Divine Celebrity 93 (Patreon)

I was putting the last touches on the test setup, when Coach Juana arrived, carrying a large file with her. “Their physical results,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll be very useful.” 

“Oh, it will,” I said, my smirk widening as I flipped through, checking the content. But, as I could check, her phone started ringing. She rejected the call, only for it to start ringing again.

Then, my phone started buzzing as well. 

“I have made the first declaration,” she said. 

“Really, what exactly did you say?” 

“Any player that doesn’t come to the stadium in an hour will be permanently kicked out of the team, with no chance of playing again,” she asked. 

“Daring,” I said. “I like it. I wonder how much the dean and the sports director would like it.” 

“Oh, they will hate it,” she answered, but her expression was tight, showing she didn’t enjoy that particular fact. Not that hard to understand, considering the two mentioned had the ability to fire her. She sighed. “But they won’t do anything else until the match. Public relations is already a nightmare, and they won’t risk the responsibility falling on them. Just make sure we don’t get humiliated too badly.” 

I chuckled. “And to think that they don’t even know the little gift we’re preparing for them.” 

“Let’s hope they take it in good humor,” she delivered in a deadpan voice before walking away, going back to join Kim and Megan — who were already walking around, documenting the state of the stadium. 

Leaving me alone with the team. 

“That’s enough run, everyone buys red sixteen, start stretching,” I shouted, leaving the player that had mouthed me off to complete his punishment rounds.

Marcus took over leading their stretching, which gave me enough time to go through their physical records. There, my traits once again proved exemplary, allowing me to get an accurate understanding of their physical capabilities through the numbers on the folders, allowing me to further my already deep understanding.

With the benefits of Pattern Recognition, the more data I had, the better. 

“Now, to the drills,” I called. “I want to see how hard you can hit,” I shouted, pointing at several players who were considerably larger than the others, playing the linemen — mostly defensive, but a few offensive linemen from the practice team sprinkled around. 

Then, I turned toward the others. “And the rest, we’re going to practice receiving and defending at the same time,” I said. “Line up in pairs. With every whistle, two pairs will dash forward. I want the receiver to run their best route, and the defender to do their best to block the pass. I will throw the pass to one of the two. The one that doesn’t receive the pass would switch to defense,” I said. 

“That’s a bit…” started one of the practice players, only to fall silent when my gaze fell on him. 

“Weird, of course,” I completed his comment. “No coach would use such a training, but then, no coach has to deal with trying to build a team in three days,” I said. I chuckled as I played with the ball in hand. “Of course, I’ll keep a record of successes and failures,” I reminded, then threw the ball, directly to the back of one of the linemen, flying hard enough to hurt. “No half-assed effort!” I shouted, my voice loaded with Intimidation. 

“Yes, coach,” came a frightened shout, and I turned back to receivers, my little display enough to convince them that I would be observing them very carefully. 

“Now, pair up,” I shouted, and watched them line up against each other, though I had corrected a couple pairings to avoid horrible mismatches. “And, don’t forget to bring the ball back here,” I shouted. 

I whistled, making the first pair burst into motion, watching both of them cut inside with sharp angles. Slants, which was the easiest route to run and throw, but also with the most limited gain potential. 

I didn’t blame them, but I also had no intention of making their job any easier. My arm flashed with my unnatural strength, and the ball flew like a bullet. 

Only to bounce off the receiver’s hands, who reacted it far too late. The rest of the crowd was split between gasping in shock and cheering — which was understandable, as I applied even more of my increased capabilities, making a throw that would have been impressive for a professional player. 

I didn’t even wait for the stumbling players to get up before I whistled once more, but this time, the next pair was unprepared for the action. They received their punishment, in the form of two balls flying toward them, hitting them right on the chest. “Next,” I shouted in warning, and the next pair moved to their place, with a significant urgency, realizing that I wanted to run the drill much faster than they had been expecting. 

As they took their position, I threw another ball toward the linemen's drill, once again catching another slacker. “No half-assed effort,” I warned, then blew the whistle once more.

This time, the receivers decided on different strategies. One of them run a corner route, which was one of the harder routes to throw, working only when the receiver was considerably better. 

Or, when the quarterback had supernatural pinpoint accuracy. 

I let out a touch pass, soaring in the air, and it seemed that the receiver expected that the receiver — a familiar face from the practice squad, the basketball player that had joined the team on the same day as me, even fighting against me during the fateful bet that started everything — managed to time his attempt perfectly, catching the ball. 

I whistled once more, not spending any time in chitchat, but in my mind, I had already identified him as one of the potential starters. With the dearth of offensive talent, we were suffering after the exodus, he was certainly good enough to maintain that position unless he screwed up horribly. 

The next two decided to copy him and run corner routes, only to learn that touch passes were not as easy to catch as they looked when thrown by the sharp arch I preferred, and soon, we had fallen into the rhythm. 

A rhythm that I didn’t disrupt even when some new players come trickling forth. Megan was once again proving her expertise. I didn’t deal much with the new players, pausing only a second to order them to put on pads and start running. 

Not the best greeting, but the combination of leadership and intimidation worked wonders to grind out the edges. Even with that, a few players turned and left, of course, but I lacked the time to cater to their egos, while I was desperately trying to cobble enough to fill a roster in half a day. 

I didn’t have the luxury of spending more time. 

But, as they joined, I started to identify some interesting candidates. One sprinter dashed desperately forward in a simple fly route, yet fast enough to leave his defender back by two feet when the ball hopelessly passed through his hands. 

If it wasn’t for the traits enhancing my vision, I might have assumed that it was just a lack of experience or timing failure, but I could see that it was a more fundamental lack of hand-eye coordination. 

Fascinatingly bad hand-eye coordination, considering he was running excellently. 

“Marcus, take him and work him on how to jam the initial release, he’ll be a cornerback,” I said, assigning him a role immediately. 

“Actually, I was hoping to be a receiver—“ he started, only for a ball to fly toward him, bouncing off his chest, before he could even react. With pads, it didn’t hurt, but it was enough to make a point. 

“I hope you’re not saying that defense is the worst part of the team,” I growled, putting an exaggerated threatening display, enough to look comical compared to my usual attitude, Marcus chuckled while he panicked. “O-of course not,” the new player moved to follow Marcus, and they started working on the cornerback tricks. 

It was important to have good cornerbacks, so I tried to pay more attention to him, occasionally throwing on corrections and warnings toward him, at the cost of paying less attention to linemen's core. 

Soon, I sent a few more new players with little to no hand coordination to join them. They lacked the skill, but they had enough speed to keep the passing windows tight. 

As long as they were not tricked by the footwork of the receivers. 

I hoped that three days would be enough for that particular fact. 

I continued throwing the ball even as I turned to my next, even bigger problem. 

Who the hell was going to be the quarterback if I couldn’t play.