Coach Miller's Proposal (Second Update, 23:30)

Saturday morning, at the border between Brooklyn and Queens, Franklin K. Lane High School.

It was a day off. Aside from a few Mexican janitors, the classroom building was completely empty.

Li Wei walked through the corridors. For the first time, he didn't smell marijuana or cigarette smoke anywhere in the school.

When he arrived at the field, he was somewhat surprised to find that it seemed to be occupied by only him and Coach Miller.

"You know the school rules say teachers and students can't be alone one-on-one, right?" Li Wei set down his bag and joked, "And I'm still a minor."

"Fuck, what are you talking about?" Coach Miller was crouching beside the five-yard line, pouring a bag of footballs into the net. "The field is open. The school rule only says we can't be in a private space."

After setting out several obstacles, he clapped his hands and stood up, picking up a stopwatch and a scoreboard from the grass nearby.

"The game's next week. I need to evaluate your abilities a little," he said as he walked over. "Otherwise, how am I supposed to use you when the time comes?"

"First event, the 40-yard dash," he said, pointing at the lines drawn nearby as he stuffed a whistle into his mouth. "Start on my whistle. Run like you're sucking a woman's nipples—the faster, the better."

Li Wei shrugged, changed into running shoes, and began the tests one by one.

He didn't use Berserk, nor did he go all out. Even so, he still ran the 40 yards in 4.47 seconds.

"Mm, 4.47..." Coach Miller's heart churned like a stormy sea, but his face remained utterly still. "Not bad..."

It was far more than not bad. Even in the professional leagues, only elite running backs could break 4.4 seconds.

"Next is passing." He picked up a football from the net and threw it hard to Li Wei, then pointed at a moving target forty yards away. "Let me see your arm strength and accuracy."

In football, a quarterback had to make split-second decisions after receiving the ball—whether to rush with it himself or pass it to a teammate.

Therefore, aside from judgment and speed, passing accuracy was especially important.

Li Wei caught the football and weighed it in his hand, feeling the friction between his palm and the rough leather.

With 1.9 Strength, the ball in his hand felt as light as a wad of cotton.

He didn't know how to generate force like a conventional quarterback by twisting his waist and driving his hips. Or rather, he didn't need to.

Li Wei simply raised his arm. His upper arm drove his wrist, leaving an afterimage through the air.

Bang!

The football did not sail through the air in a soft rainbow arc. Instead, like a cruise missile fired from its launcher, it traveled in an almost perfectly straight line and slammed into the distant tire, striking its rubber sidewall with savage force.

The tire, secured by a thick iron chain, was knocked swinging violently backward. Even the entire goalpost trembled.

"Tremendous power... terrible throwing mechanics," Coach Miller swallowed and muttered, "...This is fucking insane."

Over the next hour, through the standing broad jump, vertical jump, 20-yard shuttle, and three-cone drill, Li Wei—despite deliberately holding back—easily broke Franklin High School's historical records. Some of his results, even when timed with a handheld stopwatch, had already surpassed the national high school records for all of America.

"Well?" Li Wei walked over without even breathing hard. "Anything else you want to test?"

His 1.9 Constitution had greatly boosted his endurance, bringing it level with his Strength.

Based on Li Wei's observations and calculations, an attribute value of 2.5 should be roughly equivalent to the current human world record. So far, there probably wasn't anyone who could reach that value in all three attributes at once.

For example, someone might be able to reach 2.4 or 2.5 in Strength alone, but their corresponding body weight would be far greater, while their Agility and Constitution would be much lower.

Others might be able to run extremely fast, but their endurance and upper-body strength would be far inferior to the first type.

Only Li Wei could be called a perfectly balanced fighter, developing Strength, Agility, and Constitution across the board, with top-tier strength, explosiveness, and endurance.

Thanks, me. Li Wei looked at the panel. You've worked hard adding those points.

Coach Miller closed the scoreboard. When he looked at Li Wei again, even his tone had softened considerably.

"Damn, you're a fucking genius—I mean, you're very talented," he said. "You don't need to take part in regular physical training anymore. Um... when you have time, you can practice some boxing and learn how boxers generate power. Your throwing is just too ugly. Don't throw directly with arm strength. You need to learn to generate power like this—"

As he spoke, he demonstrated the motion: driving off the ground, rotating his hips, transferring force from his core to his shoulder, then through his arm as he threw.

Li Wei silently nodded in agreement.

"That's about it. With your current numbers, you could get into any D1 university," Coach Miller said. "But I want to ask you something now. Which college do you want to go to? Ohio State? Or the University of Michigan?"

They were all NCAA powerhouses, among the very best football schools.

However, Li Wei shook his head. "I want to go to an Ivy League school, like Yale or something. Harvard would be fine too."

The moment he said that, the veins on Coach Miller's forehead bulged, and he nearly started swearing again.

"Why?" he asked. "Yale and Harvard—I remember their football programs aren't that strong, are they? You'd get better training at Ohio State or the University of Michigan."

Li Wei's reason for not wanting to attend those traditional athletic powerhouses was simple.

If he were some ignorant country bumpkin, or if he planned to spend his entire life in the sports industry, then Ohio State or the University of Michigan might be suitable, because those schools had broader middle-class and sports-industry alumni networks.

But if he wanted to keep making it in America and climb higher, Yale and Harvard undoubtedly offered better circles. And in the minds of Americans, Yale carried even greater recognition than Harvard.

If he could get into Tsinghua or Peking University, why would he go to a sports college?

"I still want to go to Yale or Harvard," Li Wei said. "It's my own decision."

"Fine, it's up to you," Coach Miller said after thinking for a moment. "But Ivy League schools generally don't offer athletic scholarships. Have you earned enough for your college tuition?"

Li Wei didn't mention his part-time job at a boutique or the scholarship applications he was working on. He only vaguely said that he was still far short.

Coach Miller's lips immediately curled upward, before he quickly coughed twice.

"By the way, kid," he said, "you really haven't taken anything? Never used a steroid cycle?"

"Never. I'm completely natural." Li Wei spread his hands. "At least a hundred people have asked me that already."

"That's good," Coach Miller said. "So... do you want to make some extra money? You know, help me out with something, and maybe you can earn all four years of college tuition while you're at it."

"What?"