At Grandma Connie's house, breakfast time.
"Mike, you've got another letter," Grandma Connie said as she came in from outside. In her hand were the usual monthly bills—and a beautifully designed envelope.
"Which school is it this time?" Mike asked casually, taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich.
It had already been a week since Milford's last football game. Thanks to Mike's outstanding performance in the summer league, a steady stream of high school football programs had been reaching out to him with offers.
Among them were quite a few highly ranked private schools.
But Mike had no intention of continuing down the football path. On top of that, he had just gotten used to life at Milford and had no desire to transfer schools again during high school.
"This one's from Green Hill Academy," Grandma Connie replied after checking the name on the envelope.
"Green Hill…" Mike muttered, then frowned. "Didn't they already send me an offer before? Why are they back again?"
Green Hill Academy was an excellent private school—easily top ten in Texas in terms of overall strength.
"I'm not sure. Let me take another look…" Grandma Connie said as she skillfully opened the letter.
Back when Mike couldn't be bothered to read his mail, this had always been Grandma Connie's job.
"Oh," she said with a smile after reading it. "This time, it's their basketball team inviting you."
In American high schools, it wasn't uncommon for students who didn't stick with football to switch over to basketball. With their physical build, a little training was often enough to adapt to the physicality of the court.
Clearly, Green Hill's basketball coach had his eye on Mike's athleticism.
"Basketball? Not interested," Mike said, finishing his sandwich as he headed for the door. "Just take care of it for me."
"Alright," Grandma Connie replied, watching his back as he left.
Outside, Mike happened to run into Coach George, who was just about to drive to school.
"Hey, Mike! Hop in!" Coach George called out. It was obvious he'd been in a great mood lately.
And for good reason. The school had already made it clear they were planning to give him another raise. He was riding high.
The car moved steadily down the road. In the back seat, Little George looked half-asleep, nodding off nonstop.
Up front, Sheldon Jr., flipping through twelfth-grade study materials, took advantage of a red light to suddenly turn around. "Mike, next exam, I won't lose to you again."
"Sure. Good luck," Mike replied encouragingly. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Mike knew Sheldon had started studying senior-year material early, but with the solid academic foundation he already had, he wasn't worried in the slightest.
"Hmph," Sheldon muttered when he saw how unconcerned Mike looked. "Next test, I'm taking first place back."
Sheldon might be generous in other areas, but when it came to proving intelligence, he had an almost obsessive streak.
After arriving at school, Mike cruised through his morning classes like usual. By lunchtime, he was once again surrounded by a group of girls as they headed toward the cafeteria.
After some time, Mike had more or less gotten used to being extremely popular with girls at school.
Of course, Lina deserved a lot of credit for that.
The girls around him were all members of Mike's fan club. They were enthusiastic, but they knew their boundaries and never interfered with his personal life.
In the cafeteria, Regina—sitting in the center seat—watched as Mike, once again encircled by girls, headed for the back tables.
The ignored "queen bee" let out a cold laugh.
It was clear now that Regina's earlier judgment had been wrong. Even without the glow of a football team winning streak, Mike still attracted plenty of attention thanks to his good looks alone.
After lunch with Lina and the others, Mike strolled toward the football field.
Today was the day he planned to formally ask Coach George to let him leave the team.
"Mike, something's wrong. They took George away," Little George said anxiously, running over the moment he spotted him.
"Took him away? What do you mean?" Mike asked, confused.
Little George was way too worked up.
"The team sponsors called George in for a meeting," Little George explained.
Even though Milford was a public school, funding was always tight. Sports that required specialized equipment still relied heavily on sponsors.
"What's wrong with the sponsors? Didn't the school just say they were going to give Coach George a raise?" Mike grew even more confused.
Given how well the team had done this year, even if sponsors wanted a meeting, it shouldn't be this dramatic.
Looking at Little George's expression, you'd think Coach George was in serious trouble.
"You don't get it," Little George said. "Those sponsors have lost their minds. They're trying to remove George from his head coach position."
"What? That's a thing?" Mike frowned. "Show me. Let's go see."
In Mike's view, Coach George was more than qualified to be a head coach. The team had performed well this season—there was no reason for the sponsors to target him.
Soon enough, with Little George leading the way, they arrived at the school's main conference room.
"Coach George, it's because you didn't do your job properly this year that the team lost its chance to compete for the state championship…"
Standing outside the door, Mike immediately recognized the voice. If he wasn't mistaken, it belonged to Sam's father, Grit.
Somehow, that guy had managed to worm his way into the sponsor group.
"How exactly did I fail to do my job?" Coach George demanded from behind the podium, irritation clear on his face.
He'd been expecting a raise. Instead, he was suddenly dragged into a sponsor meeting—only to be aggressively criticized by someone he'd already clashed with before.
"As far as I know, before the final game, you didn't even collect proper scouting reports on the opposing team," Grit said, clearly prepared. "And during the game, you let someone who had never played quarterback lead the offense."
"And don't forget," he added, "your wide receiver is your own son. Everyone saw how poorly he performed."
"I admit I failed to properly scout the opponent before the game—that's on me," Coach George said, clearly displeased by the finger-pointing. "But on the field, how players are used is my call. I know what I'm doing, and I'm far more qualified than you."
He continued, "A team's results are the product of everyone's effort. Even when we lose, you can't pin it all on one player."
Coach George made a point of saying that—clearly protecting his oldest son.
"So now you're dodging responsibility?" Grit shot back. "Do you really think the loss was everyone's fault?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Coach George replied firmly.
Milford's football team wasn't particularly strong overall. If not for Mike and Aaron carrying the team, they might not have even cracked the state top ten.
And the final game against Austin High had completely exposed the weaknesses of the entire roster.