The first part of the training had passed rather routinely, contrasting the great fanfare that defined the start of it. The offense did their own training on the other side of the field while we worked on our own.

Of course, the routine didn't prevent it from being painfully exhausting, especially with the level of detail that Coach Bill was forcing us to follow, making us repeat the plays for each mistake until the whole team was able to run it perfectly, regardless it was the starters or backups on the field.

Which meant a lot of repeats, especially since what counted as a mistake in his perspective.

It was painful, but much easier to accept whenever our gaze slipped toward the offensive team practicing their reps, their routes sloppy, their runs lacking the speed required, showing they were not pushing themselves.

Yet, just as I was starting to think that the training would be a copy of the morning one — exhausting yet predictable and boring at the same time — I noticed the captain of the offense, the starting quarterback, talking with Coach Spencer.

I wouldn't have noticed that if I didn't catch his fingers pointing directly at me, yet that gesture, combined with the way Coach Spencer nodded viciously gave me a premonition, one that didn't help my mood any.

"Give me ten sets of cone drill, lateral movement," the linebacker coach called while I was busy trying to understand what was going on, though that didn't prevent me from exploding into action immediately, sliding between two distant cones while keeping my face straight, fast, pushing my limits in a way that would have ruined the training if it wasn't for my Recovery Trait.

I was glad for its presence, because, as I watched Coach Bill nod in approval to Coach Spencer's suggestion, I started suspecting that a much more grueling moment awaited me.

Yet, the linebacker coach clearly didn't see that as a reason to take it easy on me, the next order coming immediately. "Twists and footwork," he ordered.

I did my best. Unfortunately, it didn't go that smoothly. Unlike the other training, footwork required constant practice to keep up, and the finer parts of it certainly couldn't be recovered in a day or two. Even my supernaturally-enhanced Endurance didn't help much.

One couldn't brute force flexibility through Endurance.

It wasn't completely useless, luckily, because as the same training continued for almost fifteen minutes, forcing us to dance around the cones almost endlessly, others — at least backup players, as the starters were still significantly better than me even with that help — started to make mistakes, making me look better in comparison.

Not the most honorable victory, but I would get whatever I could, especially in an area like footwork I was relatively weak. "Not bad," the coach said as he looked at the others. "Everyone other than a newbie, take a rest." Then, he turned toward me. "And for you, let's see how long you can last. Give me some zigzag runs," he said, raising his whistle.

And just like that, I started running back and forth, making a sharp turn whenever he whistled, which wasn't as easy as it sounded, especially with the sharp cuts the coach required. "Keep your center of gravity low," he shouted. "You're swinging it too much, and it's putting too much weight on your angle!"

It wasn't the only correction I received, dashing back and forth painfully as the rest of the linebacker core rested. It was certainly unfair, no doubt about that, but I had noticed Carter making eye contact with the linebacker coach more than once, suggesting that, despite having all the appearance of hazing, it was another way for Carter to assist me.

Smart move, giving me a chance to shine and testing me at the same time, all while not alienating the rest of the team. Certainly a good move, if a bit cold-blooded.

Twenty minutes later, I was breathing hard, my legs trembling worse than a skyscraper during an earthquake… But that didn't prevent a smirk from appearing on my face.

Pushing myself to the limit was fun.

After that show, the linebacker coach called the rest of the group and started running group exercises once more, though, he did give me a minute to catch my breath.

The more I saw, the more I was impressed by the tight ship the defense was running. Such a pity the team was going through a losing streak because of nepotism, wasting all our efforts.

Lost in the training, I stopped paying attention to Coach Spencer, though he was kind enough to remind his presence. "That's enough, boys," he shouted. "Take a break while anyone that doesn't have full pads go and change."

Interesting, I thought, because the padding was neither comfortable nor light. Coach Bill made us wear it, but the offensive team clearly didn't wear them for training.

The defensive team turned to coach Bill, waiting for an order. "Go change and put the pads you use for the match," he ordered, suggesting that there was a reason for that order. "Any idea what's going on," I asked Thad.

"We'll see in a minute," he said with a shrug as we followed the rest to the locker room.

"Oh, it's going to be fun," whispered Kevin as he passed near me, his tone gleeful. It was clear that he had a significant part of the little surprise that was about to come.

"As fun as banging your girlfriend?" I countered, unlike him, not bothering to keep my voice low, earning several happy whistles from the defense, while Kevin looked at me like he was about to start swinging.

Though, this time, he was able to keep himself back without someone else dragging him away, which was a surprise.

Whatever surprise he prepared for me, it was clearly enough for him to suppress his frustration.

"Be careful," Thad said once we were in the locker room and changing into full-padding. "He can be dangerous, at least for a sniveling coward."

"Thanks," I said, not bothering to mention that the reason Kevin had any success against him was his pointless pride and tendency to explode in anger. For all the evidence on the contrary, Thad was a smart guy, and heeding his advice was certainly going to be helpful.

When we arrived back at the field, the field had changed significantly, with the new layout. "Line up," Coach Spencer shouted gleefully, clearly enjoying the speed the defensive team followed his orders as well.

It was only because Coach Bill tacitly allowed that by standing behind him, of course, but he didn't seem to mind it.

Such a vain man, I thought, shaking my head dismissively.

"Since the match this week is too important. With all the rivalry between the teams, it's certain that they are going to come to the field, ready for the kill. I want you all to be prepared, so, we're going to run some full-contact drills." He paused, then turned toward me, his gaze gleefully dark. "I especially want to make sure our newest player could handle a few tackles. We don't want one of our players crying on the field, right? Fifty-eight, step forward."

They were clearly wanting to target me even more than I expected, without the slightest intention to hide it.

Yet, I didn't complain. First, even if I did, against Head Coach's order — especially with the implicit approval of Coach Bill — it wouldn't work. It would just make things worse.

More importantly, they were unaware that they were giving me the exact thing I needed. A platform to show off. I dipped my head before I took that step, and whispered to Thad. "Make sure the recording finds its way to the social media, live if you can manage," I whispered as I took a step forward.

Thad looked at me questioningly, clearly aware that whatever was about to come was going to be painful and humiliating.

I nodded.

"Fifty-eight, enough delaying," called Coach Spencer immediately. "You can always quit the team if you're afraid of a bit of contact."

I said nothing, just walked toward him, trying to prepare myself for the upcoming trial.

One that promised to be very painful.