I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 157 Three Weeks of Blindness (11K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

The night was quiet.

Most of the lights at No. 1200, Wanding Villa, were already off, with only a small nightlight still on at the end of the second-floor corridor, casting a warm yellow glow on the wooden floor.

When Richard entered Debbie's room, she was sprawled on the bed in an extremely undignified posture, with only a third of the blanket draped over her, one long leg dangling off the edge of the bed, and the other leg kicking against the corner of the blanket.

She was sleeping soundly, her breathing was steady and long, her lips were slightly parted, revealing a corner of her small canine tooth.

The shadow crouched on the windowsill, its tail wrapped around its front paws. When it saw Richard come in, it stood up and rubbed against him with its tail raised.

Richard stroked it and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He first remodeled Debbie's whole-body motor neurons, increasing her muscle recruitment capacity to 95%.

There were very few neurons, and the total consumption was less than 1 unit of fresh flesh and blood.

There was too much fresh flesh left, so Richard simply placed his hand on Debbie's Achilles tendon.

The three-dimensional vision of flesh and blood reconstruction unfolded, and the internal condition of the Achilles tendon and patellar tendon was clearly presented before his eyes.

The collagen fibers, which were just rewoven yesterday, are neatly arranged and there are no problems.

These tendons can withstand a range of normal tension far exceeding the maximum pressure that Debbie's existing muscles can apply.

This means that until Debbie’s muscle strength increases significantly, these tendons are virtually impossible to strain (unless accidentally injured), and they can cope stably even if she adopts various abnormal stress postures during training.

Richard simply named these cells, remodeled with "fresh flesh" of abundance 7, as level 7 cells.

Raw, unenhanced items are classified as level 0.

In other words, the pressure generated by grade 0 muscle fibers cannot cause any minor damage to grade 7 tendons.

This can serve as reference data for subsequent enhancements.

In the future, when you want to strengthen your body, you can refer to similar parameters.

Richard then expanded his field of vision to the edges of the joints, the medial edge of the meniscus, the cartilage gaps of the ankle joint, and the outer edge of the acetabulum.

Sure enough, as jumping ability increases, the impact force on the bones also increases accordingly, and these parts show a slight, almost invisible wear and tear.

This is the result of just one day of training; over time, it will inevitably lead to various injuries.

As jumping ability increases, the ground reaction force upon landing also increases, but the strength of the bones themselves does not change accordingly. This creates a significant weakness: muscles and tendons become stronger, but bones and cartilage do not.

Richard consumed another 20 units of fresh flesh and blood, enhancing the meniscus, ankle cartilage, and acetabular surface within his field of vision to level 7.

At the microscopic level, it is denser and more uniform, significantly improving its ability to withstand impacts.

After he finished, he rechecked that both sides were symmetrical, that the operation had not caused any changes in appearance, and that Debbie's joint mobility was as normal before withdrawing his hand.

He went to the blood collection point during the day and replenished the Blood Box. He also used some Blood Golems to monitor Antonio. Currently, there are 5 units available in the Blood Box.

Richard felt something under his feet and looked down.

The shadow crouched at his feet, frantically rubbing its tail against Richard, and looked up at him.

Meow~

Richard glanced at the shadow.

The shadow cried out again and licked Richard's feet obsequiously with its tongue.

Unlike the foolish biped on the bed, it understood that Richard was the reason it became stronger.

But that's not enough.

This cat is going to be even stronger!

This cat defeated all the cats and dogs in the vicinity!

There's a family next door who owns a leopard cat, and that idiot is actually showing off to me.

This cat is determined to show that idiot who the king of cats is!

Meow!

"Quite greedy." Richard chuckled, stretched out his fingers, pinched Shadow's ear, pried open its mouth to look at its teeth, and then touched the tear stains at the corner of its eye.

The facial features haven't been enhanced yet.

There are still 5 units of [Fresh Flesh and Blood] with an abundance of 7 left in the Blood and Corpse Box.

Then he spent a few minutes remodeling all the ossicles, auditory hair cells, retinal cells, and olfactory epithelial cells in the shadow's ear and nasal mucosa.

When it came to facial features, he didn't dare to make too drastic changes.

Even so, after the shadow enhancement, its hearing improved to about one or two times that of an ordinary cat, and its sense of smell and night vision also improved significantly, far exceeding the level of a normal cat.

Richard withdrew his finger.

The shadow shuddered first, its ears twitched, and then its pupils began to glow, revealing details it had never seen before.

