"Wow, it's a nice stadium, much better than the little marble place that they had built to entertain that jerk," my guide said even as I found a parking place near the entrance before floating forward, examining the stadium.

I had a sinking feeling that that jerk was Zeus once again, and the little stadium was probably the stadium built for original Olympic games, famously dedicated for the honor of Zeus.

She certainly had a unique way of name-dropping.

I ignored that particular nugget — which was getting increasingly easier, especially since she didn't have the ability to interact with anything except me — and slammed the door close. Luckily, the car didn't break down, allowing me to arrive at the correct time.

After a small pause where I picked my sports bag from the trunk, I walked toward a desk at the entrance, with a sign marking it as the registration booth for the practice squad. The desk was manned by a tall, blonde guy, muscular enough to suggest that he was a part of the team. His general disinterest and smugness as he pushed a paper toward me suggested he was not a part of the practice squad, but the team.

"Are you here for the try-outs?" he asked, not bothering to raise his gaze from his phone.

"Yes," I said, suppressing the temptation to state whether it was obvious. No need to anger team members.

"Fill the form first," he said, his eyes still down.

I didn't try to make small talk, not when he clearly treated his job as a nuisance.

I quickly filled the form, a simple one that asked for various personal information, along with the current department and the affiliated sports discipline, if any. While I filled my form, I checked the other papers. They were mostly track athletes, with a smattering of basketball players.

I was the only chess player. Shocking.

"Done," I said and pulled it. The blond guy took it with a grunt, but before I could take more than two steps away, he shouted. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To the locker room," I answered, confused at his weird reaction.

"Not before you fill the form properly."

"What do you mean?" I asked with a frown. "It's filled properly."

"Nonsense,' he said, though I only understood his point when he raised the form, his finger on the affiliated discipline, which said blitz chess.

"Yes," I said with a sigh of resignation, realizing where it was about to go. "I'm a part of the chess team."

He looked at my face incredulously, trying to see if I was joking, but seeing no hint of humor, he grabbed my form, and ripped it off. "Fuck off and play with your little dolls, nerd. We don't want weaklings in our team."

I was ready to calmly argue my point unnecessarily in order to avoid trouble with my future teammate. Unfortunately, for the blonde giant who decided my current discipline was a good reason to kick me out.

Normally, it would be the time I threw a punch. Not because I was furious, but because years of experience back in the high school football team taught me that physical violence was always a good way to communicate feelings between teammates.

And my years in my street taught me that the first punch was an excellent way of winning the fight.

However, this time, I wanted to try a different approach, and test the brand new Intimidation Trait I had received, but failed to test during the game.

How kind was my newest teammate, volunteering to be a tests subject.

"Oh, really," I said, a snarl already on my face as I took an aggressive step forward, my shoulders tense. My stance was different than the one I used back in the chess tournament when I was trying to intimidate my opponents. There, I was silent yet confident, like a lion prowling lazily among a herd of helpless gazelle.

But here, I was retaliating against aggression, like the leader of the lion pride, ready to teach the arrogant little hyena a lesson about not angering the wrong king.

Even without the benefit of my new Trait, I had all the confidence of breaking down an arrogant football player who had been unimportant enough to be relegated to the reception desk, albeit with a couple of punches thrown in.

This time, I didn't need to. The Intimidation Trait helped to convey my willingness to fight perfectly.

And facing against someone actually willing to fight, my potential teammate was quick to take a step back, literally as well as metaphorically. "Maybe you're not soft for a chess player," he murmured, trying to sound cheerful, but failing to do so. My smirk just widened. "Why don't you fill the form again and we call this a bonding exercise."

"I already did," I said, putting just enough threatening growl to enhance the effect. He gulped before turning and picking up the pieces of paper he had thrown, pulling a new form to fill himself.

Only then, I walked away, happy with the success of the last field test of my mysterious Traits.

