Chương 86: The Pitch

Phillips Exeter Daoist Academy, May 2028 Leo Chen spent the days after the national championship game in the dark. After the Bulldogs took out Windsor and her flaming pearl, the rest of the fight was just a victory lap. Leo's NFL style flight techniques were unmatched, and he scored touchdown after touchdown. After the third quarter and the Aggies surrendered. The Yale fans stormed the field and lifted Leo high on their shoulders.

It was then Leo's exhaustion caught up to him and he began to develop this splitting migraine. After he got back to his dorm at Exeter, Tom had helped him tape blackout curtains to the walls. Every light source brighter than a smoke detector made his skull throb. And he began to regret his life choices. The school's doctor took one look at him, poked around his meridians with a diagnostic talisman, and handed him a bottle of Tylenol and ibuprofen.

"Take two of each every six hours," she'd said.

"You'll be fine." He'd even called Dr. Reyes back at Yale and begged her to ship him something good from the athletic department's pharmacy.

"Absolutely not," she'd said.

"You've been popping spiritual recovery pills like candy for five months. Your liver needs a vacation. It will be good for you." Then she'd hung up on him. So here he was. Lying in bed. Curtains drawn. Head pounding. Eyes burning. The greatest collegiate Flying Ace in existence, reduced to a miserable lump under his blankets. The door opened.

"Hey Leo!" Leo flinched and grabbed his temples.

"Tom. Volume."

"Sorry, sorry." Tom Wheeler's voice dropped to a stage whisper.

"My mom brought you some more of her homemade chicken noodle soup." He hefted a grocery bag. The cans inside clinked together. Leo squinted at the small pile of identical Campbell's cans accumulating on his desk since Tom's parents visited three days ago.

"Tom."

"Yeah?"

"How is that homemade? Please tell me your parents don't think homemade just means nuking it in the microwave." Tom's easy grin faltered.

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"Just wait until you try my mom's homemade Kraft mac and cheese. It's my favorite meal. She adds extra butter."

"To the boxed cheese?"

"Tastes better than the nasty fresh made stuff." Leo groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. Tom set the cans aside with the others. The pile was getting impressive. A small monument to ultraprocessed food and parental love.

"I had some actual broth that Vivian's mom gave me," Leo said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Vivian said her mom seemed to like me for some reason."

"Mrs. Xin's cooking is incredible. I've had her dumplings."

"She sent those too."

"And you didn't share?" Leo lifted a corner of the pillow and fixed Tom with a glare.

"I have a Tier Four headache and you want me to share dumplings?" Tom raised his hands in surrender.

"Jokes about my mom's cooking aside," he said, settling into his desk chair, "a scout from the Cleveland Browns showed up this morning. He wants to talk to you."

"No."

"Leo."

"I'm not in the mood. I'm grumpy." Leo pulled the pillow back over his face.

"Why can't they just give me the good stuff like they did before?" Tom's chair creaked as he leaned forward.

"Leo, the spiritual painkillers aren't good for you. Half your symptoms aren't even from the game. They're withdrawal symptoms. Taking that kind of stuff while you're still growing is dangerous."

"You sound like my mom."

"Your mom is a doctor."

"You've never met my mom."

"I've heard her yell at you through the phone." Leo threw the pillow at him. Tom caught it and tossed it back.

"So," Leo said, changing the subject, "when do you think I can get my shares of MGM? My friends have been bugging me to take them on a trip to Vegas." Tom's expression shifted into what Leo had come to recognize as his "business mode" face.

"The lawyers say it'll take maybe over a year to sort everything out. There's going to be a lot of hiccups with a transfer that large. The IRS wants their cut."

"But you don't have to worry." He pointed toward the ceiling.

"The higher-ups are looking over things. Making sure everything gets distributed fairly."

"Anyway." Tom clapped his hands together, then winced when Leo grabbed his head.

"Sorry. But you should at least give the Browns scout some time. The draft is in three days."

"Fine." Leo pushed himself into something resembling a sitting position. The room spun. He waited for it to stop.

"But I want you here to do most of the talking."

"You want me to negotiate your professional contract?"

"I want you to kick him out if he overstays his welcome." Tom slipped out the door. Leo heard muffled voices in the hallway, then footsteps approaching. The man who entered had teeth that were too white and a tan that was too yellow. His hair was gelled back and his smile turned Leo's stomach.

"Leo Chen." The scout's voice filled the room like he owned it.

