Donald Yee looked at Lance, admiration gleaming in his eyes.
First, despite all the sweet talk and high promises, Lance remained calm and collected. And second, throughout their entire conversation, though they subtly vied for control, Lance, seemingly passive, had not been swept into Donald's rhythm and maintained his own pace.
In just a brief interaction, Lance had already left a strong impression on Donald, confirming his belief in Lance's potential.
But the more he was impressed, the more Donald knew he needed to remain calm and patient. One wrong move, and everything could fall apart.
Faced with Lance's direct question, Donald slowed down, offering a calm smile.
"My confidence doesn't co from , but from you," he said.
"I've watched all your ga footage—spring training, scrimmages, and even team practices. And not just once."
"I can see your rawness, your growth, your intelligence. It's clear that for you, football is more than just physical combat, right?"
Lance didn't answer. Instead, he gazed curiously at Donald, waiting for his response.
"Chess."
Donald gave a simple reply, causing a small smile to flicker across Lance's face.
"Football requires strategy, patience, and competition. Physicality is the foundation of everything, but what truly decides victory is intelligence."
"Just like a chess match. Or a battlefield."
"Right now, you've only been playing football for six months, yet you've absorbed knowledge like a sponge and transford yourself. So, what will you be like in another six months?"
"I'm very excited to see."
There was no doubt that the gray-haired gentleman was both sincere and cunning.
Lance suspected that this entire eting had been ticulously planned, rehearsed in Donald's mind to perfection.
In other words, everything that had happened so far was likely orchestrated.
And if that was true, Lance had to admit that Donald was thorough and well-prepared.
Out of nowhere, without any warning, Lance suddenly had a thought, and he decided to throw it out there, disrupting both his own and Donald's plans.
"So, do you recomnd I stay with the Crimson Tide for another year or enter the draft and go pro?"
Even Lance himself hadn't seriously considered this question yet, but now he posed it.
Donald was clearly surprised by the unexpected question.
But after a brief mont of surprise, Donald quickly composed himself and confidently responded, "Go pro."
Lance raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback.
It wasn't the answer that surprised him—agents almost always wanted their players to go pro—but it was Donald's unwavering certainty that caught Lance's attention, revealing a hint of steely resolve.
"There are two reasons," Donald explained.
"First, the NCAA is a non-profit organization. Players don't earn a penny playing here, yet the NCAA's broadcasting revenue rivals that of the NFL. So, where does all that money go?"
"Alabama is a public university, so the situation is slightly better. And Saban is a good coach who truly has your future in mind. But private universities? That's a different story."
He left that point hanging, the implication clear.
"Second, transitioning from the NCAA to the NFL requires an adjustnt period. Many players hit a 'rookie wall.' In football, the professional ga and the college ga are like two different sports."
"Here, coaches often encourage players to stay in the NCAA, to take their ti, playing until their junior or even senior year. That advice makes sense—they need ti to develop. Otherwise, entering the NFL too soon might lead to getting crushed and quickly forgotten."
"But you're different."
"I believe you've already fully adapted to the intensity of the NCAA. Even if you stayed another season, your room for growth here would be minimal. You'd benefit more from moving up a level, opening the door to a new world, and entering the NFL to challenge yourself at a higher difficulty."
By this point, the ssage was crystal clear.
Donald saw the spark in Lance's eyes. He knew that Lance had already guessed what his next line would be, but he continued with a smile, "Because I believe in you."
Lance's expression clearly said, "I knew it."
Donald spread his hands wide, openly inviting any scrutiny from Lance, waiting to see if his answer had satisfied the young player.
But Lance didn't offer any critique. Not verbally, not even through his facial expressions. He was utterly unreadable. Instead, he simply remarked, "Has anyone ever told you that you'd be great at selling stuff?"
Donald blinked in confusion. "Selling stuff?"
It seed this gray-haired gentleman still needed to brush up on so modern slang.
Lance didn't plan on sticking around much longer. He had heard what he needed to hear—
After all, agents were all smooth talkers. Even though this one had taken a different approach, he was still, at his core, an agent.
Only ti would reveal the truth about him.
"Goodbye, Mr. Yu," Lance said in perfect Mandarin.
Donald, caught off guard, was unable to respond imdiately. The conversation had abruptly ended, and Lance walked away, leaving the agent's carefully laid plans in disarray.
But Donald quickly composed himself, "Is that the proper pronunciation of my na? Could you teach ?"
"Yu."
"You."
"Old Yu."
"Old you? Wait, why does that sound like there's an extra syllable?"
"Goodbye, Old Yu."
Lance didn't stop, walking further away as he waved, disappearing into the dormitory, leaving Donald standing alone.
Donald had thought everything was going according to plan when Lance had stopped to engage. But in the end, Lance had disrupted his ga.
However, Donald wasn't frustrated—in fact, he was even more excited.
This kid was smarter than he had imagined. Things were getting interesting.
As for Lance?
Once he turned a corner and was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and turned to a search engine.
Forgive him, but Lance knew very little about football. Even famous players ant little to him, let alone the agents behind them.
Lance figured that for a Chinese-Arican agent working in football, he'd either be a complete unknown or a big na in the industry.
But the search results were surprising.
Donald Yee was indeed a professional football agent. He had registered his agency in 1999. However, he wasn't a complete nobody, nor was he a household na in the industry. He occupied a middle ground, which didn't quite fit Lance's expectations.
What was going on?
Lance quickly found Donald Yee's agency's hopage.
It was clean, simple, and modest.
Compared to other agencies that proudly displayed their star clients on the front page, this website was almost too plain, to the point of being bare.
So, who exactly were Donald Yee's clients?
After navigating through the site, Lance clicked on the "Clients" section, which revealed that they represented athletes in football, golf, and baseball. When he clicked on the football section, a list of clients finally appeared—
Kevin Anderson. Lance had heard of tennis player Kevin Anderson, but this was a different Kevin Anderson.
Josh Boyce. Lance hadn't heard of him either, and the face didn't ring a bell.
Tom Brady. Wait, wasn't that a na he'd seen sowhere before?
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Powerstones?
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