Divine Celebrity 51 (Patreon)

After three days filled with dangerous adventures, exhausting training, and mind-numbingly detailed yet boring hacking, I threw myself to my bed the moment I arrived at my room, barely able to kick my jeans off, glad that I had already showered after the training. 

It was a miracle I didn’t fall asleep while driving. 

Yet, even as I felt the comfortable hug of my bed, I knew that I wouldn’t have enough time to sleep properly, especially since I had to wake up at six, to arrive at the morning training that would start at six-thirty. 

Of course, eight hours wasn’t exactly the worst sleep schedule one could imagine, but it was not enough after the intense training I had just gone through, my body still hurting after all that tackling. 

Properly earning a place on the team was fun, but that didn’t make the repeated full-speed tackles fun by any measure. There was a reason that they recommended professional athletes to sleep almost ten hours a day — though most preferred to take naps during the afternoon to compensate, not wanting to ruin their social life. 

From that perspective, combined with the sudden intensity of the training, eight hours would certainly be not enough to feel rested even if I hadn’t been skipping sleep the last few days to juggle what I had found me facing… 

From fake girlfriends to magical cults.  

So, it was understandable that, when I was woken up by the ringing of my phone rather than by the alarm I expected, I had a curse word on my lips. Especially since it was a number I didn’t recognize.  

Only to forcibly swallow that anger when I recognized the voice. “Be in the stadium in fifteen minutes for extra training,” said Coach Bill, while I was busy with some of the more creative insults that appeared in my mind. No apology for calling so early that it still qualified as night, no attempts to explain his reasoning, not even bothering why he decided to add a training at the last moment. 

“Fuck you, you old goat,” I growled, but only after the coach slammed the call shut, not even bothering to wait for my response. I didn’t think of myself as a coward, but I was certainly not brave enough to challenge Coach Bill like that. 

Still, at that moment, I could appreciate why people really hated the old-school coaches even when they were successful. They were still under the impression that they were generals, and the athletes were nothing more than poor little soldiers, expecting their orders to be fulfilled. 

Normally, I had no problem with that — well, not a big one, at least. Compared to the incompetent assholes like Coach Spencer who thought that being liked by the athletes was the most important issue, I much preferred winning, but it was hard to maintain that attitude when I was forced to wake up before five for extra early training. 

Of course, technically, it was not a binary choice, and there were some young and modern coaches with the correct attitude and skills. Unfortunately, those talents were rare, and rarely would work in a third-rate college which would ruin their future opportunities. 

The considerations about the potential difference between coaches were enough to keep my mind occupied as I drove to the stadium hurriedly, doing my best to be equally quick. I had no idea who was going to be my coach for the additional training, but I was very doubtful that he would appreciate the sudden extra training any more than I would. 

No need to annoy him more by being late. 

But, when I arrived at the gym, I found a familiar face waiting for me. “Good morning, Coach,” I said even as I waved at the Latina woman that was dressed in loose sports clothing. 

“You’re late,” she answered, not bothering to hide her frustration. 

“Sorry Coach, won’t happen again,” I answered, happy to see her anger fade a bit. Accepting responsibility for the delay was a risky choice, especially considering I had been informed about the training so late, but after a full day of training, I had a sense of her personality, and guessed she wouldn’t appreciate excuses.

Even if they were accurate ones. 

“The coach asked me to manage your remedial training,” she said, her voice sharp like a whip, challenging. “We’re going to have two sessions, one before the morning training, and one after the evening training, to make sure your tackling technique and footwork are up to par. For the rest of the week, we’re going to skip the strength and endurance portions, and focus on technique.”

“Yes, Coach,” I said, swallowing my questions about the absurdity of the situation. I wasn’t exactly an expert on sports health, but I knew enough to know that this training was certainly not recommended, especially during the tournament season. 

I might have assumed it was just a misconception of an old, outdated coach, but Coach Bill was too successful for that to be the case even in such a dysfunctional situation. Combined with the surprise early morning call, it started to feel like a test. 

Not that it mattered, I thought even as I followed Coach Juana to the center of the room. Whether it was some kind of test or a mistaken perspective about the benefits of Spartan training, I didn’t have the power to push back against Coach Bill. 

It was a task even the head coach failed to do so. 

