Daytona Beach, Florida. LYD Basketball Training Camp, 39 Mason Street.
The old gym had been renovated into a training facility, but the space was so small that it only fit half a court. Inside, the camp's owner, Dawson, was presenting the graduation certificate for the first-ever Advanced Special Training Class.
Dawson solemnly handed the homemade, laminated, gold-stamped certificate to the only graduate—Carl Anderson.
At just thirteen years old, Carl had already shot up to 180 cm, as tall as Dawson himself. Yet as he took the certificate, Carl's face betrayed a hint of disappointment.
He'd been expecting a trophy or something.
A few steps away, the only witness to this "graduation ceremony," Carl's father—Old Carl—clapped vigorously and even let out a sharp whistle.
Dawson noticed Carl's disdain and disappointment. Truth be told, he'd wanted to give him a medal, but the supplier only did bulk orders.
After a moment's thought, Dawson decided to give Carl a question instead.
"Carl, in a basketball game, what's the most important thing—offense or defense?"
Carl thought for a moment, then answered without hesitation:
"Offense, of course!"
After all, the reason he came to Dawson's camp was to hone his offensive skills.
"Not exactly."
Dawson shook his head, gripping Carl's shoulders and speaking seriously.
"Carl, remember this—winning is the most important thing in a game. I've told you before, basketball is a five-man sport. Everyone on the court has a role. No matter what your role is, your job is to help your team win."
Carl clearly didn't get it.
"But sir, doesn't that still mean offense is most important? Offense gets points. If I score a lot, we'll win. Same thing, right?"
Dawson sighed inwardly.
Ah, youth.
At Carl's age, all kids think about is scoring—and doing it in the flashiest way possible.
But from Dawson's experience—both as a player and now as a trainer—he knew that while offense was important, it wasn't everything.
That belief was at the core of Dawson's training philosophy.
There's more to the game than offense. His goal wasn't just to polish one particular skill, but to identify a player's best role based on their body and talent, and train them to help their team win.
This question was his way of nudging Carl in that direction.
The kid was way too ball-dominant, obsessed with scoring, and almost allergic to defense.
In Dawson's eyes, Carl's offensive talent wasn't even that special. In fact, his defensive potential might be better.
But clearly, Carl wasn't listening.
Dawson gave up on lecturing. Some lessons could only be learned through losses on the court.
Turning to Old Carl, Dawson quickly put his smile back on.
"So… have you thought about signing up for another month of advanced training?"
This kid was heading for Mainland High. He could be a long-term client.
"Uh… maybe not," Old Carl said awkwardly, dressed in gray overalls splattered with paint.
He pulled a small wad of bills from his pocket and handed it over.
The remaining balance for Carl's course—three hundred dollars.
Among them were only three $20 bills, proof enough that scraping it together hadn't been easy.
Old Carl was a house painter, with a modest income and several kids to support.
But for the "future of the family"—Carl—he'd scrimped and saved to pay for Dawson's training.
Not that Dawson had it any easier.
He'd been waiting on that payment to cover the rent for the court—already two weeks overdue. The landlord had threatened to throw his stuff out if he didn't pay up soon.
As father and son drove off, Old Carl rolled down the window and asked,
"You think my boy's got a shot at the NBA?"
Meeting his hopeful gaze, Dawson nodded firmly.
"Of course. He's got a shot."
And instantly felt a pang of guilt.
It felt like lying.
With Carl's current ability, even getting a full scholarship to college would be a stretch. The NBA? That was probably just a dream.
Dawson knew—he only had to look at his own story.
Before Vince Carter—nicknamed "UFO"—arrived at Mainland High, Dawson had been the absolute star, the core of the team.
In terms of high school performance, ten Carls put together couldn't match him.
But it hadn't been enough. The gap in athleticism had sealed his fate.
Carter soared to become one of the top players in the nation, while Dawson faded into the background.
Sometimes, Dawson couldn't help but resent the unfairness of it all.
With his skills, if he'd had even half of Carter's athleticism, he could've made the NBA, lived the dream—
Instead of spending four unremarkable years at the University of Florida before retiring quietly and becoming a trainer.
He glanced at the sign by the door.
Below the LYD letters was a smaller line of text:
Live Your Dreams.
Becoming an NBA player was out of the question now.
But Dawson still had a dream—
To become the best trainer, and to produce the best basketball players.
"Everything's gonna work out," he told himself quietly.
The first advanced class might have only had one student, but it proved the idea worked.
And besides—he had the system.
Back in the gym, Dawson pulled up the system he'd received two months ago.
> [Dream Trainer – Helping others achieve their dreams is also a form of success]
Name: Dawson
Title: Level 0 Trainer
Special Skill: Simulation
Badges: None
A message notification was waiting.
It was the system's "starter reward," unlockable only after completing one full private advanced training program.
Carl's program was now complete—time to claim it.
Dawson eagerly tapped to open it.
> Congratulations, Host! You have earned one draw for a high-level badge. Draw now?
In the system, trainer titles—levels—were upgraded through the experience gained from training players, increasing training efficiency.
Badges worked the same way, but often came with unique, powerful abilities.
And this was a high-level badge.
Dawson confirmed the draw.
> Congratulations! You have obtained a Gold Badge: Power of Example
As a trainer, leading by example greatly boosts player motivation. When you complete the same training alongside your trainee, their training efficiency increases by 30%.
Nice!
Dawson's eyes lit up. A thirty percent boost was huge.
After all, leveling up only added ten percent per level. And even that ten percent, built up over months of training, really added up.
For a trainer, no amount of hype-talk could beat actual improvement.
Training results were the bottom line—
And titles and badges were the force multipliers that could make him the best trainer out there.
Now all he needed was a real opportunity to shine.
And he couldn't just work with kids forever. With hundreds of thousands of trainers across the country, the only way to truly succeed was to work with elite players and make a name for himself.
If he could be like Tim Grover—Michael Jordan's personal trainer—he'd never have to worry about finding clients.
Dawson didn't expect that chance to come so quickly.
Three days after sending Carl off, in the middle of his recruitment efforts, Dawson got a call.
From Billy Donovan, head coach of the Florida Gators.
Back in '93, Dawson had graduated from high school and joined the University of Florida.
By then, the athletic gap was already clear—
The high school prodigy had vanished.
The only reason he stayed in the NCAA for four years was because he recognized his limits early and focused on defense, turning himself into a perimeter stopper.
Defense kept him on the roster as a role player.
In his senior year, 1996, Billy Donovan took over the team.
In that brief season, Dawson's defense left a strong impression on the coach.
Technically, Dawson could be considered Donovan's player.
But now, four years after graduation, why was Donovan suddenly calling?
And the first thing out of his mouth was a little painful:
He'd heard Dawson had become a trainer after retiring.
"So… after all these years, you must've made quite a name for yourself, huh?"