The lobby manager was alarmed and came over to ask what was going on. Only then did she find out that the four girls had made it clear from the start: “We’re just here to practice casually, we don’t need a coach.” But David Miller insisted on giving explanations, pestering them, and even got handsy, touching them here and there. The girls finally lost their temper.

However, Coach Miller claimed, “I just wanted to offer some guidance and, through enthusiastic service, try to get them to sign up for a membership.”

The lobby manager Linda Grant knew exactly what David Miller was up to—this guy had a very mixed bag of tricks.

To make money, Coach Miller was willing to provide all kinds of services to old and unattractive rich women, both legal and not-so-legal, and he was also happy to flirt with young, pretty girls, maybe play a friendly match or something.

First, Mr. Grant apologized to the customers, waived their bill, and sent them off with kind words. Then she started to look for who was responsible.

Strangely, she aimed her criticism in a completely unexpected direction.

“Jason Ford, since you were in charge of reception, why didn’t you follow up? The customers already said they didn’t need a coach!”

Coach Miller also glared at Jason Ford, eyes full of anger. “If you could have handled the rest of the service, would I have ended up like this?”

Jason Ford’s pride was not just a rumor. Hearing this, he threw the rag in his hand to the floor, shot Mr. Grant a cold look, and said, “I never begged Coach Miller to take over. When he kicked me out, he didn’t even look at me… Now he’s stealing my clients and thinks he’s in the right?”

“What kind of attitude is that?” Mr. Grant’s voice turned shrill. “Is that how you talk to your supervisor?”

Jason Ford turned and walked out. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going back to rest!”

At this point, he had already made up his mind—he wasn’t going to stay in this dump any longer.

Then he bought a pack of beer, went back to the dorm, and drank slowly, all the while pondering: Where should I go after quitting?

Although Zhengyang was a quasi-sub-provincial city, it wasn’t easy to find a job here. Waiter, errand boy, mover—those were easier to get, but jobs suitable for someone with his double degree were really hard to find.

Back when he wandered around Zhengyang for more than half a month, he couldn’t find a suitable job. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have ended up at the fitness club.

Of course, going back to his hometown was also an option. His hometown was a small county; his parents ran a small business and had some local connections, so finding a job wouldn’t be too hard. If all else failed, he could just take over the family stall.

However, as a double-degree graduate from a 985 university, how could Jason Ford be willing to go back? He couldn’t bear to leave the prosperity of the big city, and he couldn’t stand the loss of face.

Staring out the window at a scene that looked like the end of the world, he wondered whether he should quit now or wait until he got his paycheck.

After more than two years, he hadn’t saved much money. Even counting the job-hunting money his parents sent him, he had just over ten thousand yuan in his account. Even his phone was a freebie from topping up his mobile plan. Though it claimed to be a smartphone, it was basically a phone for the elderly.

He didn’t know when it started, but big raindrops began to fall outside, hitting the window with a “bang bang” sound.

Each flash of lightning was brighter than the last, and the thunder rumbled endlessly.

Jason Ford finished the half bottle of baijiu left in the dorm, then drank seven or eight bottles of beer. Feeling tipsy, he wanted to call a friend. He picked up his old phone, only to find it had just three percent battery left.

He plugged in the charger, then collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Before falling asleep, he still remembered to clutch his phone in his hand. In a low-end staff dorm like this, things getting stolen was the norm—he’d lost money more than once. In places with lots of transient people, short-term behavior was inevitable.

The daily life of the working class was truly hard—talking about it just brought tears…

He didn’t know how long he’d slept when suddenly a flash of lightning lit up the window, so bright he couldn’t open his eyes. At the same time, an arc of electricity shot along the charger cable toward the old smartphone.

Jason Ford was jolted awake by a thunderclap—it sounded like it was right next to his ear, so loud it felt like the sky was falling. Even half-asleep, he shot upright, hair standing on end.

Still shaken, he looked around and saw that a crack had appeared in the middle of the window glass. “No way, that lightning… was less than three hundred meters away?”

Then he felt a sharp pain in his hand. Looking down, he saw he was still clutching the old phone, but the charging cable… why had it turned black?

He sniffed and caught the smell of burning rubber in the air…

Before he could react, shouts came from the next room.

“Damn, the TV’s smoking! This thunder is insane!”

“Damn it, doesn’t this building have a lightning rod?”

Jason Ford’s dorm was in a four-story tube-shaped building. It was old, but it did have a lightning rod.

But the lightning was just too strong, too close. A lightning rod wasn’t a cure-all. That thunderbolt damaged at least fifty TVs around the building, and nearly a hundred landline phones, routers, and WiFi devices.

Jason Ford wasn’t too interested in the losses outside. What he cared about was: Was his phone fried?