People in America: My Uncle Don Quixote

When head coach Dapol, along with his assistant coaches, data analysts, and other staff, entered the war room, he was somewhat surprised to find that the more than one hundred beasts, whose limbs were several times more developed than their brains, were sitting quietly in their seats like well-behaved children.

This piqued his interest. Although he didn't know the details, he instinctively felt that it was related to Levi. Looking at the people he had previously selected, many were quite troublesome, useful but requiring careful training, like that Darryl Fuck from Louisiana State! And Darryl? Why hadn't that troublemaker uttered a single word?

He had mentally prepared himself to give Darius a severe beating when he reviewed the videos and files, so he was somewhat surprised that no one was causing trouble. After looking around, he noticed that Darius had somehow removed his fake gold chain, and there was a very obvious red mark around his neck. He was sitting silently in the corner, his gaze fixed on the person sitting in the front.

Li Wei?

Dapol didn't know what had happened in the locker room, but he felt it seemed to be related to Levi.

Dapol coughed lightly twice and clapped his hands:

"Gentlemen, welcome to the New York Giants. I'm head coach Brian Dabow," he said. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on beating countless peers to get to stand in this conference room that represents the highest honor in football."

He snapped his fingers, and several assistant coaches behind him immediately came down with a thick stack of tablets, distributing them to each player present. "This is your bible for the next three days—the tactics manual," he pointed to the densely packed tactical codes on the large screen. "It contains all the offensive and defensive tactics we need to practice over these three days. Remember, this isn't some child's game like the NCA; it contains over 50 basic formations and over 300 derived tactical variations." "I'm only giving you three days," he held up three fingers. "This is the most basic test. If you can't pass the test in three days, then I can only say sorry." The conference room immediately echoed with the sound of laptop cases being flipped open, followed by a series of small but continuous gasps. For these muscle-bound guys, most of whom barely maintained a passing GPA, this tactical manual, like a book written in a foreign language, was more terrifying than calculus. Dapol and his men quietly left the conference room, called the war room, and when they returned, two hours had passed. Dapol, like a homeroom teacher during evening self-study, peered through the dark glass window in the door like a ghost. When he saw some athletes already resting and playing on their phones, he exchanged a glance with his old partner, offensive coordinator Mad Dog Marty. Marty was a short, stocky white old man with a neck as thick as a tree stump. He had a buzz cut, always chewing gum, and his eyes gleamed with an unsettling, manic light. He grinned knowingly, revealing a set of yellow teeth, and, hands behind his back, strolled slowly to the front of the class like a kind neighbor. "Hey, kids," his voice was surprisingly gentle, "Are you all settling in well? Are the chairs comfortable? If you're too cold, be sure to tell me." "Um..." A seemingly mild-mannered white backup quarterback in the second row raised his hand. He was an undrafted player from a D3 conference university named Timmy. Levi turned his head and recognized him.

The D3 League, to put it simply, is even worse than the school Travis went to.

"The coaching is alright. It's just that there are a bit too many tactical code names." Timmy swallowed, trying to show his eagerness to learn. "Especially regarding the defense under the 'Empty 3 Jet' formation, there are too many variations in the manual."

"Many? Oh, poor child."

Marty's smile widened. Chewing gum, he strolled leisurely over to Timmy's noodles, hands behind his back, and even considerately reached out to straighten his crooked glasses. "You're... Timmy, right?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Okay, Timmy. It's normal to think there are a lot of tactics." Marty's voice was as gentle as if he were soothing a child to sleep. "After all, in the D3 league, you guys probably just watch the coach wave a few signs with SpongeBob pictures on them on the sidelines and then throw the ball out, right?"

Timmy gave an awkward laugh: "I'll try my best to adapt, Coach."

"Working hard? That's a good thing."

"But Timmy," Marty suddenly pressed his stubble-covered face against Timmy's nose without warning, the distance between them less than a centimeter, "since you brought up this formation, then I'll test you." "In this formation, if the defending side doesn't set up a 'Protect 2' formation as usual, but instead drops down on the strong side, preparing to break through in the area, what's your emergency adjustment code?" Timmy paused, realizing he had just forgotten the specific code.

"...Um..." Timmy's forehead was covered in cold sweat, his fingers nervously twisting together under the table. "I...I think it should be..." *Snap!!!*

A loud bang.

"What do you think?!" Marty's roar exploded like thunder in the cramped operations room. The kind-looking uncle from before vanished instantly, replaced by a completely out-of-control mad dog. Only then did Levi realize that the person in front of him was the Marty that Dapol had mentioned in the office earlier.

"Are you playing a fucking guessing game with me? This is the NFL! Not your mommy's book club!"