This cat is even stronger now!

It jumped onto the windowsill, glanced back at Richard, and then leaped down.

Richard did not follow.

He could hear the sound of claws landing on the lawn, followed by a muffled thud on the wall, and then the shadow leaped over it.

A short while later, a mournful cat's meow came from the distant night.

Then came a series of rapid, four-pawed frantic escape sounds.

Clearly, Shadow has gone off to bully other cats again.

Richard smiled, closed Debbie's door, and went back to his own room.

The next morning, when Debbie arrived at the training facility, the subtle sensations in her knees and ankles had completely changed.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly what had changed, but the moment she stood on the floor, she felt more "whole" than before.

It's like something that was originally a bit loose has been tightened up.

Andrei glanced at her, said nothing, and wrote a few words on the notepad.

In the first set of basic movements, when Debbie jumped, she felt that she had controlled it quite well. However, her body was still a bit higher than the expected trajectory, and she landed off course by about fifteen centimeters. Although it was not a big mistake, someone was watching her the whole time.

Miranda scoffed, "Look, she's flown away again."

Madeline whispered, "High school cheerleading these days is so bad! How can someone of this caliber be captain?"

"You idiots, you have no idea how much Mother Mary loves me!" Debbie glanced at them, not angry at all, but rather feeling even more excited.

She patted her knees and stood back on the starting line. She felt that she was stronger today than yesterday, but still not very controllable, like a bow with a new string but the way to draw it was the same old way.

On her third jump, she jumped too high again, and when she landed, she knelt on one knee, but she didn't fall.

This time, even Andrei put down his recorder.

He didn't speak immediately. When Debbie got up, she saw him staring at her ankles: "Debbie, you jumped higher than the other day. I'm sure, at least 10-15 centimeters more."

Debbie nodded: "Yeah, I also feel like I'm jumping higher and higher."

But why? Andrei pondered for a moment: "Perhaps you're in your growth spurt, your strength and height are increasing, but it's happening too fast, and you're not used to your body yet—don't practice special skills anymore, it's pointless. Do basic training first. Wait until you've adapted to the changes in your body before moving on to advanced moves."

This is common in the NBA. Some rookies start gaining weight as soon as they enter the league, but the rapid weight gain affects their shooting touch and their shooting percentage actually decreases. They need a period of time to adapt.

Andrei planned to let Debbie adapt for two or three days before moving on to more advanced moves.

Cheerleaders are all very athletic. Their coordination and ability to control their bodies to perform complex movements are top-notch among professional athletes, only slightly inferior to gymnasts.

"Okay." Debbie also felt that she needed to adjust to her body.

The Virgin Mary is truly amazing!

It's helped me improve for two days in a row!

"Debbie, once you've adapted, you should be up to the standard for the official team," Andrei said. "I'll talk to the coach, and he'll agree to let you train with everyone."

"OK!"

Strength is actually a very important talent, especially since it is difficult to change without gaining weight.

Debbie began basic training.

Start with the simplest: jump upright, take off with both feet, land with both feet, knees slightly bent, without twisting or tumbling.

These are the basic and simplest movements that all cheerleaders learn when they first start out, used to sense changes in their bodies.

By doing it repeatedly, you can quickly adapt to changes in your body.

Debbie was obedient; she knew she needed to adapt to her new body.

She stood on the mat, jumping and landing repeatedly, adjusting her sensations time and time again, gradually reducing her strength as she went from overexerting herself to controlling it, feeling her body accepting these changes little by little.

She jumped more and more freely, as if she were rediscovering her own legs. This feeling was very interesting, and Debbie became more and more excited as she did it.

On the other side of the field, Madeline almost burst out laughing: "Look, after failing repeatedly, she only dares to do the basic moves now. Hahaha!"

Miranda curled her lip in disdain. Did this kind of person even deserve to steal her spot in the center?

"Coward! If someone like that played in the Super Bowl, their legs would probably be shaking!"

After a while, it was time for a break.

Miranda and Madeline and a few other girls went to the changing room.

Amanda finally found an opportunity and mustered up her courage to whisper to Debbie, "Don't be nervous, Debbie."

Debbie put down her water bottle, turned around, and smiled brightly: "I'm not nervous at all. I'm very happy."

Amanda paused for a moment.

She had expected to see Debbie struggling to stay calm, with red eyes and biting her lip, saying "I'm fine," but Debbie's expression showed no sign of strain.

She was just happy.

