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"...We all know that different social classes within a city have distinct modes of interaction, often determined by the average income level of that class..."

In a spacious classroom, an elderly professor with white hair lectured rhythmically at the podium. Most students were attentive, but one was sprawled across his desk in the back row, snoring loudly.

The professor scanned the room and noticed the sleeping student. He raised his voice:

"Stephen, please stand up and answer this question. On what basis are social classes divided? Stephen?"

A student sitting next to the sleeper nudged him awake. He jolted up, wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth, and mumbled sleepily:

"Huh? What's going on?"

The classroom erupted in laughter. The professor chuckled as well:

"Stephen, on what basis are social classes divided?"

"Well, um... I think it's like this..." The awakened student, Stephen Curry, stammered, unable to answer.

"It seems our star player is too exhausted from training," the professor joked, smiling.

The class laughed again, filling the room with a lighthearted atmosphere. Curry, scratching his head, smiled awkwardly.

After yesterday's team training, Curry practiced until eight in the evening and only left the gym when he was utterly exhausted. He hadn't fully recovered and fell asleep during class, getting caught by the professor.

Instead of reprimanding Curry further, the professor put his book down, pulled two tickets from his briefcase, waved them around, and said with a smile:

"The day after tomorrow is the first regular season game. I've already got my tickets. If you don't perform well, I'll give you a D!"

The students burst into laughter again, and Curry quickly responded:

"I'll do my best!"

"Stephen, you must beat those guys from Indiana University!" a boy shouted.

"If you score 20 points, I'll go on a date with you," a blonde girl winked at Curry playfully.

"We have to win..."

The entire class cheered for Curry.

"Alright, quiet down. Class is still in session. Stephen, make sure you win!" The professor smiled and gave Curry a thumbs-up.

Curry opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. He simply nodded, his eyes filled with determination.

"Okay, turn to page 97, 'Changes in Social Classes...'" The professor's rhythmic voice resumed.

After class, Curry packed his things and left the building with his roommate, Louis Young, heading east.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Louis asked.

Curry and Louis shared a dorm room and were good friends. Due to Curry's intense training schedule, he often had no time to finish his homework and relied on Louis for help.

"It's still early. I'm going to the gym to practice a bit more. You go ahead and eat," Curry replied, waving him off without turning around.

Louis shrugged and went on his way. He was used to it by now—Curry often spent an extra hour or two practicing in the gym. His work ethic was admirable, though it left him tired enough to fall asleep in class.

Despite being a basketball student, Curry took his studies seriously, thanks to his mother, Sonya's strict upbringing.

After parting with Louis, Curry headed to Hinkle Fieldhouse. He dug out a key from his bag and unlocked the gym door.

Curry had borrowed the key from the security guard. In the first few days after the semester started, he had to ask the guard to unlock the gym every time he wanted to do extra practice. After seeing his dedication, the guard eventually gave him a spare key.

Inside, Curry turned on a spotlight and changed into his practice clothes on the sidelines.

With their first game just two days away, Coach Liam had given the team a two-day break. Since there was no practice during the day, Curry planned to work out until 9 PM before heading back to the dorm.

Swish!

He picked up a basketball from the rack in the corner, dribbled it twice, and launched a long shot from his chest. The ball soared through the air and swished through the net.

"Yes!"

Curry shouted with excitement, ran to retrieve the ball, and began his repetitive practice routine.

The spotlight hanging high above cast a bright beam that not only illuminated Curry's solitary figure but also projected his shadow onto the ground and out through the gym's windows.

"This burger is pretty good. I might get another tomorrow..." Liam muttered to himself as he walked toward his office, munching on a burger. Suddenly, he noticed the faint light coming from Hinkle Fieldhouse.

A thought crossed his mind, and he changed direction, heading toward the gym. He quickly finished his burger in a few big bites.

Entering the gym and turning a couple of corners, Liam heard the rhythmic sound of a bouncing basketball. He stopped in the shadows of the players' tunnel, watching Curry shoot, retrieve the ball, shoot again, and repeat.

Liam observed for a moment, a smile forming on his lips. Without stepping forward to greet him, he turned and left quietly.