"Your protection plan is 'what I think'? Ha!"

Marty's bloodshot eyes widened, and mimicking Timmy's timid tone, she screamed in an exaggerated manner:

"So on game day, when those 300-pound defensive ends are bulldozing your ribs to pieces and piercing your lungs, will you be lying on a stretcher grabbing the paramedic's hand and saying, 'Doctor, I think I can still be saved!'"

The entire room fell silent.

"By the way," he adjusted his breathing, instantly reverting to his previous kind old man demeanor, "the emergency adjustment code is marked on page 12 of this manual, in bold black font, size 2. And you've been reading this manual for a full two hours, so Timmy, can you tell me what you've been doing for the past two hours? Texting your boyfriend? Or picking out a suitable male companion on Blued?" He straightened his collar, looking at the somewhat stunned Timmy: "Get out of my meeting room with your 'I think'! Now! Immediately! You air-wasting piece of trash! You don't even deserve to breathe this air conditioning! Wipe the chair you just sat on clean before you leave!"

Timmy, dejected, put down his tablet and ran out of the conference room crying, amidst the sympathetic gazes of over a hundred people.

Marty seemed to feel a little unsatisfied; he smacked his lips and looked around.

This gave him a perfect view of Li Wei, who was sitting in the middle of the first row, watching the show unfold, and the book in Li Wei's hand: "Mathematical Models in Asset Management Courses." "Tell me, our big star, do you think you're all set?" He walked up to Li Wei, looking down at him. "What are you holding?" "This is my university textbook," Li Wei shrugged. "I've already finished reading the tactics manual that was handed out."

Although Li Wei's memory isn't perfect, he can still memorize short-term photos. Besides, memorizing the playbook and arranging plays is a quarterback's job, so he only spent two hours memorizing the entire manual. After reviewing it a couple more times, he'll have almost memorized it all. "Finished? Okay, let's see what the difference is between the signed superstar quarterback and the recently kicked-out D3 quarterback." Marty suddenly raised his voice: "In the 'Empty 3 Jet' formation, if you call out the emergency adjustment command 'Rio,' but the weak-side safety doesn't drop back, but suddenly drops down to block your X receiver's cross-court run, who's your second option? How does the protection plan change?!"

"If the weak-side safety drops to block the diagonal, the original 'Rio' protection plan automatically disengages. The center slides to the left to protect the linebacker, letting the strong-side linebacker in for the running back to finish." "As for the order..." Levi shook a finger, "The X receiver is just a decoy. At this point, the Z receiver sprints straight ahead, attacking the deep area left by the safety's drop." "Also, if you're going to ask," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "that's on page 45, paragraph 3, Coach Marty, you might not be able to answer that question for anyone else." "Watch..." Marty squeezed out a strange sound from his throat, chewing his gum a few times as if trying to swallow his embarrassment. In the end, he did accidentally swallow the gum.

"very good."

After struggling for a while, Marty finally managed to utter two words.

Li Wei shrugged and continued reading his book, "Mathematical Models in Asset Management Courses".

Just now, while he was flipping through a textbook that was said to be one of the most difficult courses for undergraduates at Yale University, another task suddenly popped up, and this task was related to Don Quixote and the Royal Knights Academy he had mentioned some time ago:

You've found it: the Royal Knights Academy's preparatory textbook.

To enter the Royal Knight Academy, one needs not only sufficient strength but also ample knowledge. Memorize and master its contents to gain the Royal Knight Academy's approval. [Quest Reward: +0.1 Free Attribute Points]

The days that followed were monotonous and boring. The rookies were all subdued by Li Weizhi and dared not misbehave during training.

Perhaps only when the 53-man roster is finally formed will those veterans need him to give them a good talking-to.

For the next two days, Li Wei's life consisted of monotonous training and eating the meals prescribed by the nutritionist. Because his appetite was so large, and he dared not eat too much for fear that the nutritionist would discover that his metabolism should not be so high yet he had not gained weight, Li Wei even made up the excuse of high aerobic consumption in order to eat a little more.

He had previously wondered why his energy consumption was so high, and later deduced that the majority of it was probably consumed by the Silver Body passive ability. He could only hope that the issue would be resolved when all attributes reached version 3.0. He hadn't come away empty-handed in these three days; at least he had finished studying the book "Mathematical Models," although he hadn't fully understood it yet. But that didn't matter; the system had accepted it. [Spirit 2.6] - [Spirit 2.7]

Now Li Wei only needs another 0.3 attribute points to evolve.

On Sunday evening, the setting sun cast a golden glow over the New Jersey Giants' training ground, like a pool of molten gold.

