"…Is your friend okay?"
"Don't worry, it's probably just exhaustion."
"Are you sure? His body is convulsing."
"Uh…"
Hopkins lay sprawled on the ground. He had never wished so desperately to pass out. His mind was still conscious, and every word of the conversation between Lance and Watt echoed painfully in his ears. Yet, he remained trapped in his own vomit, unable to move. This was a nightmare.
Yes, it had to be a nightmare.
Hopkins squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
"This is only the first day. What about the rest of the week? Your friend isn't going to disappear tomorrow, is he?"
"Haha, I knew it. You didn't go all out today, did you? I can't wait for tomorrow. I think you might actually survive the entire camp."
"…JJ, something's wrong with you. Are you implying that you expected people to drop out?"
"But not on the first day… right?"
Hopkins felt like his back and knees were full of arrows. Could someone just release him from this torture?
Finally, the medical team arrived.
Hopkins thought, Finally, this nightmare is over.
Then—
"JJ, don't worry. It's just exhaustion."
Another arrow pierced Hopkins' heart. At this point, all he could do was keep his eyes shut and wish for death. It wasn't until the medical team loaded him onto a stretcher and carried him away that he dared to tilt his head, clutching the blanket and silently shedding tears.
Humiliation. Absolute humiliation.
After that little episode, the "corpses" strewn across the training field began to stir, one by one, sitting up and slowly regaining focus.
If someone chose not to show up tomorrow, Lance wouldn't blame them.
Mahomes was drenched head to toe, fatigue written all over his face, his eyes dull and lifeless.
"Rook, now I finally get it. You were right… you weren't the only one."
Usually, on the Chiefs, this was Lance's daily routine: morning, afternoon, and evening training, followed by nighttime tactical meetings. It was so intense that the entire Chiefs team called him "The Devil."
Watt's training camp was no different, but the quality and intensity were a step higher. Mahomes strongly suspected that Watt had intentionally designed the program to push everyone right to their limits—just a bit past their breaking point but not enough to cause them to collapse. His goal was to drain every last drop of strength from each person.
A madman.
Lance had always said there were others more hardcore and dedicated than him, but nobody believed it.
Right now, Mahomes believed him.
It turns out, beyond the insane, there's always someone more insane.
Lance finally caught his breath. "See? I told you. I'm not the devil. You guys just don't understand the world yet."
Mahomes nodded obediently.
Then, from the side, Kelce's voice drifted over like a whispering ghost. "No, the rookie is the devil. JJ is also the devil. Now, it's the devil torturing the devil… and we're the sacrifices."
"What?" TJ exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Are you saying the rookie did this in Kansas City too…?"
Kelce turned his head, forcing out two crocodile tears. "Brother, now you finally understand our suffering."
Training finally came to an end.
Lance now understood why Watt consumed 7,000 calories a day—the equivalent of three fully grown adults. His workout routine required it.
After dinner, Kelce, Jordan, and the others could barely hold on. They trudged back to their rooms to sleep.
Initially, they all imagined that training in Miami, the "Sin City of the East Coast," would mean mixing work with pleasure—training during the day, partying at night. They had thought Watt would be lenient, understanding the allure of the beaches and nightlife.
Reality hit hard.
Now they finally understood why Watt never worried about temptation.
Lance wasn't any different.
Honestly, every cell in Lance's body was screaming in protest. His body remained at the dinner table, shoveling food into his mouth like a zombie, but his soul had already floated off to dreamland.
Yet, after dinner, Lance still bit his lip and made his way to Watt's villa—
To prepare for tactical training.
Amateurs always assumed that Watt succeeded purely because of his physical gifts and raw power. They imagined he bulldozed his way through opponents with brute strength. But the truth was different. Watt's tactical awareness was top-tier; he knew his role, understood his assignments, and used the smartest methods to accomplish his goals.
Training with Watt was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Lance didn't want to miss it.
He wasn't alone.
"Sherlock?"
Lance was just about to leave when he saw Mahomes, dragging his tired, battered body but still trying to hold his head up with determination. Lance couldn't hide his surprise.
"I thought after you finished talking with Brittany, you were going straight to bed."
Mahomes nodded slightly. "Trust me, I was ready to call it a night. But… Rookie, I can't shake what the Captain said."
Captain?
Smith?
"He said all eyes are always on the quarterback. We're like superheroes. But with great power comes great responsibility. It means we have to work harder than anyone else."
"Tactical training? You and JJ are going. How can I skip out?"
"I might not be the starter yet, but that doesn't mean I get to slack off."
"So…"
Mahomes took a deep breath and gave a big smile.
"I'm ready."
Lance spread his hands. "I was going to say… I should've learned my lesson from last night. Quality sleep is the key to good performance. If you don't want to repeat today's disaster, you should definitely rest…"
Mahomes: "But?"
Lance: "But, it's only the first day. For training to be effective, we need to build habits and set a routine. If we don't get our bodies and minds accustomed to it, we'll crash and burn in three days. It only gets harder from here."
"Sherlock, I'm worried I might fall asleep during the tactical meeting. Promise me, before ten o'clock, we're leaving to get some sleep."
"Otherwise…"
Phew.
Otherwise, tomorrow would be hell.
They didn't need words—Mahomes understood perfectly.
But—
Reality was slightly different.
Mahomes was practically falling asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open. As the tactical discussion dragged on, his eyelids felt heavier and heavier, and his mind started slipping into a fog.
Meanwhile, Lance grew more and more energized. He and Watt were firing on all cylinders, discussing plays, breaking down strategies, analyzing from both offensive and defensive angles. Their verbal sparring was electric, lighting up the room.
If it hadn't been for Villani keeping track of the time and reminding Lance that quality sleep was essential for quality training, they might have gone all night.
Lance and Watt promised to continue their discussion tomorrow. Lance then woke the half-asleep Mahomes, and the two trudged back to the villa.
As soon as Lance's head hit the pillow, he was out.
Exhaustion seeped into his very bones; not even the apocalypse could have woken him.
But surprisingly, just before wake-up time, his ears tuned in, catching the sharp ring of the phone—
He woke up.
"Good morning, Rookie. It's a beautiful day in Miami. Another perfect day for training. Still in bed? Oh, I'm almost disappointed."
The voice was honest and sincere, but the words… were infuriating.
So, does anyone know that Watt is this smug in private?
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Powerstones?
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