"Brantley Kline, Cleveland Browns. It's an honor to finally meet the man of the hour." Leo squinted against the light from the hallway.

"Door." Kline stepped inside instead. He surveyed the darkened room, the pile of Campbell's cans, the blackout curtains taped to the walls. His lip curled.

"Rough night?" He didn't wait for an answer. He turned to Tom, who had followed him back in.

"Son, I need to speak with Mr. Chen privately. Why don't you run along and grab yourself a soda or something?" Tom settled back into his desk chair.

"I'm his agent." Kline's practiced smile flickered. He looked at Tom's rumpled Exeter hoodie, his untucked shirt, the spreadsheet still open on his laptop.

"His agent." He let out a small laugh.

"That's cute. Leo, seriously, we should talk business. Man to man. Without the..." He gestured vaguely at Tom.

"Entourage."

"Tom stays."

"Look." Kline pulled a chair closer to Leo's bed and sat down without being invited.

"I get it. You're young. You want to keep your friends close. But this is the NFL. The big leagues. You need professionals handling your career, not some prep school buddy who thinks he can play hardball because he took an econ class." Tom's expression didn't change. He pulled out a notepad.

"Let me paint you a picture," Kline continued, leaning forward.

"You sign with us before the draft, and doors open. I'm talking the most beautiful women in Ohio throwing themselves at you. The best body refining elixirs money can buy. Media sponsorships that'll make you a household name before you even step onto a professional field." Leo reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his hat. He placed it on his head slowly, letting Kline see the ranked insignia catch the light from the hallway. The scout's mouth opened, then closed.

"Will the body refining elixirs be better than the ones available to the ranked?" Leo asked. Kline's face went ugly.

"I heard money can't buy what I have access to." Leo smirked. Kline recovered quickly.

"The Browns have the best flyer development program in the nation. We've produced more Hall of Famers than any other franchise. You have raw talent, Leo, but talent needs to be shaped. Refined. We can make you into something special."

"Something special." Leo's voice was flat.

"I just won a national championship against a Tier Four formation. What exactly are you going to teach me?" Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"Professional competition is different. Faster. More brutal. You think college Flying Aces prepared you for what's coming?" Kline shook his head.

"I've seen dozens of draft prospects flame out in their first professional season. They all thought they were ready too."

"Tom." Leo didn't look away from Kline.

"What happened to Baker Mayfield?" Tom flipped through his notepad.

"Baker Mayfield was the first overall pick in 2018. The Browns traded him to the Panthers in 2022 for a fifth round pick. He's now led the Buccaneers to two consecutive division titles."

"Interesting." Leo turned back to Kline.

"Tell me more about your development program." Red crept up Kline's neck.

"Mayfield was a different situation. The coaching staff has completely changed since then."

"What about Odell Beckham Jr.?" Tom checked his notes.

"The Browns released him midseason in 2021. He signed with the Rams three days later and won the Super Bowl that same year." Kline's jaw tightened.

"Those are cherry picked examples. Every franchise has roster moves that don't work out."

"Let's talk equipment," Leo said.

"That's the only thing I really care about." The scout straightened, grateful for the change in subject.

"The Cleveland Browns have more cap space than any other team in the league. When your rookie contract ends and we re-sign you, we can offer you the max without blinking. You'd be the highest paid flyer of your draft class." He continued, "And with all that cash from our free cap space, we will use it to commission the finest flying sword money can buy. After you advance to Foundation Establishment and spiritbond with it, you'll wield Tier Four nascent soul level power.

Far more powerful than anything you've ever held."

"Will it have a g-force bleeding formation?" Kline waved his hand.

"You won't need one after your Foundation Establishment body refining. The physical conditioning alone will handle any g-forces you encounter."

"The Denver Broncos have one."

"The Denver Broncos' g-force bleeding formation is proprietary. They'll never share those schematics with anyone, not even other NFL teams." Kline smiled, back on solid ground.

"But like I said, you won't need it. We'll condition your body to handle the stress naturally." Leo was quiet for a moment. Then he reached into his dantian. Moonrider materialized in his hand. The bespoke blade gleamed in the dim room, its surface alive with pulsing formations. Leo turned it slowly, letting the light play across the engravings. The g-force bleeding formations. Kline stared at the sword. His face went pale.

"I already have a sword with formations that have never been shared before," Leo said. He laid Moonrider across his lap, the blade pointing toward the scout.