That kind of happiness almost emanated from every pore, and her whole face was glowing.

Amanda sighed, knowing in her heart that Debbie was just too strong-willed and was putting on a brave face.

Amanda had seen many girls like this before, and she didn't know what to say. In the end, she could only nod and say, "If you want to find a partner to practice the basics with, we can arrange a place."

Her voice became even softer, and without waiting for Debbie's response, she turned and walked back to her seat, afraid of being seen by Miranda.

"Thank you," Debbie said with a smile.

The South Bronx, the poorest area in New York City.

The street resembled a gray wound, with abandoned shops on both sides.

The iron railings at the church entrance are leaning, and the external staircase of the old apartment building is rusted beyond recognition.

Irving stepped on a piece of broken glass, making a soft cracking sound.

He crossed the main street and stopped in front of an abandoned convenience store whose walls were covered with old graffiti.

Three men sat in the sun at the shop entrance, their hair disheveled, their faces covered in stubble, their skin pale, and they looked sickly.

A lame man, holding a flat metal flask in his hand, one leg straight and the other slightly bent, with a dark brown old scar on his limping ankle.

Sitting next to me was a thin man with gray hair, wearing a faded baseball jacket with frayed cuffs, his hands covered in tiny needle marks, his body twisted in an odd pose, probably still not done partying.

Another person sat on the steps, an old attic magazine with its pages curled up on his lap, reading intently.

Irving stopped in front of them and smiled, saying, "Hi."

The limping man raised his eyelids, sized him up for a few seconds, and asked, "What do you do?"

The other two remained motionless.

Irving said kindly, "Look at everyone, understand everyone's difficulties, and conduct a social survey."

The lame man chuckled strangely. "I've seen too many people like you—church members, state members, college students, journalists. They rush around, snap a few photos, write a short reflection, and then go back to their warm, bright houses..."

'

Irving didn't argue, but handed me an unopened chocolate bar: "My name is Irving, what's yours? How long have you been here?"

"Hank." Hank took the chocolate, handed the metal flask to Owen, and stared at the young man with the youthful face.

Irving took a sip without a care: "Not bad."

"Hahaha! I like you, kid!" Hank laughed, took back the flask, took a sip, and said in a hoarse voice, "I've lived in this garbage dump for twenty-three years."

Irving sat down on the steps.

"How much is the rent per month for that apartment building over there," he pointed to the most dilapidated building across the street, "over there?"

"Six hundred and fifty, or six hundred, I forget. But the heating breaks down every few days, and the upstairs pipes have leaked three times, and the landlord doesn't care. If you talk to him, he just says you can leave if you don't want to live here."

Hank shrugged and took another sip.

"What happened to you...?" Owen pointed to his leg, "How did you get into this state? Are you having a hard time either?"

Hank didn't explain his leg: "My son lives in a rehabilitation center in Queens, and I visit him once a week. It's a three-hour bus ride with two transfers. He can only move the fingers of his left hand now." Hank spoke as if he were talking about someone else, his expression indifferent.

How old is he?

"Twenty-nine. He was twenty-two when the car accident happened."

The man reading the book scoffed beside him, as if laughing at himself: "You're lucky you even have a son. My son is seventeen. Last year, during a gang fight, he was shot in the chest. When the ambulance arrived, the hospital said they needed to pay five thousand before he could get into the operating room. I didn't have five thousand, and I didn't have a credit card."

"And then?"

"He died later."

"Don't you have health insurance?"

"Medical insurance?" The man reading the book scoffed. "What organization are you from?"

"I'm not affiliated with any organization. I just wanted to see how things are here."

"Ha, do we need to keep it a secret? You're all the same. You come here all serious, write a report, and then nothing happens. A group just left last week, saying they were sent by the state. They took five photos and left."

Irving sat there listening to the two old men talk for over forty minutes, while the other guy remained in that position the whole time, not waking up.

The two men seemed to have been ignored for a long time, and once they started talking, they couldn't stop.

From the Vietnam War to the relocation of factories, and the injuries sustained from moving furniture when I was young, even bending over hurts now.

I haven't had a proper night's sleep in three months. The basement cubicle has no heating, and it's terribly cold at night.

Loan sharks come knocking on the door once a week. I dare not turn on the lights, for fear of being seen.

His physical condition was so poor that no one wanted to sell his blood.

When Irving left, he left behind some food, which he had obtained by selling his blood.

He felt heavy-hearted and continued walking down the street until he saw a house that looked fairly clean at the entrance.