Curry, completely unaware of Liam 's presence, continued his three-point drills, shooting tirelessly. Whether the ball went in or not, his expression remained unchanged, and his movements were as precise as a machine.

Liam left the gym, opened a bottle of Coke, took a big gulp, exhaled contentedly, and, with a playful shooting gesture, tossed the empty bottle into a trash can before heading back to his office.

There, he unlocked his computer and saw a frozen video of an Indiana University game on the screen. He hit the spacebar and resumed his meticulous analysis.

Next door, Stevens was similarly immersed in his work, analyzing the Indiana State players' skills frame by frame and scribbling notes.

At that moment, the sky outside was a deep blue, and the streetlights were still off. The offices of Liam and Stevens were the only illuminated spots in the building, along with the faint glow from Hinkle Fieldhouse, casting the only light in this corner of Butler University's east campus.

...

Two days later, on Friday, November 10th, the Butler University Bulldogs were set to face the Indiana State Sycamores at home. The campus was electrified with anticipation, and even the mild autumn sun seemed to burn hotter. Almost every student, upon crossing paths, would shout, "Go, Bulldogs!" before eagerly discussing the upcoming game.

This kind of scene was not unusual in Indiana. Though football might be America's number one sport, basketball was undoubtedly the favorite in the Hoosier state.

Indiana is the headquarters of the NCAA and the hometown of legendary superstar Larry Bird. Although the Pacers have never won an NBA championship, Indiana boasts the most passionate basketball culture in the country.

That morning, Liam woke up early, as usual, and made his way to his office.

Along the way, everyone greeted him enthusiastically, cheering for the team.

Regardless of their previous doubts about the young head coach, in this moment, they were all unified as fervent fans, standing behind the team.

Liam smiled back at each one, and by the time he reached his office, his facial muscles were stiff from smiling so much.

Stevens arrived from next door, knocked on the half-open door, and walked in:

"So, Liam, have you felt the enthusiasm from the faculty and students?"

"I think I finally understand what Coach Lickliter felt," Liam said with a wry smile. "Everyone is placing their hopes on you. It makes your blood boil, but it's also a lot of pressure."

"Are you nervous?" Stevens asked.

"Of course not!" Liam replied, his tone resolute.

But under Stevens' teasing gaze, he relented and sighed:

"How could I not be nervous? I can't imagine what they'd do to me if I mess up tonight... They weren't exactly thrilled when I became head coach."

Over the past few months, news of Liam taking over as head coach of the Bulldogs had made the sports pages of nearly every local newspaper in Indiana. He was now a recognizable figure in the state.

When teachers and students at Butler University found out that the new head coach was a 23-year-old, they protested loudly to the school's basketball department.

They didn't care how well Liam had performed as an assistant coach. All they knew was that someone so young—and foreign—couldn't possibly be a good head coach.

But McCash Rewsbury kept his promise, suppressing all the opposition and creating a supportive environment for Liam .

Seeing that Liam 's position was rock-solid, his critics could only accept reality. However, Liam knew very well that if the team lost, he'd be the first to be blamed.

"We're well-prepared; there shouldn't be any issues. And we have Stephen. He hasn't shown his full strength in the preseason. He'll definitely surprise Indiana State," Stevens reassured him.

Liam nodded slowly. The die was cast; he had to face the first challenge of his coaching career head-on.

The day passed quickly. The sun dipped low, the sky faded from a light blue to azure, then to dark blue, and eventually, night fell.

But Butler University's campus was ablaze with light. After classes, countless students and faculty donned light blue Bulldogs jerseys. Some even painted their faces, transforming from polite academics to frenzied fans.

They swarmed toward Hinkle Fieldhouse, chanting and cheering at a deafening volume, turning the usually quiet campus into a loud, vibrant arena.

However, in this frenzied atmosphere, a few discordant voices emerged. A group of juniors gathered outside Hinkle Fieldhouse, discussing the Bulldogs.

A tall, strong, white student expressed his concern:

"Do you think our young head coach can really lead the team to victory?

End of this chapter

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