Though, I didn't want to overestimate the effects of Intimidation just because of some success. The guy I just faced was tall and muscular, but that didn't change the fact that he was soft. Maybe even the softest on the team despite his size.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have been kicked to handle the boring task of handling the newcomers.

"What a rude boy," my guide finally chimed in with a frown as she looked at him dismissively. I just shrugged. Though I was glad that her apparent innocence didn't extend to objecting to intimidating others.

Luckily, they thought about putting some signs to direct the newcomers to the assigned locker room. "Do you want to come inside?" I said with a smirk.

"N-no," she said, choosing to stay outside, blushing cutely.

I chuckled even as I entered a relatively empty locker room, a few people changing. I took some shared gear piled from the table, including a helmet and plastic padding that reasonably fit my size. They were not new, nor well-maintained. Still, they were leagues better than the decade-old equipment we had in my low-budget inner-city high school.

So, unlike the other candidates, bitching and moaning about the low-quality equipment, I quickly put them on and left the locker room.

I didn't want to be the last one to arrive. That was the way to be noticed by the coach. And not the good way.

When we arrived at the stadium, my guide floated away — though, once again, never more than fifty feet — leaving me alone to examine the field. On the left side of the field, the newcomers gathered. On the other side, the team, the training was underway.

And just with a glance, I could see the reason for the losing streak of 'glorious' Sunset Pirates.

There was no discipline. It wasn't too noticeable, but my high school coach was a discipline-obsessed one. For him, every single repeat had to be perfect to attain success, otherwise, training was a waste of time.

It was an approach I embraced as well. Unfortunately, the members of the offense team, currently occupying the field, clearly didn't join the same school of thought. Their starts were not explosive, the routes they run loose, and they were simply too chatty between themselves.

My old high school coach would have killed them.

Though, their lackluster practice didn't mean they were weak. Not in terms of the physical traits. No, as the star recruits all across the state, those aspects they excelled. Strong, fast, agile. Watching them reminded me of my decision to change my scholarship focus. In general, I wasn't weak. I was tall, strong, and fast.

But every single guy on that field was either faster, stronger, or bigger than me — depending on the role. And from what I could see, the ones in the same category as me — the tight ends and some of the more physical slot receivers for the offense, which was currently in training — clearly eclipsed me in all three categories.

And the drills they were going through certainly drove that detail even deeper.

Interestingly, the drills they were going through suggested that everyone on the field belonged to the offense team.

I used to play defense, the only position my relatively balanced build allowed.

In football, the defense had three critical components. The defensive line, linebackers, and the secondary.

Except for a small stint at the beginning of high school thanks to my early growth spurt, I didn't play as a part of the defensive line. The defensive line's aim objective of defeating the opposing offensive line required overwhelming physical strength, considerable more than my lithe body could provide.

The same fact was true for the secondary. Both the cornerbacks and safeties were tasked to cover the wide receivers of the other side, and to defend the great empty field on the back. They were usually the fastest players on the team. Compared to the overall recruit, I lacked the speed, so unless an emergency in the roster due to an injury, I didn't play that role either.

I was a linebacker, the second wall behind the defensive lines, essentially the core of the defense, responsible for handling the attacking team's tactical tricks. A linebacker attacked the opposing quarterback, blocked the runner that slipped away from the defensive line, or tried to block an inside pass, depending on the latest trick of the opponent.

My mixture of strength, agility, and speed worked well to play linebacker, especially when combined with my early physical growth. And my chess experience helped me a lot when it came to playing the real challenging part of playing the linebacker.

The tactics.

Among all the players, the ability to read the game was most important for the linebackers — except the quarterback, of course.

Playing chess didn't give me any movie-type magical abilities to see the field of course, nor it gave me an intelligence boost. Ironically, it helped because of the study discipline it gave me. Professional football players studied hours and hours about the little details of the game to handle their role, something their high school counterparts were much less enthusiastic about, helping me to be more distinguished.

Enough to be the target of the constant curses of the opponent, the best compliment a defensive player could ever receive.

It was a good time, working hard, defeating opponents, and hoping for a better future.