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.