"Why would I take a downgrade?" The silence stretched.

"Where did you..." Kline stopped. Started again.

"How did you get access to..."

"Thank you for your time." Leo placed Moonrider back into his dantian. He pulled the covers up to his chin and rolled toward the wall.

"Tom will show you out." Kline sat frozen. His mouth worked but no sound came out. Tom stood up from his chair and walked to the door. He held it open with a pleasant smile.

"Campus security's response time is about three minutes," Tom said.

"But I'm sure you can find your way to the parking lot faster than that."

The next morning, Leo's phone buzzed with a text from Ms. Patterson. Mr. Chen, I've received reports that you were extremely rude to a professional scout yesterday. I understand you're recovering from your championship match, but that is no excuse for poor manners. These are respected professionals who took time out of their busy schedules to meet with you. Please reflect on your behavior. Leo scrolled up through the conversation history.

Three years of increasingly desperate messages asking when he planned to actually attend class. His favorite was from last month. Leo, is "How to Watch Flying Aces by Dr. Reyes" a real class? I cannot in good conscience approve academic credit for something like that. He screenshot the new message and sent it to Tom. Tom responded with a laughing emoji and texted back. The NFL commissioner is on campus. He wants to meet with you. Leo stared at the message. Can I say no? He's a Nascent Soul lord. Fine.

Also he says he has something for your migraine. Leo was already reaching for his shoes.

The old debate club house sat at the edge of campus, half-swallowed by ivy and forgotten by the groundskeeping staff. The door creaked when Leo pushed it open. Lord Goodell stood in the center of the dusty room. He looked exactly like he did on television: silver hair, sharp suit, and a great smile.

"Leo Chen." Goodell extended his hand.

"It's good to finally meet you. I'm Commissioner Goodell. My domain is the Lake Domain of the Eight Trigrams." Leo shook his hand. The grip was firm.

"I'm sure a ranked flyer like yourself knows the offensive capabilities of the Lake Domain," Goodell continued.

"But are you aware it has a therapeutic side as well?" Leo's head throbbed.

"That's what I'm here for." Goodell chuckled.

"As they say, poison is in everything, and nothing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy." He gestured to a chair.

"Sit. Let me help." Leo sat. Goodell's domain expanded outward, announcing his name. The air shimmered and shifted, taking on the quality of morning mist over a still lake. It wrapped around Leo, cool and soft, and a thin stream of vapor curled toward his temples. The pain vanished. Leo slumped back in the chair.

"Oh. Oh, that's good." Goodell retracted his domain. The mist dissolved.

"Better?"

"That's the first time I've felt human since the championship." Leo sat up straighter, blinking.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Goodell settled into the chair across from him.

"I watched you in person at the finals. I've been involved in Flying Aces for thirty years, and I've never seen anything quite like that match."

"Neither have I." Leo's jaw tightened.

"How was any of that legal? The Azure Dragon formation. Mateo's divine domain. They were throwing around Tier Four power like it was nothing." Goodell nodded slowly.

"Sports is media. Media is an extension of national policy." He clasped his hands together.

"The major operation last December raised a lot of difficult questions. It revealed gaps in our preparedness. The college Flying Aces season became a way for people to discuss those questions."

"That doesn't seem very fair to me," Leo said.

"I got caught up in discussions I didn't sign up for."

"Perhaps." Goodell nodded.

"But your season was enjoyable, wasn't it? You grew tremendously as a flyer. You developed new skills, new techniques. You made friends who will stand beside you for the rest of your life." Leo groaned.

"Please don't tell me the real reward was the friends I made along the way." Goodell smiled.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Because I'm tired of hearing that." Leo crossed his arms.

"Will my Elo at least go up?"

"Your Elo?" Goodell laughed.

"Leo, you shouldn't worry so much about your Elo score. It doesn't matter that much. It's not like it's the SAT or anything."

"Easy for you to say. You're a Nascent Soul."

"I am." Goodell's expression turned serious.

"Which brings me to why I'm here. I'm not just visiting as the NFL commissioner. I'm here in an official capacity from the federal government to discuss your future and your growth." Leo straightened in his chair.

"You've impressed a lot of powerful people," Goodell continued.

"You would not have had such easy access to the Divine Particle Re-Forging Essence without the agreement of the Monarchs above. They've been watching your development with great interest."

"That sounds terrifying." Goodell leaned forward.

