I was a top student in America.

On the morning of the match day, Li Ao was awakened precisely by his long-established biological clock.

After more than four hours of deep sleep, the fatigue accumulated from the previous day's high-intensity training and formula derivation had completely dissipated, leaving me feeling incredibly relaxed, comfortable, and refreshed.

The only problem is that in winter you have to layer on clothes.

Chicago was bitterly cold at the end of January, and the little heating in the house couldn't stop the chill from seeping in through the drafty windows.

He quietly slipped on his thick sweatshirt, put on his coat, and shuffled out of the bedroom in his slippers.

After pouring himself a glass of warm water in the kitchen, he went straight back to his desk.

The new idea he had jotted down on the gymnasium bench yesterday was still lying on his side. He opened his notebook and continued to work on yesterday's inspiration.

My thoughts quickly returned to the weighted Hermit-Adama inequality, and the pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound.

Before dawn, the old apartment building was eerily quiet; you could even hear the dripping of water from the pipes inside the walls.

Grandma's room was still dark.

After an unknown amount of time, the sky outside the window gradually turned a pale white, and a few muffled footsteps occasionally echoed in the stairwell.

Only when he heard the faint sound of the old man getting up next door did Li Ao finally stop writing, let out a long sigh, and relax his tense shoulders.

At this moment, a line of small text popped up on the system panel:

[Deriving new academic conclusions... Intelligence +0.1]

"We've finally taken another step forward."

That's right.

After nearly three hours of hard work, following yesterday's line of thought, he managed to tighten both the upper and lower bounds to a more refined form by introducing auxiliary convex functions and symmetricizing the weight functions.

Now, only the final finishing touches are needed to complete the two-sided proof.

The sense of accomplishment from creating something from scratch, from which new conclusions are painstakingly "carved out," is indeed much more satisfying than getting a perfect score on ten sets of AMC practice tests.

He closed the draft notebook with satisfaction.

After hastily shoveling down a few bites of breakfast, Li Ao called out into the house, "Grandma, I'm going out for a competition."

He had a bit more money in the past few days, so he went to a second-hand store and bought a bicycle that was about 60% new for commuting.

It only takes about ten minutes to cycle to school, which is much more convenient than waiting for that old and slow school bus every day.

As soon as I pushed the cart out of the apartment building, I saw Jamal already waiting at the intersection.

The two sped all the way to the school. Just as they locked their car next to the bike rack outside the school gate, they spotted a familiar figure standing by the bulletin board from afar.

Before Li Ao could speak, Jamal had already rolled his eyes dramatically.

"This kid is definitely here to corner you and ask you math questions again."

"Most likely." Li Ao nodded helplessly, pushed open the barbed wire gate, and went to meet them.

Ever since he surprisingly got a "B" in math on his final exams, Jay Chou's unruly street style has toned down considerably.

He rarely dozed off in class anymore, and in private he was like a leech, always bringing a math book to ambush Li Ao.

On the sports field, in the cafeteria, in the corridors, and even at the school bus station, whenever he gets the chance, he always asks math questions.

And you know what? After memorizing a set of techniques, Jay Chou's problem-solving speed visibly increased significantly.

Even though he could only guess a few more basic questions correctly, with his pitiful foundation, just being able to solve one question on his own was enough to make the kid grin from ear to ear for half a day.

"Just tell me, which question got you stuck on today?"

Li Ao stopped in front of him and took the initiative.

Jay chuckled and skillfully pulled a crumpled piece of draft paper from his bag, spreading it out between the two of them: "Leo, I spent most of last night at home working on this problem, and I really don't know how to solve it next."

He stopped laughing, his tone unusually serious: "I guessed half of the 'B' I got on the final exam, but this time I really want to figure it out. Just give me a hint, and I'll figure out the rest myself."

Li Ao glanced down at the problem on the paper, took the pen from Jay Chou's hand, scribbled down a formula, and casually circled a corner on the diagram next to it.

"The breakthrough is here; figure out the rest yourself."

After saying that, he shoved the paper and pen back into Jay Chou's arms and walked straight toward the locker room.