He stepped forward.

The doorbell is broken.

"Is anyone home?" Irving knocked six times before he heard footsteps inside, very light, like bare feet on an old wooden floor.

The door was ajar, the security chain was still hanging, and half of a wary face was visible.

It was a woman, not good-looking, with dark skin, high cheekbones, her hair tied back with a faded hair tie, and a dark bluish-black ring under her eyes.

"Who are you?"

Irving slipped a twenty-dollar bill through the crack in the door: "Just passing by, wanted to chat."

"Let's talk?" The woman glanced down at the banknote, then stared at Owen's face for a few seconds, as if assessing the danger, before finally unlocking the security chain.

As soon as Owen entered the room, before he could even see what was inside, he saw the woman starting to take off her top: "Keep your voice down, the child is still sleeping."

Owen paused for a moment before realizing what he meant, and quickly said, "Madam, that's not what I meant."

The woman stopped moving, lowered her dress, and asked warily, "Then what are you doing here?"

Irving placed twenty dollars on the shoe rack by the door: "I'd like to know more about your family."

Maria stood there, looking at him as if trying to determine if this was some kind of indirect trap: "What exactly do you do?"

"Write something down," Owen said earnestly. "Write down what's going on here."

Maria remained silent for a moment, as if unsure whether to believe him or not, but Owen's face remained calm.

"reporter?"

59

...I guess so.

Irving was finally able to sit down.

The room was small, with an old sofa, a table, and a double bed squeezed against the wall. Three children were sleeping on the same bed, but the blankets weren't big enough, and one of them had his legs sticking out, huddled up in the cold.

There were several plastic bags piled up in the corner, containing food wrapped in tin foil, which looked like leftovers from a restaurant.

Irving sat down on the sofa. The woman sat on the plastic stool opposite him, clutching a $20 bill tightly, with a knife beside her.

The woman's hand rested on her knee, her fingers cracked and showing dark red streaks of blood, as if they had been repeatedly healed and cracked from being soaked in hot water and strong alkaline detergent for a long time.

Irving asked about her situation.

Her answer was brief: she had been washing dishes for five years, had no legal status, and dared not apply for any relief.

She spoke in a calm tone, without crying or sobbing.

Irving talked for 20 minutes and then left.

He went outside.

Maria stood at the door, still clutching the banknote tightly.

"You do nothing and just give me money?" She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion, not gratitude. "What are you after?"

"I don't want anything." Irving left.

Maria shook her head, thinking she had met a fool.

Irving walked into the apartment building.

The elevator was indeed broken.

Irving silently walked upstairs. He was young and strong, so climbing stairs was no problem for him, but it would be very troublesome if the residents were elderly.

The door to the top floor was ajar, and through the crack came the sound of an old-fashioned radio broadcasting a sermon.

Irving knocked on the door.

An aged voice came from inside: "It's unlocked. Who is it?"

Upon entering the room, he saw a woman in her seventies or eighties.

She sat in an old armchair with a thin, washed blanket over her legs. Several expired cans were piled up next to her, one of which was already opened and contained only half a spoonful of beans, emitting a sour smell.

Her eyesight was poor; she squinted at Owen for several seconds before she could barely make out a blurry outline: "Are you from the church?"

Irving shook his head: "No."

He was thinking about the stairs he had just seen. How did this old man go up and down the stairs?

If you have bad knees, you have to hold onto the wall, turn your feet to the side, and hold onto the handrail to move slowly down one floor. It may take you ten minutes to go down one floor.

If you're buying food, how do you carry it upstairs? Or is it because you haven't bought anything that requires carrying in a long time?

"My name is Owen, madam. What's your name?"

"Madam?" The woman was surprised; she hadn't heard that title in a long time. "Young man, just call me Agnes."

"OK." Owen squatted down next to Agnes, unwrapped a chocolate bar, and handed it to her. "Agnes, how often do you go downstairs?"

"Thank you, child, God will bless you." Agnes happily accepted the chocolate: "The last time I went downstairs was—three months ago."

Agnes started rambling on and on.

"The doctor said I need to go downstairs and walk around, otherwise my legs will get worse and worse. But the elevator has been broken for six months and the landlord won't fix it."

"My son and daughter both died, one was 22 and the other was 25. My grandson also died later, from fentanyl addiction. He was actually a good kid, he just ran into the wrong people."

