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Chapter 803 - Chapter 801: Campus Charity Game

"Remember what I told you. If anyone dares to mess with you, don't hold back—teach them a lesson. Got it?" Jiang Hai said sternly just before Taraga stepped through the school gates.

"Yes, I remember!" Taraga replied with a firm nod. She flashed a bright smile, then ran toward the entrance. Watching her youthful figure merge into the crowd, Jiang Hai couldn't help but smile himself. Youth… something he never really dwelled on.

"Alright then, back to grape harvesting." With a glance at his watch, Jiang Hai turned away. This year's harvest was bountiful—nearly 50% more grapes than the previous year. And 50% more grapes meant 50% more wine, which ultimately meant more money.

"Mr. Jiang Hai! Please wait a moment…"

A high-pitched, almost feminine voice called out. Jiang Hai turned and saw a tall white man—easily 1.88 meters—running toward him with a distinctly flamboyant gait. The man was bald, heavyset, and wore dark sunglasses, a pink shirt, and spotless white trousers held up by suspenders. His wrist flicks and orchid-finger gestures left Jiang Hai silently labeling him as "pai-pai."

Still, the man had called him, and Jiang Hai couldn't just walk away. He recognized him as the vice principal and dean of students at Winthrop High School. Unlike the massive, prestigious schools in the city, Winthrop High was small and modest. Teachers often stayed for years, and turnover was rare.

"Vice Principal Falder, what's the matter?" Jiang Hai asked, puzzled.

"Mr. Jiang, you know about Boston, right? Paul Pierce? The basketball player?" Falder started, his voice sing-song, repeating almost every phrase as if it needed emphasis. Jiang Hai's brows twitched in irritation. What was this nonsense? Did the man ever get tired of hearing himself chatter?

"Can you just get to the point? I've got a lot to do." Jiang Hai tapped his watch impatiently.

"Alright, alright," Falder said quickly. "Paul Pierce organizes a charity basketball game every year. Even though he no longer plays in Boston, his family's still here, and he has plenty of influence. He invites NBA players and celebrities to participate. This year, our school's gymnasium was chosen as the venue. It's not about huge profits—it's more about exposure. But there's an unwritten rule: local players also have to join. I heard you used to be quite good at basketball. Would you consider representing Winthrop?"

Jiang Hai blinked. Winthrop wasn't exactly a basketball town. Across the U.S.—especially in the East—football reigned supreme, followed closely by baseball. Basketball, while simple and easy to set up, just wasn't as popular.

In Massachusetts, high school competitions barely scratched the state level, and with fewer than 35 towns hosting teams, Winthrop had never even cracked the top 32. They were, effectively, at the bottom of the ladder.

But Jiang Hai had a reputation. Rumor had it he once had the chance to sign with the Boston Celtics. Falder was clearly hoping to use that local legend to his advantage.

Realistically, Jiang Hai wanted to refuse. The last time he'd played, the backlash had been brutal. Still, Falder was from the same town, and Jiang Hai couldn't brush him off outright.

"I'll think about it. When's the game?"

"September 13th. The teams report on the 7th and 15th, but you'd just need to show up on the 13th." Falder said eagerly.

Jiang Hai nodded, turned back toward his car, and drove home. After parking, he skipped rest, splashed his face with water, and headed straight to the winery.

The place was buzzing with activity—picking, packing, hauling. Everyone greeted him warmly when he arrived, and he quickly put on gloves to join in.

Jiang Hai wasn't skilled at handling grapevines—he damaged them too easily. So, like last year, he focused on hauling. Each basket weighed about 100 pounds, usually requiring two people. But Jiang Hai carried one with ease, arms steady as stone. If he weren't worried about spilling, he could've lifted eight or nine at once.

Even so, the women of his manor were no weaklings. Day after day, they carried heavy baskets back and forth without complaint. Strengthened by both spiritual energy and good nutrition, they had stamina and resilience most men couldn't match. Qi Jie, for example, could bench press 160kg for fifteen reps—a feat beyond many athletes—yet her figure remained sleek and elegant. No bulky muscles, no protein powders, just raw strength.

With Jiang Hai's help, the morning's work finished even faster than expected.

"We're much quicker this year," Dulles-Gerald remarked with a grin. "At this pace, we'll finish by the 3rd or 4th. After that, we'll leave the remaining grapes for the frost and make ice wine."

Jiang Hai returned the smile. Ice wine meant higher profits—money, plain and simple.

At 11:30, they paused for lunch. No feast today, just a hearty, practical meal to recharge. Qia, Darlene, and Marian had gone ahead to cook: a massive stew of beef, tomatoes, and potatoes—classic American comfort food. Alongside it came stir-fried rapeseed greens with potatoes, crisp and fragrant, plus a big fruit-and-vegetable salad for freshness.

Bread and steamed buns rounded out the table. Simple, filling, and satisfying.

After lunch and a short rest, work resumed until late afternoon. By four, the harvest team packed up, weary but content, and returned to the villa.

Galina left early to pick up Taraga from school. At dinner, everyone eagerly asked about her first day. Taraga was radiant, chatting nonstop about her classes. She had already made two new friends: a shy white girl and her neighbor, a girl of color.

It seemed Taraga was fitting in just fine.

(To be continued.)

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