I followed Coach Juana outside, doing my best to ignore the cold winter wind, even worse than the day before at this early hour, biting my lips to hold back a question about whose decision was to work outside at this ungodly hour. Because I knew that, regardless of the answer, Coach Juana would take it as an insult to her authority.  

“Let’s start with some ladder exercises,” Coach Juana ordered as she gestured the yellow ladder on the ground, and I completed some basic footwork exercises as she occasionally shouted corrections. 

“Good, much better than our previous training,” she said, though, I noticed a frown on her face. “Don’t tell me that you were holding back in our training.” 

Her frown was not undeserved. The benefits of Agility Trait were not exactly easy to be dismissed. The jump between our previous day would have been noticeable. It had to qualify agility like other physical attributes like strength or speed, but the difference was enough to be noticed even by an amateur, let alone a professional. 

“Of course not, Coach,” I answered. “However, it has been a while since I had trained my footwork, and I’m just warming up. I’m sure I’ll be even better by the next week.” 

“Good, work hard, and don’t waste my morning,” she said. “Show me that I didn’t volunteer to train you for nothing.” 

Interesting, I noted as I repeated the same exercise pattern. I had expected her to be assigned just because a junior, and if someone needed to wake up early, she was a good candidate. But her volunteering came as a surprise. 

Though, not too much of a surprise considering the earlier training she had given me. She was clearly trying to penetrate more relevant aspects of football coaching, and an official training assignment by the defensive coordinator was a good opportunity to show off. 

Even if that training happened in a frozen tundra, during an hour that was abandoned by the gods. 

“Faster!” she shouted. “And try to keep your weight centered, you can’t commit a turn that early.” 

“Yes, coach,” I answered, focusing on the training, doing my best to ignore the freezing cold. After all, it was uncomfortable, but it was clearly not as bad as the cursed fires I might suffer if I started slacking off.  

Luckily, even with the limited sleep, Stamina and Recovery kept me in a reasonable condition, allowing me to push myself hard, and still have some strength for the rest of the training. “Enough,” she called. “Enough, take five before the training starts,” she said. 

I just nodded, and we started walking inside, and I did my best to ignore the sway of her hips, noticeably swaying even in her thick parka and loose sweatpants. 

She was really beautiful, and a smarmy voice that rang in the corridor showed that I wasn’t the only one that noticed it. 

“There’s my favorite conditioning assistant,” said a male voice. I would have loved to dismiss those words, annoyed by the interruption, but the identity of the person that interrupted it made it much more difficult. 

Head Coach Spencer. 

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted, her tone calm on the surface, but I didn’t miss the subtle tenseness of her tone. Nor did I miss the slight quickening of her steps. After combining that with the soft, smarmy tone Coach Spencer used, a clear picture emerged. 

“How are you on this amazing morning?” Spencer said with a greasy smile that he no doubt thought as charming, but only came as entitled. His blind willfulness as he decisively ignored her body language hardly helped the impression. 

And her body language was really hard to mistake for anything else, with her distracted frown, her arms carefully folded over her chest to further reduce the impact of her bosom while giving a defensive aura. 

Her gaze wandered over the room, no doubt hoping to find an excuse, but the empty corridor didn’t provide her with any. So, her gaze fell on me. “I’m fine, coach, but I’m with a player. We are busy with some extra training before the game.” 

“Don’t worry about the game, this time, it’s a sure win,” he commented with confidence that was unwarranted by the performance of the team. Then, his gaze fell on me. His eyes widened in surprise, showing only then he registered my identity. 

The new backup player who had just humiliated his star running back in front of him. 

“Especially since we have such a great new talent helping us,” he added, the vindictiveness in his tone showing he had not only remembered the event, but also didn’t appreciate it. 

I barely held back a curse. Just when I was hoping that he might ignore the fact that I had humiliated his backup quarterback. 

Fun. 

“You should go prepare for actual training,” he said, his gaze sharp. “I have important things to discuss with Juana.” 

“Yes, coach,” I said, doing my best to hold my tongue, aware that even Coach Bill’s protection had limits, especially since I was a backup player. 

I walked away, but before I could take my turn, he continued speaking. “So, Juana, did you reconsider my offer to join the offensive team as a receiver coach?” he said, though her expression of dismissal made the answer obvious. 

I ignored it continuing to the training arena. I had too many things to care about to involve myself in such a dispute.