Irving saw a photo frame on the cabinet in the corner. It contained a family photo, but the photo was yellowed, the edges were curled up, and everyone's face was blurry, making it look a bit scary.

"Now I'm all alone."

Irving stayed with her to listen to the rest of the gospel sermon.

When he left, Irving placed a $20 bill on her lap.

Agnes neither stopped her nor said thank you.

He simply touched the edge of the banknote and shakily stuffed it under the blanket.

It was late at night, in a motel.

The room was small, with a bed, a table, a chair, and a cracked mirror on the wall.

Irving sat at the table, recalling the events of the past few days.

He spent a total of five days visiting three streets, and the lives of more than 200 people swirled in his mind.

He sat for more than two hours before taking out a pen and writing lines of text on a piece of paper.

The Forgotten Sheep: A Field Report on Southampton's Poor Communities

First, do not speak of right or wrong without seeing suffering.

Words have no weight without firsthand testimony.

Without ever going there and witnessing the people's suffering firsthand, what gives you the right to draw such a conclusion?

For the past five days, I have put aside my books and the empty talk at the St. Thorn meeting place, and as a humble Catholic, I have walked into the most dilapidated slums in the South Bronx, New York.

I visited 172 households, 45 small shops along the street, and 12 temporary shelters, speaking with dockworkers, single mothers, unemployed youth, veterans, street vendors, and parish priests one by one. I witnessed firsthand the suffocating survival difficulties that ordinary people face when the "poverty problem" is so lightly mentioned in newspapers and by politicians...

II. The Real Dilemmas of Impoverished Communities: Unemployment Security for the Low-Income Workers...

Usury and organized crime monopolize private lending.

Public order has completely collapsed, and the authorities have gone into hiding...

Even a small accident can destroy a family.

Community bonds are broken, faith is lost...

Third, our self-help plan is to establish a Catholic grassroots charity mutual aid association, build a regional mutual aid financial system, and cut off the clutches of usury.

Forming the Thorn Knights neighborhood volunteer patrol team to rebuild community public safety....

Improve community-based social welfare services to address difficulties in accessing healthcare, housing, and relief.

Rebuild the Catholic community and unite people through faith.

In the deep of night, this pen seemed like a lamp.

Irving wrote and thought simultaneously, very slowly.

Every stroke seemed to be forging his soul.

Sometimes I delete a large section while writing.

He spent two whole days writing in the hotel, finally completing this article of several thousand words.

"Cough cough cough." Excessive exertion caused him to catch a cold, resulting in a slight cough. Staying indoors for several days made him appear even paler and weaker.

However, Irving's eyes shone brightly, sharp and determined, filled with boundless power.

Irving had everything prepared and finally pulled out the phone Sean had given him: "This is Irving. Sean introduced me. He said if I need help, I can talk to you guys. I have some ideas now."

""

During breakfast, Debbie would frequently reach out and touch her calves.

She pinched her Achilles tendon and then her calf, her brows furrowing.

"Why do I feel like my legs have gotten thicker? Richard, do you think they've gotten thicker?"

She stood up and took a couple of steps, then squatted down again, repeatedly pinching her calves, feeling increasingly uneasy.

Richard sipped his tea leisurely: "Trying to lose weight again?"

He knew perfectly well why Debbie felt strange, because he had helped Debbie rebuild her leg muscles the night before.

The rearrangement of muscle fibers makes the muscle group tighter at a microscopic level, but there is no obvious change in appearance.

The "thickening" she felt was actually a proprioceptive distortion; her muscles were more focused and concentrated when she exerted force.

More powerful, this sense of power was misinterpreted by her mind as an increase in size.

Debbie pinched her legs a couple more times, then changed into a pair of tight pants that still fit perfectly, confirming that her legs hadn't changed much.

She tried jumping again and clearly felt that her jumping ability had improved, and improved a lot.

It must be because Mother Mary loves me again!

Debbie immediately returned to her room and solemnly took out the silk scarf: "Mother Holy Mother, thank you!"

She clutched the silk scarf and began to pray, more sincerely than she had ever felt in her life.

When Debbie finished praying and was about to put the scarf away, she noticed something strange: a small, semi-transparent lightning bolt and thorn symbol in the corner of the scarf.

What is this?

Did this exist before?

Debbie couldn't remember either.

Richard was surprised to find that an unclaimed faith was emanating from Debbie's room.

She believed it!

She actually believed it!

Richard drove Debbie to the Giants' training facility and sat in the family section, observing Debbie's performance that day.

