Chapter 59: Chapter 54: Knight Fighting Art

The next day, Li Wei suddenly realized that after becoming famous overnight, it was no longer possible for him to fly under the radar at school.

As he walked down the hallways, the high school football and basketball players who had previously ignored him now either stepped aside, gave him a fist bump, or tried to high-five him.

"Hey! Li, you were on fire yesterday!"

Some even joked about getting a picture and an autograph from him, so that when he won the Super Bowl and became a household name in the United States of America, they could brag to everyone that he was their classmate.

The girls passing by would whisper in small groups, their gazes drifting toward Li Wei as if they were hooked.

The more reserved girls started asking their friends for Li Wei’s phone number and contact information.

"Wang, look, isn’t that Li Wei?"

By the bulletin board at the end of the hall, an Indian girl nudged the Chinese boy next to her and said, "I heard he was incredible yesterday and saved the day. He’s a school celebrity now! Hey! Do you have his contact info?"

"A celebrity?" The Chinese boy frowned and said reluctantly, "Less than 2% of players from the NCAA even make it to the NFL, and besides, there’s never been a starting quarterback of Asian descent in the NCAA. It’s just a fleeting moment of glory, a complete waste of time."

"I think you’re just jealous," the Indian girl next to him rolled her eyes. "Wang Haoran, you’re just jealous because he’s Asian like you and he’s the one who’s popular, aren’t you?"

Wang Haoran lowered his head and awkwardly pulled down his sleeves, covering the yellow skin of his arms.

"I’m not jealous of him," he said, pushing up his glasses and forcing himself to continue. "Look, if he didn’t have those half-white genes that make him look white, do you think the cheerleading captain would even give him a second glance? Wait ten years. When he can’t play professionally anymore, is covered in injuries, and ends up on the street, he’ll see. It’s not like there’s a shortage of homeless people on the streets of New York, right?"

Just as he was about to say more, Li Wei happened to walk by, followed by members of the football team and the cheerleading squad.

Wang Haoran was like a little chick with something caught in its throat. He forcefully swallowed the words he was about to say and walked silently toward a classroom on the third floor.

...

In the afternoon, Li Wei arrived at the practice field, pushed open the door to the locker room, and opened his locker. A cheap, sweet scent of strawberries and perfume immediately wafted out.

A pair of pink lace panties was hanging on his practice uniform. A phone number, written in lipstick, looked particularly provocative under the warm yellow light.

"Uh..." Li Wei held up the panties and asked his teammates, "Is this some kind of prank?"

"FUCK! Li Wei got lucky again!" Travis let out an exaggerated wail. "A girl stuffed her panties in his locker!"

His dramatic cry drew everyone else in the locker room over, and they all started gossiping excitedly:

"You guys think these are new or used?"

"They’ve gotta be new! Are you saying she snuck into the locker room, took off her panties, stuffed them in Li Wei’s locker, and then ran out?"

"You’re a real pervert, you know that? Couldn’t she have just brought a spare pair?"

"But what if..."

Li Wei, however, wasn’t particularly interested in this kind of invitation. There were only a few girls at Franklin K. Lane High School who he found attractive, and they had all already given him their phone numbers, Instagram accounts, and other contact info.

’Anyone who had to resort to this method would likely be a disappointment.’

Besides, they were a fucking gigantic pair of panties, at least a size XXXXL—and an American size XXXXL at that.

Li Wei felt that Manu, the massive lineman, could probably fit into them.

"If you like them so much, you can contact her," he said, using a tissue to pick up the panties and tossing them to Travis. "I’m not interested."

Travis acted as if he’d found a treasure. Just as he was about to lean in for a sniff, Coach Miller’s booming voice echoed into the locker room, "Film session! Everyone assemble now!"

Film sessions were usually for reviewing game footage and explaining tactics.

Since yesterday’s game had basically been the Li Wei show while everyone else played like crap, this film session turned into Coach Miller unilaterally ripping into the thirty or forty other players. No one was spared except for Li Wei.

Li Wei heard the most creative, endless stream of insults and brilliant metaphors he’d ever encountered in his life.

Toward the end, probably to balance the team’s mood and assert his authority, Coach Miller casually criticized Li Wei’s throwing motion:

"Li Wei, your throwing form is the ugliest I’ve ever seen! Dammit, you’re excused from team practice this week. Go find a boxing gym and work on your power generation!"

Li Wei could actually understand Coach Miller’s obsession with proper form. It was like a basketball coach watching a shooting prodigy on his team who, despite his talent, took every shot standing straight up and using two hands—awkward and ugly...

Laughter erupted from the players. Craig, the injured starting quarterback, sat in the corner with an ice pack on his knee, laughing the loudest.

"Laughing? You’ve got the nerve to laugh?!"

Coach Miller whipped his head around, the red dot of his laser pointer landing on Craig’s face. "Li Wei’s throw is ugly, but he can sling it 40 yards! He can scramble into the end zone with a running back hanging off his waist! You, Craig, you roll around on the ground like some scared little chick seeing a dick for the first time. Did that ever get you a single point?"

The entire room fell dead silent.

"Starting today, Li Wei is officially the starter. Craig, when your leg heals, you’ll be the backup for the first team," Miller announced coldly. "Dismissed!"

Since the film session ran late, Li Wei didn’t go to his part-time job on the Upper East Side.

As he left the school, Li Wei kept replaying the movements Coach Miller had demonstrated: plant the foot, rotate the hips, transfer power through the core, and then the arm follows.

The school bus wound through the streets of Brooklyn. Li Wei sat by the window, his gaze sweeping past the cheap fast-food joints and tattoo parlors lining the road.

It felt like Brooklyn had at least twenty times more tattoo parlors than China. Here, tattoos seemed to be a commonplace sight; even Coach Miller, a school teacher, had extensive tattoos.

Suddenly, a weathered storefront caught his eye—the Iron Blood Boxing and Muay Thai Gym.

Li Wei thought for a moment, then casually pressed the stop bell, got off the bus, and walked into the gym.

The moment he pushed open the gym’s main door, he heard the panel pop up again:

[You have arrived at the ’Fighting Academy’]

[This ancient Fighting Academy holds the secrets of the Knight Fighting Art]

[Knight Fighting Art (Passive Skill): Mastery of hand-to-hand combat skills, slightly increases body coordination]

[This is a difficult skill to acquire. You must train at the Fighting Academy 3 times and defeat 1 powerful opponent each time to obtain this skill]

’Powerful opponent?’ Li Wei glanced at the panel and walked forward with a smile.

’Makes sense,’ he thought. ’In the system’s eyes, even Don Quixote was a powerful Knight anointed by a Duke.’