I stood in front of Coach Spencer, the starter quarterback behind him, a smug expression on his face. Behind me, I could hear more than one player from the defensive squad whispering in discomfort, no doubt not appreciating Coach Spencer singling me out.

Not because they had a great love for me. On the contrary, they barely liked me. Yet, in their mind, Coach Spencer was the enemy, which automatically elevated my position for them. I had a feeling that, without Coach Bill's silent yet looming presence, their reaction would have been much more explosive.

The rest of the defensive squad waited as I stood in front of Coach Spencer, though, from the corner of my gaze, I noticed Thad slinking away — as sneakily as he could do as a six-six blond giant wearing full-paddings.

"Let's start with something simple, to test the performance of our newest genius recruit. Let's do a modified linebacker hole drill," he said.

The linebacker hole drill was a simple training. Four cones were put on the ground, creating three alternative corridors to represent the paths the running back could take. He didn't commit until the last second, and the linebacker was tasked to read him and dash forward the moment he determined the correct path, and tackled the running back.

It was a simple exercise, though it didn't prevent it from being painful when it was conducted in full gear.

Tackling a six-feet tall, two-hundred and twenty pounds running back made from pure muscles running at full speed with the intention of trucking through the defender was not exactly the most fun activity imaginable.

Of course, there were two types of running backs, the power type that focused on going through the defenders, and the smaller, elusive type that focused on speed and footwork, but I had no illusions about which type I would compete against in the exercise.

"Twenty-two, twenty-four, step forward," Coach Spencer called, and two running backs stepped forward, both clearly the power type, suddenly giving an idea about what the Coach had in mind in terms of modified exercise.

It was not going to be fun.

"Do you know the standard hole drill?" Coach asked, and I nodded. "We're going to make a small modification on it," he said. "Both running backs will start running at the same time, and before they start, I'm going to call blue or red. Your task is to tackle the one that's carrying the correct ball. Though, be ready, occasionally, I'll order you to change target."

"I understand, Coach," I said even as I hid a wince. That adjustment was certainly not as small as he tried to sell. First, seeing the ball in ball in a running back's hand was already difficult. They were trained to hide the football as they run, both to protect the ball, and trick the defenders about whether the ball was with them, or still with the quarterback.

Yet, not only I was going to identify which ball they were holding correctly, but also be prepared for the late command he might deliver, not allowing me to get the necessary speed to properly tackle them.

It was going to be painful.

I said nothing as I lined at the opposite side of the two running backs who sported matching smirks, no doubt happy to have an official excuse to make me pay for all the humiliation I brought to the offensive team with my debacles with Kevin.

Coach Spencer raised his whistle, yet, before blowing it, he glanced at the rest of the defensive team, no doubt thinking this moment as a victory over his disobedient players, clearly unaware that he was pushing even more.

"Red," he called. And when the sound finally rang, the two running backs dashed forward simultaneously, one through the first gap, the other through the third gap, forcing me to focus on the ball they were carrying, barely enough to identify the correct assignments.

Luckily, Pattern Recognition came to my aid. I noticed that one of them was pushing himself even lower, perfectly ready to tackle, allowing me to recognize the true intent behind his move.

Pity, I thought even as I dashed to meet him midway. If I wasn't trying to get some playing time as soon as possible, I would have deliberately targeted the other running back, hurting him before he could prepare.

Yet, I needed to impress Coach Bill as well, so I targeted number twenty-two, doing my best to keep my center of gravity low, my arms ready to wrap around.

It didn't prevent me from flying back the moment our bodies collied, accompanied by a loud noise. The running back did his best to run through me, and not only as a starter he was stronger than me, but also, unlike me, he had enough time to gather his speed.

Yet, even as his shoulder buried into my chest, I grabbed my arms around him, clenching around, not allowing him to get away. He took a couple steps, then his knee touched the ground.

"Not bad for a start," Coach Spencer said as I forced myself to my feet, despite not wanting anything more than laying on the ground and breathing to battle against the pain.

I had forgotten just how much full-contact tackle hurt, especially when the offensive player decided to give pain. Compared to that, the collusions between me and the practice-squad receivers during the training were nothing more than love taps.

Worse, I couldn't even call them on, because it was a legitimate tactic. Some of the running backs used their bodies as battering rams against the defensive players even though it didn't give them much extra yardage, at least at the beginning of the game.

It was different after three-quarters of painful hits, the defensive players found themselves much more reluctant to put their full weight behind their defensive attempts, allowing the running backs to rack up some really impressive yardage.

It was clearly the tactic they had in mind for this training as well. And, unlike a proper match, I didn't have backups to spread the impact. It was me against them.

"Let's see how tough you are, chess nerd," number twenty-two growled at me before he pulled back.

I said nothing, just glared at him silently as I did my best to stand up, though I was unable to completely conceal the pain.

The offensive team cheered happily, glad to see me in pain. I took starting the position once more, this time, prepared to target the number twenty-four. Coach Spencer was smiling at me smugly, like he was about to pull a trick, and I was confident that using alternating players counted as a trick in his mind.

He called red again for the next attempt, but this time, the red ball was with twenty-four, allowing me to target him properly, with full speed. Even better, number twenty-four clearly expected another weak hit, making him unprepared for a full-powered tackle. And considering that he was a backup, making him both weaker and less skilled than number twenty-two, he certainly couldn't afford that level of confidence.

And I was more than happy to teach him that lesson, in the form of a painful collision from the side with full speed, making him roll on the turf, earning matching cheers from the offensive team.

Technically, it wasn't the most painful hit I could deliver, but it was certainly the most impressive. The sudden flow of Intent just confirmed that, thought the amount was certainly more than I expected.

It confirmed that Thad already succeeded in setting the live feed I requested, and we had more than a few watchers already.

Contrasting with the cheers of the defensive team, I said nothing. I just stood in front of number twenty-four, looking down. No goading, no insult, not even a satisfied smirk. Just a sharp look.

I was an expert in the art of intimidation, after all.

Naturally, it wasn't as effective when I relied upon that during the chess tournament. First, I didn't have that overwhelming physical superiority against football players that helped me greatly against the other chess players, who were much more fitting to the quintessential chess player archetype.

More importantly, I didn't have a reputation among the football players, or more accurately, my existing sources of reputation — the newest backup, chess player, and girlfriend stealer — hardly helped me to intimidate another football player on the field.

I was already starting to miss being called the Assassin.

Hopefully, it wasn't that far away, because as I walked back to my position — only after my victim stood up — I was also busy channeling Intent to the system, as intensely as I could manage. And when I touched the System, I received the reward I had been hoping for.

[Intimidation II, acquired]

The training was certainly getting fun.