American Football: King of the Bay Area

The drinking contest was mostly populated by the younger guys, with all the rookies gathered together; meanwhile, the group playing darts consisted entirely of veteran players.

Besides Patrick Willis, there was also Alex Smith, Vernon Davis, Parris Harrisson, Nawolo Bowman, Jonathan Goodwin, David Akens… From the offense and defense to the special teams, the true veterans of the San Francisco 49ers were all sticking together.

Although the conflict from the team's internal cliques didn't seem to have boiled over, the players' daily conversations and interactions had gradually formed their own circles. Rookies were closer to other rookies, and players of similar age or who joined the team around the same time were more familiar with one another. This was simply the nature of social dynamics.

"So, darts. What's the game?" A light smile spread across Lu Ke's face as his gaze swept over the group.

Parris's expression was still sour. He took a half-step forward, as if to say something, but Willis turned and shot him a harsh glare. Parris then looked toward Alex, but to his surprise, Alex stepped forward himself. "Five darts. Highest score wins. Simple as that."

After today's game, the San Francisco 49ers team had started to come together, rediscovering their shared belief—a thirst for victory. But this didn't mean everyone suddenly loved Lu Ke. Forget Parris; even Willis, who had been the one to invite him over, couldn't be considered a friend. They were just teammates who had finally broken down some barriers.

Friendship doesn't appear out of thin air; likewise, true camaraderie isn't built overnight. Two months—that was how long Lu Ke had been with the team. An indisputable fact.

"And the stakes?" Lu Ke leaned against a wooden pillar, his cheeks slightly flushed. It seemed chugging all that beer had gone to his head a little, and his eyes even looked a bit hazy as he chuckled.

The question caught Alex off guard. He had only been thinking of a simple game of darts and hadn't considered any stakes. It was Vernon, standing nearby, who stepped forward. "A lap down the street outside the bar. Naked. How about it? You dare?"

Lu Ke smiled and nodded, agreeing without a moment's hesitation. "Are you guys sure? I'm a quarterback. You do remember that, right?" 'Power control, trajectory control, and precision—a quarterback's bread and butter. It was also what had secured him the starting quarterback position.'

"Ha. Kid's got guts," Willis remarked. Beside him, Nawolo shrugged. "If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to make those long passes."

Willis laughed merrily, nodding in agreement. "But are you sure you've played darts before? If you lose, we're going to be recording it, and it'll be spread around the whole team." Darts relies on wrist strength and control; while it's also a throwing sport, the mechanics are different.

In truth, their reason for calling Lu Ke over was quite simple:

It was a small hazing ritual between the veterans and the undrafted rookie. They were sure they could win, make Lu Ke embarrass himself once, and then they could let bygones be bygones. But if Lu Ke won? It would mean he had earned their respect on their own terms, and likewise, all the past friction would be forgotten.

Of course, as a rookie, Lu Ke would still have to do his share of the grunt work like cleaning up training equipment and tidying the locker room, just like the other rookies—no special privileges there. But beyond that, the veterans would no longer deliberately give him a hard time. Not even Parris.

Lu Ke didn't know the ins and outs of the situation, but he could vaguely sense that things weren't as simple as they appeared. He didn't mind, though. He shrugged. "How about we make it a little more interesting? Five darts, and each one has to hit a designated target area in sequence. For example, the first dart has to hit the outermost green ring. If you miss, that's it for that target—hitting it later doesn't count. At the end, we see who has the higher accuracy out of five. How about that?"

If it were just about the total score from five darts, it would be too simple. Even if you missed one, the other four could still turn the tide. Comebacks on the final throw were common in professional darts. But under Lu Ke's rules, five darts meant five distinct chances. A single miss could be fatal.

That made it much more of a nail-biter, a bit like a penalty shootout.

So bold, so arrogant, so thrilling—the guy was audacious as hell. For a moment, though, Willis couldn't tell if Lu Ke was bluffing or holding a winning hand.

"What, not confident enough?" On the surface, Lu Ke was talking about the dart game, taunting their lack of confidence. But his gaze drifted pointedly toward the lower halves of Vernon, Willis, and the others, implying that the veterans were not only worried about losing the game, but also about their manhood becoming a laughingstock.

One sentence, killing three birds with one stone.

Parris was the first to snap, jumping in. "Fine, we'll play! It's a deal!"