For most of the trial players, this was a brutal moment. Dapol and Marty, among others, were in the office, crossing out names one by one on the list with red pens; each stroke meant the shattering of a young man's professional dream.

But for Li Wei, it was just another ordinary weekend.

The area outside was already packed with buses, ready to take the unsuccessful players to the airport. A sense of farewell and dejection hung in the air. However, a deep, furious roar of engines broke the silence.

A matte black Mercedes G800 BRABUS, like a steel behemoth, roared through the afterglow of the setting sun and arrogantly stopped at the entrance of the training center. The door opened, and a long, straight leg encased in black stockings stepped out first. Anya took off her sunglasses, revealing a delicate, elfin face that glowed white in the sunset. She wore a black leather jacket over a tight white T-shirt, and her black hair flew in the wind.

She walked up and gave Levi a generous kiss, then naturally took his arm, making the other unselected players around them look even more dejected and miserable. Just as the two were about to leave, Mad Dog Marty came over chewing new gum, with Dapol following behind.

"You've had a tough few days," Mad Dog Marty said politely. "Brian has a newly opened shooting range nearby. Interested in going to relax together?" "I..." Levi was about to refuse when he saw Anya's expectant look and changed his mind, "Shall we go together?" Although New York is a blue state, it doesn't mean everyone is blue. For example, Dapol and Marty are a pair of die-hard rednecks. Levi suspected that he opened a private shooting range just to satisfy his collecting obsession and shooting desires.

Just like Chinese boys like to collect figurines, American redneck old boys like to collect guns.

The walls of the shooting range were covered with all sorts of firearms, from classic AR-15s to slightly retro M1911s, and even an AKM that looked like it had been brought back from Iraq. "Try this, big star," Marty tossed the AKM to Levi, "7.62mm. This isn't the kind of thing you're going to use to shoot turkeys; this is for going through hoods and level 3 body armor. This is the kind of thing a man should be using."

Li Wei caught it with one hand. It felt heavy and substantial.

He glanced at the row of thick, golden 7.6239mm bullets in the magazine, his brow furrowing slightly. "What's wrong?" Anya asked with concern, noticing the change in Levi's expression. She removed her earmuffs. "Was the butt of the rifle pressing against your ribs uncomfortable?" "No..." Levi shook his head, cocking the gun. "I just remembered something."

"Da da da da da da!"

The gun muzzle spewed orange-red flames, and the huge roar made Li Wei's eardrums sting slightly.

Several plastic buckets filled with water, dozens of meters away, instantly exploded—not just with a hole, but the entire bucket was torn apart, water and plastic fragments exploding into a cloud of white mist in the air. "Brian!" Marty jumped up and down, "Didn't you buy a big one? Show it to us!"

"Fuck! You big mouth!" Head coach Dapol took a long strip wrapped in camouflage cloth from a shelf in the corner. "Couldn't you have left a little surprise?" He lifted the camouflage cloth.

A black, brutally rugged Barrett W8ZA1 anti-materiel sniper rifle lay there silently.

On the table next to me were several 12.7mm bullets. The bullets were as big as small carrots.

Marty chuckled, grabbed a bullet, and shoved it into Levi's hand.

"Feel its weight. This thing doesn't need to hit the head. Just a graze on the arm and that arm is gone; if it hits the torso..." Marty made an explosive gesture, "the coroner or any kind of body collector won't even be able to piece the body together, they'll have to use a shovel to dig it up."

Li Wei held the cold, heavy, and even somewhat clumsy bullet in his hand.

His current [Silver Body 3/4] can only withstand the kinetic energy of a 9mm pistol bullet at most. He felt it when he was using the AKM just now. His body would be penetrated by a 7.62mm assault rifle, and once he encountered a 12.9mm sniper rifle bullet...

A sense of crisis suddenly rose in his mind.

In China, the personal collection of a respectable professional football team head coach is enough to arm an entire platoon. If he offends someone, and that person sets up a sniper rifle 800 meters away in the wild... Free America, gunfights every day.

If someone doesn't want him to play, if the power struggle escalates to the point of physical elimination... his current defenses are far from sufficient. No, not strong enough, he thought. He couldn't entrust his life to the emotional stability of a redneck, he couldn't become complacent just because he'd had too many good days. He still needed to continue working hard on his missions and improve his physical fitness as quickly as possible.

Dapol and Marty, seeing Levi's gaze fixed on the bullets, assumed he was stunned by the power of American Iaijutsu and the destructive force of human weapons. If they knew Levi was contemplating when his physical body could withstand an anti-materiel sniper rifle, they wondered what expressions would form on their faces. That would certainly be quite a spectacle.