“Sam, Brian already talked to you about this. You can't just judge someone so casually. I think he's pretty good. Did you see how hard he trained yesterday and today? I really admire that about him.”

“What's the point of working hard? Someone from such an unknown high school, no matter how hard he tries, it's useless.”

As soon as Sam Clancy said this, Trepagnier's face showed displeasure, and he was silent for several seconds.

At this moment, Edward Thompson pushed open the door and came out, giving Sam Clancy a sidelong glance like a Grand Inspector and said, “The high school genius who’s a substitute for Little Lanbier.”

Without paying any more attention to the now red-faced Sam Clancy, Edward Thompson said to Trepagnier, “Come on, let's go get lunch. I'm starving.”

Trepagnier nodded and also ignored Sam Clancy, leaving together with Edward Thompson.

Sam Clancy wanted to rush up and start a fight—he’d been hit where it hurt.

But he didn’t dare, just like when he faced humiliation from Shelby Jordan.

Although his bad reputation brought Edward Thompson a lot of trouble, it also gave him one advantage—most people who knew him didn’t dare mess with him.

……

After lunch, Edward Thompson went home and collapsed.

He had originally planned to train both morning and afternoon, but after his nap, he felt completely done for.

His whole body was sore!

He decisively chose to sprawl on the sofa and play Contra.

The next morning, he called the Brown team’s basketball club office, intending to ask if Brown could train today.

Although he was still half-crippled, he was young, and already much better than yesterday. He thought he could at least practice shooting.

But it was Henry Bibby who answered the phone. When he heard Edward Thompson ask about training, Henry Bibby immediately snapped, “Are you trying to die? What kind of joke is that? If you want to die so badly, just stay in bed.”

Before Edward Thompson could retort, Henry Bibby hung up. When he called back, the call was immediately cut off. Edward Thompson raged helplessly in the living room for a long time.

Around noon, Vivian knocked on the door and called Edward Thompson to her room. He thought there would be lunch, but instead...

“Ow, ow, ow...”

“Slower...”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...”

“It’s broken, my arm’s going to break...”

“Wait... wait a second...”

“...”

“...”

Listening to Edward Thompson’s cries, Vivian considered adding soundproofing to the room.

If the neighbors next door heard this, how could she explain? Luckily, it was the weekend and the neighbors had all gone out early.

After a full hour of torment, Edward Thompson was completely spent, lying on the massage table not even wanting to move a finger.

Vivian said to the therapist who was packing up the massage equipment, “Thank you for your hard work, Jack.”

The muscular man called Jack laughed, “Call me anytime you need. The boss said your needs come first. Oh, and make sure this kid gets up and moves around more. After exercise, you can’t just lie down, or you’ll put pressure on the active muscles and affect the results.”

“Help me thank your boss...”

After seeing the therapist out, Vivian came to the massage table, poked the limp-as-mud Edward Thompson, and said, “Next time after training, remember to tell me. I’ll have Jack come give you therapy. He’s the star therapist at the Wright Rehabilitation Center—his skills are excellent.

I thought you were just playing around with the basketball team, but I didn’t expect you to take it so seriously. Even Henry said you made him see you in a new light.”

“Again?” Edward Thompson jumped up: “No way, Aunt Vivian, I’m still young. I think I can do without therapy! It hurts too much, I’m afraid of pain.”

“Are you kidding? Their company doesn’t give refunds. I spent all my new-shoe money on this, and you’re telling me you’re too scared for therapy? Fine, don’t do it, but you owe me a pair of shoes!”

“I love therapy! I’ll do it! Thank you so much, Aunt Vivian, for hiring such an excellent therapist for me.”

Vivian nodded in satisfaction. “Then get up and make lunch, I’m hungry. I’ve already had the groceries delivered.”

“I trained so hard and I still have to cook?”

“The therapist said you shouldn’t just lie around, you need moderate exercise. Besides, I spent so much money, you have to give me something in return, right? Dinner’s on you too.”

“...”

Chapter 7: 1.6x Bonus!

Time passed day by day, and soon it was mid-September.

The USC fall semester’s intramural basketball tournament had begun.

All the men and women in the basketball club, whether ordinary members, starters, or substitutes, were assigned to represent their respective departments in the campus games.

Except for Edward Thompson. When he asked Henry Bibby why he wasn’t assigned to play, the latter replied, “Your department can’t even beat the art department.”

This was the first time he truly longed to play in a game.

But the reality was, he just wasn’t good enough. If he had the skills of the art department’s Brandon Granville, even if he was from the computer science department, the varsity team would have arranged for him to play.

The start of his basketball career was nothing like the grand, dramatic journey he had imagined.

Every time he went to the gym, it was training, training, and more training—and it was always the most boring, most grueling fundamental drills.