Chapter 14 – Season goals
“Hey, guys. Good morning.”
Head coach Billy Martin of the Bruins stepped onto the court, dressed in a simple short-sleeved training shirt and shorts, wearing the team’s signature dark blue tennis cap. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyebrows almost invisible, giving him a kind and approachable look. Though he had put on a bit of weight, he was still in good shape for his age.
In his younger days, Martin was never considered a standout player. He spent most of his career in doubles, and even then, his results were nothing remarkable. But as a coach, he developed his own philosophy and strategies, excelling at uncovering his players’ strengths. He’s regarded as one of the greatest coaches in Bruins history.
“So, how’s exam prep going? If any of you still have assignments unfinished, I suggest you get them done right after practice. I really don’t want professors calling me to complain that our training schedule is messing up your finals.”
Martin joked with a big smile, and the players standing neatly in front of him all let out soft laughter.
“To be honest, I feel like complaining that winter training is too short, but I don’t even have anywhere to file that complaint. The NCAA says we can’t practice more than two hours a day, so… two hours it is. I’ve gotten used to it.”
He spread his hands dramatically in a helpless gesture, even rolling his eyes, which made everyone laugh even harder.
Assistant coach Grant Chen, standing nearby, had to clear his throat twice, reminding Martin not to say too much. If an NCAA observer heard that, there would definitely be a lecture— and the problem was, the one getting scolded wouldn’t be Martin, but the assistant coach.
Martin snuck a glance at Grant, quickly pursed his lips, and exaggeratedly straightened his posture.
“This year, our goal is still the championship. We’ve always been strong contenders. I’ve said ‘I believe in you’ so many times I’m tired of hearing myself.”
“But just because we’re competitive doesn’t mean our opponents will hand us the title. There’s someone down south eyeing us like a predator, and that’s not even mentioning Virginia, Oklahoma, and all the other powerful teams worthy of respect. We have no room for complacency.”
Rivalries—every sport has them, and they’re what make competition crackle with excitement.
Real Madrid vs. Barcelona. Manchester United vs. Manchester City. Peyton Manning vs. Tom Brady. Rafael Nadal vs. Roger Federer. And so on.
Even comics are no exception: Batman vs. the Joker, Superman vs. Lex Luthor. The stronger the opponent, the more thrilling the clash.
It’s the same in the NCAA.
UCLA vs. USC.
These two Los Angeles schools are sworn rivals—not just in tennis, not even just in sports, but in practically everything. Every match, every encounter, is a battle fought to the bitter end.
The “someone down south” Martin mentioned referred to none other than the USC Trojans.
Before this year, from 2009 to 2012, USC had won four straight NCAA national team championships— the first four-peat since 1969. And back then, the team that achieved that feat was also USC.
A second four-peat after forty years pushed the Trojans’ total national team titles to twenty-one, far surpassing the Bruins’ sixteen. Because of that, students from the two schools constantly bickered about it in everyday life.
However, this past May, USC was knocked out in the NCAA quarterfinals in an upset loss to Ohio State, 3–4, missing the chance to face UCLA in the semifinals. And the Bruins themselves fell just short in the final, losing to the University of Virginia and finishing as runners-up.
Now, heading into a new season, both the Trojans and the Bruins were sharpening their blades, ready to go to war for another three hundred rounds.
“We may not be the defending champions, but the heart of a champion still beats in our chests!”
As he spoke, Martin thumped his right fist against his chest— thud, thud.
“Go Bruins!”
In an instant, the players were swept up in the emotion, pounding their chests and shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Go Bruins!”
One chant, one roar—Gao Wen felt his blood boiling as well.
It had been so long, far too long! Different from the simple joy of warming up and practising, this was the rush of feeling the team’s unity, the youthful passion bursting at the seams, stirring the heart—
Back then, they believed that one victory could change their life; they believed that one championship could change their destiny.
Only after growing up did they realise life wasn’t that simple. A single match, a single title, could never define a person’s fate.
Even so, Gao Wen missed that belief desperately— that foolish courage that drove him to sprint blindly toward a goal, full of fire, as if the sun and the wind themselves were cheering him on. Life had seemed so simple then, destiny firmly in his own hands.
“Go Bruins!”
Gao Wen raised his fist high and shouted with all his strength—only to discover that everyone had already scattered to begin warming up. Seeing him still hyping himself up alone, the others exchanged looks, their movements pausing. Those burning stares made Gao Wen feel a little self-conscious.
But having been tempered by society and having just gone through an unbelievable experience, he managed to stay composed. He lifted his voice again:
“I’ll start with footwork drills. Anyone joining me?”
Footwork training—one of the most tedious, exhausting, yet essential fundamentals in tennis. Normally, it took real courage to start it; even knowing it was necessary, players couldn’t help wanting to put it off just a little longer.
Hearing Gao Wen volunteer for footwork first, everyone looked at him as if they’d seen a ghost. Even McDonald stared, full of confusion.
Gao Wen, this morning was truly acting strangely. Had he… come down with a fever?
“I’ll go. Let’s do it together.”
From within the crowd, Giron called out loudly and stepped forward toward Gao Wen on his own initiative.
“Start with lateral movement? Or basic footwork?”
“Ho ho ho! Little Prince! Little Prince! Little Prince!”
The players immediately burst into cheers and teasing shouts, calling out Giron’s nickname and stirring up quite the lively scene.
After all, Gao Wen was only a freshman, barely four months with the team. The atmosphere within the squad was friendly, but they still weren’t familiar enough with him to have running jokes to tease him with. Giron, however, was a different story. In terms of both skill and status, him sparring with Gao Wen felt like a prince graciously lowering himself to show how approachable he was.
Their shouts and looks were all playful and full of good-natured teasing.
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