Debbie's physical changes will be an important reference for his future self-transformation.

Debbie came out after changing into her uniform.

Edmund was discussing dance moves with assistant coach Andrei around a tablet when he glanced up at Debbie. He didn't say anything, but simply gestured to Andrei, "You continue with her practice."

"Okay." Andrei led Debbie to a corner and began doing basic exercises.

After Debbie jumped off the beast, Andrei's gaze changed. He made Debbie do a triple jump and a series of single-leg jumps.

He stared at her soaring through the air and landing steadily each time, his expression shifting from "confusion" to "doubt" and then to "confirmation" within minutes.

Debbie's jumping ability has indeed increased, and the increase is quite noticeable.

Judging from the data, this change doesn't seem to be caused by short-term high-intensity training, but rather by a burst of energy that comes out of the body during a period of peak physical development, pushed out by training.

Could it be the effect of my training plan?

Andrei looked closely at the notebook. Could it be that I have a natural talent for physical training?

Miranda was standing on the other side of the field and couldn't see how high Debbie jumped.

The two of them were too lazy to discuss Debbie's training performance anymore; what was there to care about in a newbie who couldn't even do basic exercises?

"Let her train in the Beast Year again."

Halfway through the training session, Clayton stood at the edge of the field with a camera, watching the footage on the monitor.

He has been filming Beast Sky continuously, but there is not a single piece of usable footage.

Debbie is doing basic training today, there's no need to criticize her.

He put down the camera and walked over to Langdon: "Boss, we can't edit this out. Her performance is getting worse and worse, her camera work is so poor it's unbelievable, and she's been doing basic training all along. If we force it out and post it online, it will definitely be a backlash."

Langdon rubbed his temples: "So, do you have any suggestions?"

Clayton thought for a moment: "Let's talk to Coach Edmund and have her stay behind alone after practice today to do a few simple moves. No need for group practice, just her doing it by herself. Don't make it too difficult, just make sure she can complete it consistently. That way, we can at least get some usable footage."

Langdon couldn't agree: "Okay, I'll talk to Coach Edmund in a bit."

Clayton relented and continued to symbolically film Debbie's basic training for a few minutes.

Training is over.

The girls all went to take a shower.

Andrei excitedly took the training data to Edmund.

"Her jumping ability is increasing! I've checked repeatedly, it's not a measurement error! It's obvious that her vertical jump height has increased by at least 20-30 centimeters, which is quite remarkable."

Edmund flipped through a few pages of records, pondered for a moment: "Adolescent climax can indeed cause a short-term increase in jumping ability, but a concentrated change like hers—I've never seen anything like it before."

"My training was incredibly effective!" Andrei said proudly. "Her physical foundation was actually quite good, but no one had discovered it before. My training helped her bring it out!"

I am Tiankai, the trainer!

Otherwise, how else can we explain this?

Edmund nodded in agreement: "If that's the case—it's perfect for testing her later. Langdon wants her to film a training video on her own as a promotional tool."

"OK! I'll go tell her."

After taking a shower, the team members packed their things and prepared to leave.

Andrei called out, "Debbie, stay behind. Langdon and Edmund have something to discuss with you."

The commotion inside the venue was noticeably slower.

Miranda, who was tying her shoelaces, paused upon hearing those words, a cold smile playing on her lips: "She's definitely going to get criticized. Maybe even the coach can't stand her performance anymore and will lose patience."

Madeline whispered, "Miranda, didn't I tell you she was a loser? How could someone with her skill level possibly be the center? The boss is patient enough to protect her, but he won't protect her forever. Cheerleading is all about skill; what good is fame? You don't need to worry at all, Miranda!"

Miranda smiled slightly and exhaled softly, as if she had put down something that had been weighing on her.

However, she wouldn't give up; she had to crush Debbie completely, leaving her no chance to breathe.

This media day is sure to be a treat for you!

Amanda's heart sank when she saw Debbie being left behind.

Debbie's mental state was not very stable to begin with. If she were scolded, her mentality would become even more unstable, and who knows how the subsequent training would turn out.

She remembered how Debbie had been climbing up and down on the mat a couple of days ago, and couldn't help but glance back at Yan.

The other team members chatted and laughed, not taking it seriously.

It seems Her Highness won't be able to stay in the Giants' cheerleading squad for long.

They've seen countless people come and go; many can't adapt to the intense training and technical demands of NFL cheerleading and leave within a month—this is all too common.

The team members all left, and the venue gradually quieted down.

