When one teases for too long, sooner or later, one will encounter someone who teases back.

Asking Bai Haonan to contemplate life or how to make money might be a stretch, but when it comes to managing a football team, that’s something he’d been helping Old Chen with since he was eight or nine. He’d been captain ever since the youth team started, only giving up the role after he turned twelve, telling Old Chen himself that he was done—it was boring, he’d rather just tag along.

After twenty years of muddling through, he had truly mastered the craft. But possessing skill and knowing how to wield it smoothly are two different things.

After the warm-up, nearly everyone had arrived. Bai Haonan began a short meeting—only to realize he had trouble getting his words out. He could chatter endlessly with women, and shout commands on the pitch without hesitation, but now, standing before dozens of expectant eyes in this formal setting, he broke out in a cold sweat. His mind went blank, all the professional terms he knew vanished from memory.

This was something Bai Haonan had never anticipated—it had never happened before! The harder he tried to recall the training plans and outlines he’d prepared, the more anxious he became, and the more he sweated.

No one would guess this was the first time in his life he’d ever spoken publicly like this. It was nothing like barking orders with a whistle on the field—there, he could mess around and juggle the ball, and his mind would be lubricated enough. But here, the feeling was like standing at a lectern in a classroom, with a crowd of dignified, intellectual types all watching him intently. He was struck by a sudden block; he couldn’t even come up with a simple opening line. Not that he’d prepared one!

It was like realizing, when you need the book most, you never bothered to read it, or finding you’d forgotten to sharpen your weapon before battle! No matter how fluent he was with technical jargon, transitions still needed words, speeches needed structure, and teaching required at least basic technique—none of which Bai Haonan possessed.

It felt to him as if he’d stood there awkwardly forever, though it was only a few seconds. The biochemist leaned against a stationary bike and called out, “Coach Liu, are you feeling alright?”

Bai Haonan took a deep breath, still unable to recall his prepared remarks. He wiped his sweaty brow, then habitually dried his hand on his shorts. The friction of his nylon compression tights reminded him, just barely, “Ah! Right, squats. Today, all of you will start practicing squats in the gym!”

The key to overcoming his public speaking block was simply to start talking—once his mouth opened and he found his way to familiar technical ground, the psychological barrier eased somewhat. Though he still stammered a bit, Bai Haonan managed to gather the group around the squat rack and began to speak. But as soon as he opened his mouth, he forgot what he’d planned to say. It was pure wedding-day nerves—his words tangled and jumbled. So, he turned around, loaded a weight that would challenge any ordinary person onto the rack, and began demonstrating, focusing with professional intensity, lips tightly sealed.

The demonstration was there, but the purpose left the scholar-athletes puzzled. Was squatting really essential for football?

Luckily, Chen Sufen arrived.

She had been teaching training classes for some time. Though only a junior at university, she’d been working part-time teaching aerobics and tai chi for over a year. She’d spent plenty of time with Old Chen’s team in the past, and now, as a bona fide sports university student, she understood Bai Haonan’s predicament well. Having been standing with a group of nurses reluctant to leave, she stepped confidently to the squat rack.

“Notice Coach Liu’s legs,” she said. “Speed, explosive power, and coordination all depend on the legs—this is the standard physique of a footballer. Unlike in ordinary gyms, where people focus on chest, abs, and arms—because those are the easiest to build and show off—the real difference for us is in the legs. Most gym-goers don’t gain much more than thicker muscle fibers, and many don’t even improve explosiveness. Coach Liu means that for all of you, squats are essential. Observe the technique…”

As she spoke, she pressed her chest to Bai Haonan’s back, positioning her feet against his heels, her hips almost brushing his as she demonstrated the proper posture—her long legs making it natural. Unconcerned, she spread her arms, her body nearly lying across his back, her hips bumping lightly as she went. As she explained, her hands traced slowly from his grip on the barbell along his forearms, upper arms, shoulders, chest, waist, back, spine, and finally, his glutes. With each point, she shifted her body, only slightly brushing against him.