"But here's what I've observed about you, Leo. The most important thing to you is your freedom, your autonomy. A lot of people attribute that to stubborn teenage rebellion against authority." Leo opened his mouth to protest.

"But," Goodell raised a hand, "at the end of the day, you've been wise to hold onto your autonomy. Your immortal potential grows day by day. Who knows what the Leo of next year will look like? Why lock yourself into a contract when your value is still increasing?" Leo smiled despite himself.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"The league's proposal is this: you enter the NFL draft in 2029 and sign with the New York Giants."

"The Giants?" Leo frowned.

"Their developmental program isn't as good as the Seahawks'."

"True. But you need less development than most prospects." Goodell smiled.

"What you need is location. New York is the Empire City for a reason. The connections you make there will be crucial for your future career in both the military and private sectors."

"And why should I get drafted by the NFL at all?"

"Freedom." Goodell spread his hands.

"If you join the NFL, your only commitment is playing games. In exchange, you receive a flying sword commissioned specifically for you. Tier Four. Nascent Soul level power. If you try to get that kind of equipment through your ranked commission instead, you'll have to accept military service obligations." Leo nodded slowly.

"The government and military will have a hand in your sword's design," Goodell continued.

"We're all eager to see you become the strongest version of yourself. And the Waltons have agreed to contribute their g-force bleeding formation to the commission."

"Any other incentives? Equity stakes, maybe?" Goodell shook his head.

"Financially, you're limited by the collective bargaining equipment. But as I said, the real benefit is freedom. There's no other path to that kind of power without military service."

"I understand."

"Good." Goodell shifted in his chair.

"But that's not actually the main reason I'm here today. Cleaning up the Browns' incompetence was a side task. I have something more important to discuss." Leo raised an eyebrow.

"Leo, what do you think is your greatest weakness right now?" Leo considered the question.

"My cultivation? Things would be a lot easier if I were a Nascent Soul."

"Fair point. But as many people have told you, your greatest weakness is your lack of knowledge of the world and the formations that describe it." Leo's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah. I've heard that before."

"I won't pretend we're proposing this purely for your benefit," Goodell said.

"We need you to become a great formation master for our own reasons as well." He paused.

"Next May marks the triennial Grand Formation Summit, hosted by the three cults of the New York Catacombs. It's a formation competition open to Qi Refining cultivators under nineteen from all participating factions."

"Okay."

"There has long been an invitation extended to us. However, we've never had any students under eighteen with the necessary divine sense to draw the Tier Two formations needed to be competitive." Goodell's eyes gleamed.

"Until you."

"Thanks, I guess." Leo scratched his head.

"But why do people care about the formation ability of Qi Refiners? Wouldn't it take centuries before they can establish themselves as real formation masters?"

"The Grand Formation Summit is not an individual competition. It's a team competition, meant to showcase the formation attainments of the participating cults and their allies." Goodell folded his hands.

"In the end, formations are formations. Many insights into the Heavenly Dao can manifest even in a lowly Tier One formation. The principles remain the same whether you're drawing with a finger in the dirt or inscribing on a Tier Five spiritual treasure." Leo nodded.

"Additionally," Goodell continued, "if we held formation competitions between old monsters, nobody would share their secrets. It would be pointless. By keeping it restricted to young, promising talents, we create enough interest to push formation research in new directions while ensuring that national security isn't threatened by the exchange of techniques."

"So what's the reward if we win?" Goodell smiled.

"As you may know, very few spiritual medicines can safely increase divine sense below Gold Core. But the Grand Formation Summit offers one that will be personally valuable to you." Leo leaned forward.

"Upon reaching Foundation Establishment, your divine sense will directly triple. That's standard physiology." Goodell paused for effect.

"But the prize of the Grand Formation Summit is the Profound Clarity Spirit Nectar. If you consume it when you advance to Foundation Establishment, your divine sense will multiply by a factor of five." Leo stared at him.

"Five?"

"This time next year," Goodell confirmed, "your divine sense could be as high as fifty thousand." Leo straightened in his chair. He put on his most serious expression.

"Commissioner Goodell, I want you to know that I will always strive my best to serve my country. I would be honored to make this sacrifice for the nation." Goodell burst out laughing.

"I hope you can keep up that attitude and motivation. Professor Vogt will begin your formation training in two weeks." His smile turned slightly predatory.

"She's told me you have a lot of ground to cover." Leo's enthusiasm deflated immediately.