Richard sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small, dark-blue notebook Dayo had handed him. His fingers brushed lightly over the cover as his thoughts spun in circles.

What could possibly be inside this?

Why did Dayo give it to me?

And how the hell did he even get something like this?

He took a deep breath and finally opened the first page.

Beautiful handwriting filled the sheet. Perfect spacing. Neat arrangement. Clean bullet points. Richard blinked.

"Damn boy is Mr. Perfect," he muttered.

Then he began to read.

And the more he read, the more his eyes widened.

He flipped pages, then flipped back again, then reread entire sections. After the first ten minutes, he sat up straighter. After twenty minutes, he stopped breathing normally. After an hour, he closed the book slowly and stared into space.

This wasn't normal.

This wasn't something a random athlete should have access to.

This wasn't even something the national federation itself had in this much detail.

He grabbed his phone immediately and dialed one of the assistant coaches from the national team—not a big name, someone he trusted faintly, someone who talked too much and kept too little.

"Hello?" the man answered.

"Hey, Mike," Richard said. "Quick question. Do you guys still keep tabs on athletes outside the main national list? Like, their weaknesses, tendencies, reaction profiles, training patterns…?"

There was silence.

"Uh… yeah," Mike replied slowly. "But not in that kind of detail. Why? What are you looking for?"

Richard didn't answer. He was stunned.

His question alone told him the truth.

Half of the things Dayo wrote down were things the national team had never even discovered.

After confirming what he needed, he snapped back to reality and ended the call quickly.

He lowered the phone and exhaled hard.

"How did Dayo get this…?"

He looked down at the notebook again, and this time the weight of it felt different—heavier, sharper, more valuable. If even half of what this notebook said was accurate, then he could change the entire direction of the U.S. swimming program.

He could turn things around.

He could compete.

Not to meet expectations.

But to surpass them.

He closed the book with finality, nodded to himself, and picked up his phone again. No hesitation this time—he dialed.

The call connected after two rings.

"Hello, Richard?" a calm, older voice answered.

"Yes, Coach Bennett," Richard replied firmly. "I've thought about your offer."

There was a pause.

"That fast? I was expecting you to take days, maybe weeks," Bennett said softly, clearly surprised.

Richard's tone stayed steady. "I'll take the job."

Silence.

Then Bennett's shock broke through.

"You… will?"

"Yes."

Another long pause, then a quiet chuckle of disbelief.

"Richard… when I called you earlier, I wasn't even sure you would consider it. I thought—honestly—I thought you'd hang up on me."

Richard smirked. "I saw what you did earlier, Coach. You apologized, but you didn't really think I'd accept so easily. You knew I would think about it."

"You always think deeply," Bennett admitted. "And with the state of the national team… I understand why you'd hesitate."

Richard leaned back. "The entire swimming division is in ruins. Half the coaches have been suspended or banned. Some athletes are under investigation due to the recent scandal. The structure is a mess and the strenght of the tram is the weakest it had been in a while. You didn't just call me to offer me a job. You called me to fix a crisis."

Bennett did not deny it.

"I won't lie," he said softly. "We are desperate. And out of all the coaches left standing… you're the most competent."

Richard stayed silent for a moment before asking, "Do you really think I can fix this?"

"I think you're the only one who can try."

Richard let that sit for a few seconds.

Then he said:

"Alright. If I'm doing this, I have conditions."

Bennett stiffened. "Go on."

"First—full authority over who competes in the new trials. I don't want interference. I don't want committees. I don't want politics. I pick the swimmers."

Bennett inhaled sharply.

"Richard—"

"Before you say anything," Richard cut in, "let me remind you: we don't have time. The Olympics are too close. If you want me to rebuild this program, then let me do it my way. If not, I'm out."

The line went silent.

Not a word.

Not a breath.

Just tension hanging between them.

Finally Bennett spoke.

"Give me time to think."

"You have time," Richard replied. "But the Olympics don't. The reorganized trials must happen soon. Think fast."

He ended the call there.

---

Bennett didn't waste time. He immediately called an emergency video meeting with the remaining officials—board members, advisors, anyone who still had authority.

At first, most disagreed.

"What do you mean let him choose the athletes?"

"He's asking for too much."

"We can't hand over total control!"

"This is risky—what if it backfires?"

But Bennett held firm.

"We have no experienced coaches left. No structure. Our athletes are suspended, confused, or psychologically broken. We need someone decisive. And Richard is the only coach who hasn't been dragged into this scandal."

Someone else spoke up eventually.

"He'll either become the hero who fixes everything… or the scapegoat if things collapse."

Another nodded.

"Either way, we survive."

After thirty tense minutes, they all agreed.

"Give him what he wants."

Bennett immediately called Richard back.

The moment Richard answered, Bennett said:

"You have full authority. Pick whoever you want for trials."

Richard didn't celebrate. He only nodded. "Good. When do I start?"

"Whenever you want," Bennett said. "But remember—if your choices don't meet Olympic time… there will be backlash."

"I'm aware," Richard said. "I start tomorrow."

Bennett exhaled. "Then welcome to the hardest job of your life."

Richard ended the call.

Then he looked at the book again.

This time, he didn't feel fear.

He felt excitement.

He flipped through the pages once more:

– athlete potentials

– reaction speed scores

– breathing technique profiles

– mental toughness ratings

– stress patterns

– weak points

– ideal training regimens

– injury risks

– stamina curves

– predicted improvement windows

This was insane.

This was priceless.

This was national-team-level analysis… but better.

"How did Dayo even compile all this…?" he whispered.

He stared at the book for a long moment, then finally picked up his phone and dialed one last person.

Dayo answered instantly.

"Coach?"

Richard didn't waste time.

"Dayo… how did you get this book?"

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