Poor Bai Haonan, who’d always kept a gentlemanly distance from her, now found himself trapped under a hundred kilo barbell—unable to run, even if he wanted to!

He had to endure Chen Sufen’s calm professional commentary: “Push with your legs, transfer the force to your upper body, watch the muscle engagement here. Up… down…” With each rep, her hand would glide from his glutes to his waist, chest, even front and back of his hips, taking every opportunity to illustrate her point!

Bai Haonan, helplessly, had to comply.

The scholars and experts, to their credit, didn’t let their minds wander. They watched intently, convinced this was Bai Haonan’s assistant coach. They’d paid for a private instructor and got two—this female coach was obviously a professional. “Keep your chest up! See, this wrist rotation is crucial. The upper body must stay firm, all the force comes from the legs. Engage the inner thigh muscles here. The upper body just forms the support, and the whole body’s power explodes in this moment. For those who truly understand squats, this is the pleasure of movement—it feels even better than stretching!”

Pressed by her seemingly delicate fingers, Bai Haonan was forced through several reps before he finally found a chance to rack the bar, sweat pouring down—this time from real exertion, not nerves. His tension had vanished. “Here’s the thing,” he said, “you’re not like the pros I usually work with. Your physical conditions vary greatly. Frankly, you’re just average—maybe even below. You’ve had no systematic training. If I tried to train you formally for the pitch, you’d have no speed, no technique, and—if you’ll forgive me—not even basic sports self-protection awareness. From where I stand, you’re all total novices—really, I’m not singling anyone out. Every one of you here is a Muggle!” That last word he’d picked up at the movies with a nurse the night before—if she hadn’t kept fidgeting, he might have slept through the whole film.

The physician-athletes only laughed at his honesty, some even teasing, “You’re being too polite. Just call us trash, it’s fine!”

Bai Haonan finally relaxed, taking charge. Perhaps subconsciously, he wanted to send the assistant coach away. “I’ve thought this through—there’s no way to improve your skills much in a short time. You’ve already peaked; your movement patterns are set. We’ll have to focus on tactics, and the only way to improve yourselves physically is with squats. That’s the fastest way to see change. Yesterday, you asked why, with similar weights, I can shoulder past two of you at once. It’s simple: leg strength from squatting. Everything in football starts with the legs—power, movement, explosiveness. And since you have no bad habits, even a bit of squat training will yield visible results. And let me tell you, squats will absolutely improve your performance in bed!”

The young nurses standing around blushed and feigned outrage, but not one of them left. Instead, the doctors grew embarrassed and shooed their colleagues away. “Go on! This is a football training, don’t meddle. Off work, go home—or organize a cheerleading squad if you’re bored!”

The nurses shot back with lively, witty retorts. Although only seven or eight were present due to the schedule, they managed to create a clinic-like atmosphere.

Chen Sufen, far from leaving in embarrassment, backed up Bai Haonan’s point. “Mainly, squat training boosts sex hormone production, and that can improve sexual function to some extent. As long as you don’t train for more than an hour at a time, it won’t deplete those hormones and won’t trigger cortisol to counteract them. For men, it’s definitely beneficial. But the real improvement comes from increased core muscle strength and flexibility, so combined, you get the benefits Coach Liu mentioned.”

In fact, both Bai Haonan and Chen Sufen were showing off in front of experts. One physician added more comprehensively, “Actually, most multi-joint, high-load resistance exercises will raise androgen levels, but squats do promote testosterone secretion. That helps muscle synthesis and also enhances erectile function…”

The doctors found nothing provocative in this discussion, nodding seriously in agreement. The biochemist gave Chen Sufen an enthusiastic thumbs-up and asked after her major—she must be an expert.

Bai Haonan wanted to roll his eyes—hard.

But he was the least educated among them. He only half-understood these concepts, let alone the jargon the doctors exchanged—it was pure gibberish to him!

Well, except for those two words. Up—again, up!