Lu Ke raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "I thought this was a match between me and Vernon. So for the punishment, my wager is just me, but yours is all of you? Or am I supposed to play Vernon first, and then Parris?"

One surprise after another. The veterans couldn't help but exchange glances, seeking each other's opinions, unable to come up with an immediate answer. Then, Lu Ke let out a soft chuckle. He didn't say anything more, just dipped his chin slightly, but to Willis and the others, the meaning was crystal clear:

He was mocking them for being afraid to lose.

Willis clapped his hands and roared with laughter. "Now I see you're a really interesting guy. Not just on the field, but off it, too. Ever thought about becoming a professional Texas Hold'em player? Your poker face is a perfect ten." 'It would be nearly impossible for an opponent to guess Lu Ke's true hand.'

"I'll add it to my post-retirement plans," Lu Ke said with a laugh.

Willis snapped his fingers. "Alright, here's the deal. If you lose, you strip completely naked, underwear and all. If you win, all of us run in our underwear."

This was obviously unfair.

But Lu Ke didn't rush to protest. Instead, he thought for a moment before adding, "Deal. On one condition: if I win, all the other players get to watch from the doorway. You're not allowed to sneak off early. It has to be done in full view of everyone."

"Deal!" Willis declared, sealing it.

All along, the San Francisco 49ers' locker room had seemed to follow Parris's lead. But having spent this time with them, Lu Ke was gradually discovering that the true authority figures were Alex Smith, Patrick Willis, and Jonathan Goodwin.

The reason Parris was the one calling the shots was because his personality was more lively, enthusiastic, and impulsive, which made him a good motivator, while the other key players preferred to keep a low profile. But at critical moments, Parris's words clearly didn't carry enough weight.

Lu Ke straightened up and walked to the throwing line. "So, who am I up against?"

Surprisingly, it wasn't Alex, but Vernon. 'Throwing darts and throwing a football are two completely different sports.'

…

Fifteen minutes later, Lu Ke lightly dusted off his hands, a cheerful smile on his face. "Phew, that was close. A real nail-biter. Super close."

Lu Ke had hit all five of his targets in sequence as required; Vernon had hit three.

With a polite nod, Lu Ke turned, pumped his fist in the air, and yelled, "Alright, guys! We've got some streakers! Let's go! Let's go cheer them on!"

"What? Who?" "Whoa, the stakes were that high!" "Haha, this is wild! So wild!" "Record it, quick, record it! Post it to YouTube, they might go viral!"

All the players erupted into a clamor, jeering and hollering. The few team leaders who had been part of the bet just stood there, staring at one another. Nawolo looked at Alex, completely bewildered. "You think… he did that on purpose?"

Alex suddenly found the situation both absurd and hilarious. He couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing. "He did warn us."

"But…" Parris looked stunned and unwilling to accept it, about to argue. But Willis clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go. A bet's a bet. I told you guys, there's more to this kid than meets the eye. Think about it seriously. For a player of Chinese descent to make it from high school to college, and then to the professional Alliance, he couldn't have gotten this far on willpower alone. It's not just the NFL that hazes rookies."

Vernon stood there thinking for a moment, but finally, he couldn't resist walking over to Lu Ke. "You never thought about letting me have one? At least then the loss wouldn't have been so ugly."

"Did you need me to?" Lu Ke didn't offer an excuse, just asked a question in return.

'If Lu Ke, knowing he had a sure victory, had deliberately thrown a shot, it would have been an insult to Vernon. In competitive sports, the greatest respect you can show an opponent is to give it your all.'

Vernon froze for a second, then broke into a disbelieving laugh. He clapped Lu Ke hard on the shoulder, wanting to say something but unable to find the right words. In the end, he just clapped him on the shoulder again and yelled, "Alright, let's go streaking!" He was the first to head out of the bar.

In an instant, all the players started roaring. Already hyped up and buzzing from the alcohol, this new excitement drove them into a frenzy. Players swarmed out of the bar and onto the street.

The clock had already struck one in the morning, and the street was deserted with hardly a soul in sight. When more than half the team poured out, the street instantly came alive. They started howling and chanting, "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off! Take it all off!"

Amid the applause and jeers, the party truly hit its climax. For a moment, it felt as if they hadn't lost the game today but won it, and this was their victory celebration—a riot of unison cheers and boisterous shouts.