind of bias, having experienced quite a bit of myself.

"Good," he said as he noticed my serious expression. "I had some discussions with a couple of scouts, and they are worried about my ability to take orders and cede authority," he said. "If I had another mike to take the role properly, I will focus on impressing them more directly."

"And you need a rookie for that?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "Unfortunately, we're not exactly filled with fresh talents thanks to our losing streak," he said, not bothering to hide his anger. Understandable, as no one was particularly enthusiastic about recruiting from a losing team, no matter how impressive the defense performed in isolation.

"And it wouldn't be exactly a showing if you change position and the team starts performing worse, even if you get better personal stats," I filled his thinking.

"Exactly, a story about my supposed selfishness would hardly help my chances in the draft," he said. It wouldn't be fair for him to suffer for that, but unfortunately, life was hardly fair.

"I see," I answered as I started thinking. "And you decided I'm the better option."

"Don't act like that show you have put on was not intentional. You clearly put your hat on the table for my job. And even if you don't get it this year, you're certain to get it the next one. I'm just proposing to hasten the process. You're a natural when it comes to reading the play and adjusting tactics. You're still worse than me, but that's only because you don't know the playbook. Once you catch up…"

I nodded, happy to coordinate with someone that shares a similar approach. If Carter had been treating the college performance as the ultimate target, we would have been having a much different discussion. Yet, he was clearly aware that, with all the glory that implied, it was still a giant pageant set up to impress the professional teams.

I didn't ask whether he was serious or not. He clearly was, and his needs were clearly reasonable. More importantly, it fitted perfectly with my needs. There was no point to reject it. "How much time you're willing to spend helping me?" I asked.

"If you can show enough improvement to prove the meeting was not just a fluke, as much as you need," he answered. "As long as I get enough sleep after the training, I can put all my free time helping you."

"Excellent," I said. Even with all the assistance of the System, someone help me with details of the playbook would help. Especially if that someone was the player that knew the playbook the most. "And do you think you can convince the coach to play me?" I asked.

That earned a chuckle. "That would not be necessary. You underestimate Coach Bill. There's no hierarchy about who plays and who doesn't. The one that performs best in the practice gets the starting position. Why else do you think you were getting all those angry glares."

"Nice to know," I answered.

Then, Carter put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing hard. "Let me be clear, it's not a simple commitment I'm asking you. You can think for a while before making a decision, but if you change your decision halfway…"

He didn't finish his sentence, nor that he needed to. There were simply too many ways for the team captain to make my life miserable.

Not that it made me worried. Compared with invisible angels and mysterious magical evils, the mundane threats didn't carry much weight.

"Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to waste such an opportunity," I said. Carter just nodded, and we started walking toward the meeting room.