Just then, Taeshorn's two henchmen, Malik and Ricky, happened to stroll over from the parking lot. They spotted Jaylen scratching his head over a tattered piece of paper from afar and couldn't resist teasing him loudly:

"Hey, Jay's getting Leo extra help again? Final exams were only a few days ago, and I've seen him cornering Leo for help at least ten times already. What's gotten into this kid lately, pushing himself so hard?"

"It's tough on this guy," Malik chimed in, shaking his head with a smug grin. "Being around a monster like Leo, with his insane brain and physical abilities, all the time must be tough on him. But with Jay's lousy foundation, no matter how hard he tries, he's only destined to pass."

Ricky chuckled and remained silent, but his gaze lingered between Li Ao's departing figure and Jay Chou, who was scratching his head in place, with amusement.

As the group chatted idly, a yellow and black school team bus with its hazard lights flashing pulled up in front of the stadium and came to a steady stop on the side of the road with the hiss of its air brakes.

Today is a do-or-die match in the Southern League knockout stage.

Whether Wyndham High School can make it into the quarterfinals for the first time in its history hinges on this moment.

On the way to the competition venue, the bus was unusually stuffy. Even Jamal, who was usually the most talkative, turned his head to stare out the window and didn't utter a word for a long time.

Only when the bus smoothly drove into the parking lot did the almost frozen air inside the carriage begin to move.

In the locker room, head coach Durant walked in and stood at the front.

Captain TySean was the first to stand up, followed by the rest of the team, dozens of eyes fixed on their coach: "Coach!"

"Alright, everyone sit down."

Durant pressed his hand down, his voice still as indifferent as ever, "You guys all look so tense, like you're about to be hanged. Is it really necessary? It's just a game of basketball!"

A low chuckle rippled through the locker room, and the tense nerves relaxed slightly.

"I'm not going to go into the tactics anymore. We've already run all the necessary positions and practiced everything thoroughly."

Durant glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the group of teenagers. "I want to talk to you about something else. Wyndham has been around for seventy years, and the last time they made it to the Southern Conference Round of 16 was thirty years ago. Back then, I was about your age."

He withdrew his gaze, a fierce glint in his eyes behind his glasses:

"When you get on the field, there's no nonsense, just four words—you guys are strong!"

"In all the years I've led teams, you are the most courageous class I've ever led."

"Today, I'll have all your names engraved on the walls of the school's Hall of Fame!"

After uttering those harsh words, Durant abruptly turned around, his chest heaving, and didn't look back.

Jamal, who was in the corner, sniffed hard and wiped his eyes haphazardly.

Captain TySean stood up without saying a word, placing his right hand steadily above him.

Next, Jamal, Daryl, Jaylen... Li Ao finally reached out his hand, and one by one, his large palms silently overlapped.

Durant turned his head, caught a glimpse of the towering fists, and squeezed out two words through gritted teeth:

"Set off!"

According to the rules, a group photo must be taken before the start of the competition.

The team photographer unfurled the team flag on the sidelines.

The head coach and assistant coaches sat in the center, the starters stood in the front row, and Li Ao and the other substitutes stood side by side in the middle of the back row.

With a flash of the spotlight, the lineup that Wyndham had brought back to the playoffs after 30 years was captured on camera.

Perhaps it won't be long before this group photo is framed and hung on that long-empty wall in the school's Hall of Fame.

After the group photo was taken, the home team's warm-up DJ started the show.

No longer the previous light intro music, a hardcore rap song instantly ignited the sound system, the deafening drumbeats causing the wooden floor to tremble slightly.

The heavy bass surged up my ankles, mixing with the rough, hoarse rap coming from the speakers:

"Let's get it."

The drumbeats were almost in sync with my heartbeat.

"All eyes are on me now." The synthesizer's screeching echoed through the arena's ceiling. "This is the night... Let's go!"

Listening to the deafening roar around him, Li Ao stood at the entrance of the players' tunnel, squinting at the row of blinding spotlights.

He took a deep breath and forcibly cleared his mind of the unfinished proof of the weighted inequality.

The next second, he took a step and followed his teammates out of the passage.

The spotlight in the center of the field has illuminated the gleaming wooden floor, waiting for them to rewrite history.

……