Langdon led Debbie to the center of the training hall: "Debbie, we're shooting some promotional footage. We don't need you to do anything too difficult, just what you're most stable and confident in. No matter how badly you jump, we'll edit it until it's usable."

Clayton added from the side, "I'll be filming the whole thing."

Langdon added, "Debbie, do whatever you want. Try it a few times to see how it feels. Don't expect to get it right the first time."

Andrei watched with great anticipation.

Debbie has already adapted to the Beast Days, so she should be able to adapt to her body now, right?

"No problem." Debbie stood confidently in the center of the court, stretching her ankles and knees.

She could feel that her body was completely different from two days ago; it was more coordinated, and every joint felt like it was coated with oil.

Andrei was indeed a good teacher, and the basic movement training he gave her was very effective.

But the most important thing is still the Holy Mother's Bow!

Debbie started warming up, then did a simple aerial somersault, landing as steadily as a rock. She started to sweat slightly, which was just right.

Edmund immediately noticed that Debbie jumped higher than Miranda.

Langdon also noticed something unusual: "She seems to be jumping really high?"

Edmund Gao said sternly, "She's still developing, so it's only natural for her body to get stronger."

"I trained them!" Andrei thought to himself with smug satisfaction, clapping loudly and shouting, "Well done, Debbie!"

"Thank you!" Debbie smiled, stretched a bit, and then began to accelerate at full speed.

She instinctively felt that she should be able to complete that action.

Jump, spin continuously, land.

Bang!

Debbie landed steadily on the mat.

"I did it!" Debbie jumped up excitedly, then turned to Richard and shouted, "Richard! Did you see that?! I finished the three weeks! I did it!"

She jumped like a child waiting for praise.

Richard clapped and praised, "Well done!"

Richard's praise made Debbie very happy, and she held her chin up high.

The Virgin Mary's bow is wonderful!

Edmund was taken aback: "Debbie completed three weeks of landing?"

"Yes, yes! I saw it very clearly!" Andrei was extremely excited.

I really am a natural at training!

Very few cheerleaders can complete three weeks of cheering; there are only about 10 in the entire NFL.

Among American female gymnasts, more can complete triple somersaults because they are relatively short, about 1.5 meters tall, which gives them a significant physical advantage when performing high and difficult somersaults.

Cheerleaders have an average height of over 1.65 meters, which is considered giant among gymnasts, putting them at a significant physical disadvantage.

Miranda Kerr is 167cm tall, and Debbie Kerr is even taller at 170cm. It's a miracle that they can complete three jumps at that height.

Seeing the two coaches' reactions, Richard knew that Debbie's training had reached the limit for top athletes and could not be improved any further.

In other words, a level 7 cell is roughly equivalent to the level of a top athlete.

This was very important data. Richard silently wrote it down.

Clayton saw this scene in the frame, his finger froze on the camera, and he didn't take a picture.

He had just turned it on and completely forgot to press the button.

Langdon asked expectantly, "Did you take the picture?"

Clayton's lips moved slightly: "—I didn't press it."

Langdon's face darkened.

Many of the moves are performed by athletes beyond their usual level, and they themselves cannot replicate them.

"Um... Debbie, could we do it one more time?" Langdon called out helplessly.

"No problem!" Debbie exclaimed confidently.

Andrei was even more nervous than her: "Are you alright? Do you want to rest?"

Debbie had just finished two hours of training, and her physical condition was not at its peak.

"If you're not feeling well, we can film again tomorrow," Langdon added. He realized that Debbie had truly unleashed her potential, and the heavy weight on his heart finally lifted.

If Debbie can perform consistently, she can become the center, fulfill her boss's task, and avoid being criticized by the audience.

"Don't worry." Debbie was also excited. She took another deep breath, preparing to do it again.

Clayton finally snapped out of it: "Let's do it again, this time I'll definitely shoot!"

He repositioned the camera, focused it on Debbie, and held the camera steadily with one hand.

Edmund and Andrei also looked closely at Debbie.

Successfully completing it once is a coincidence, but if you can complete it a second time in a row, then your skill level has truly reached that point.

Debbie adjusted her breathing, paused for three seconds, and then accelerated again.

Jump!

The force of her feet pushing off the ground was just right, and the feedback from the ground seemed to have been precisely calculated by her body. The power of her legs was transmitted along the tendons to her torso, and Debbie was flexibly lifted into the air.

The body rotates in mid-air, and the first rotation is very stable.

At that moment, beads of sweat slid down his forehead.

Sweat was flung into her eyes by inertia as she turned, stinging her eyes and causing her to instinctively close them, a burning sensation washing over her.

Her vision went completely dark at that moment, leaving only the inertia of rotation to keep her spinning.

Oh no! Debbie's heart skipped a beat.

However, since the body was already in the air, it was impossible to stop, otherwise the injury would be more serious.

She could only keep spinning by instinct, trying to feel her position in the air with her body.

"OMG!" Andrei exclaimed.

"She closed her eyes!" Edmund's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Langdon's mouth dropped open.

In an instant, he decided how he would die.

If the Holy Maiden were to fall and be seriously injured while training in front of him, he couldn't even imagine facing her.

Whether it's an enraged boss or a fanatical believer, they can tear themselves to pieces!

Richard remained calm as he carefully observed Debbie's body, finding no signs of losing control.

Sure enough, her physical sensations were top-notch; it was an innate talent.

Even if Debbie is seriously injured, he can heal her; she just won't be able to appear in public for a short period.

So Richard wasn't worried at all.

As she was finishing the third rotation, Debbie realized she might be going too far, about a quarter of a turn.

She couldn't explain where this feeling came from either.

So, she instinctively spread her body in mid-air to reduce the speed of rotation, while landing on her feet, bending her knees slightly to dissipate the force, pressing her body down, and landing lightly on the ground.

The training hall fell silent.

Debbie finally blinked her sweat-drenched eyes, rubbed them with her fingers, looked at her toes, and felt her heart pounding wildly.

I did it!

No injuries!

Edmund strode over, his voice urgent: "Debbie! Don't do this! Are you crazy?!"

His expression changed visibly, and his voice rose a half-tone: "Blind fool! Do you know what you were doing just now? That was a blind fool! In the video I showed you, there were people protecting you, and there were specially laid soft mats on the ground! We weren't prepared at all! Damn it! If you..."

'

He covered his face, completely at a loss; he was truly terrified.

Langdon clutched his heart and squatted on the ground, unable to utter a word.

Thank goodness, I survived.

Her Highness is such a troublemaker!

If I were to work with her again, I'd die ten years earlier!

Debbie was startled by the coach's reaction. Knowing it was dangerous, she said aggrievedly, "I got something in my eye, and sweat dripped in. I didn't do it carelessly."

Edmund, panting, his heart finally calming down, pleaded, "Please don't do it! Please! Debbie! Never do it again!"

Andrei's mouth also gaped open, and it took him a long time to close it.

So exciting!

He didn't expect that anyone could actually do this on a hard mat.

Langdon took a deep breath, clutched his heart, and stood up. He suddenly remembered something: "Clayton, you just finished filming, right?"

His expression was extremely fierce; if Clayton said he hadn't filmed it, he swore he would shove the camera behind Clayton.

"I took a picture! I took a picture!"

Clayton was ecstatic. He watched the playback again: "It was all filmed. Her eyes were closed! My God! It's a miracle!"

The group remained silent for a few seconds, processing the miracle that had just occurred.

Seeing Debbie's expression change, Edmund solemnly promised, "Debbie, the center position is yours. Go back and rest. However, since you haven't participated in team practice, Miranda will handle the complex movements on media day to avoid any accidents. I can guarantee that if you can maintain this performance, you'll be the center on Super Night!"

Debbie was very satisfied. She didn't care about the media day embarrassment; as long as she could go on stage at the Super Bowl to fulfill Clara's promise, she was happy: "No problem!"

"By the way! Don't release this video yet. I have a brilliant idea," Langdon suddenly said, his eyes gleaming.

Clayton had accumulated a wealth of "evidence of Debbie's failure," but now it has all become "pieces of the puzzle for Debbie's comeback."

If you connect these videos from beginning to end, and add some clever editing, you can perfectly show how Debbie overcame repeated failures and, through her own efforts, gradually completed the most difficult moves.

A comeback is always something the public loves to see.

Langdon explained his thoughts:

"...After media day, since Coach Edmund positioned Debbie and Miranda in the center, and Miranda was doing the most complex moves, some people online will definitely question Debbie's skill level. We can release that then, and with the added bonus of her saintly status, it'll be a massive publicity stunt!"

Everyone's eyes lit up.

"Great idea!"

Edmund pondered for a moment: "Sounds good! You're the PR director, so we'll handle the publicity, and we'll all work for you!"