All-around teacher at the magic academy

Inside the stadium in Barton, the stands were packed with people, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere.

The audience excitedly discussed the highlights of the previous match, their voices rising and falling as everyone passionately debated their favorite players.

Meanwhile, the next match was about to begin, and the tension was building, with the audience's anticipation palpable. They were curious about what surprises this match would bring, and whether a new dark horse would emerge to prove their strength.

The atmosphere in the players' lounge was completely different. Hansen sat on a bench, his eyes vacant, seemingly lost in thought.

William, standing beside him, appeared even more anxious. He paced back and forth in the cramped space, his steps rapid and heavy. His hands clenched and unclenched intermittently, as if searching for a way to release the pressure. Fine beads of sweat covered William's forehead. Although the room was not very warm, he felt as if he were standing in a scorching desert, each drop of sweat seemingly telling a story of his tension.

At this moment, Hansen's heart was racing, and his excitement was like a volcano about to erupt, impossible to contain.

He sat in the locker room, the roar of the crowd from the arena filling his ears. Those sounds were like the pounding of war drums, each one striking his heart. This was the perfect stage for him to showcase his abilities; in this moment of great anticipation, he was about to announce the existence of Hansen Adams to the world.

His chest heaved violently as he took deep breaths to try and calm himself, but the excitement in his heart surged like a tidal wave.

He imagined his father hiding in some inconspicuous corner, watching him with those stern yet expectant eyes, a thought that made his blood almost boil.

He wanted his father to see that he was not just a member of the Adams family, not just a younger brother who remained unknown in the shadow of Eric's brilliant achievements, but an independent individual, Hansen Adams, a first-year student at St. Peter's College with his own dreams and pursuits.

Leon's image also flashed through his mind, that mysterious and wise teacher. Hansen wanted to prove to Leon that his teachings had not been in vain, that his student could shine on the field and even surpass the achievements his brother Eric had made.

Hansen looked up at the lights overhead, the rays like spotlights on a stage, warm and bright, shining on him as if already foreshadowing his victory. He closed his eyes, imagining himself standing on the field, receiving cheers and applause from the audience; at that moment, all his efforts and sweat would transform into the most dazzling glory.

His hands clenched into fists. He had worked so hard for so long just to show himself and prove himself at this moment.

"Hansen, how come you're not nervous at all?" William's eyes were fixed on Hansen, his voice revealing an undisguised anxiety. He saw Hansen sitting there calmly, seemingly oblivious to the outside noise and the upcoming match.

Hansen turned to William with a relaxed smile, but his inner self was far less composed than he appeared. "What? You're more nervous than me? Anyone would think you're the one going to a competition!" he joked, trying to ease William's tension and calm himself down.

William frowned. He knew Hansen was trying to ease the tension, but his mood couldn't be relaxed by a few jokes. "Stop joking, Hansen," he said, his voice slightly serious, a hint of unease in his eyes.

“Sit down and calm down. I’ve prepared everything I need to, and there’s nothing I’ve overlooked. I’m in my best condition right now. If I can’t defeat my opponent in this condition, then it just means that my strength is still completely insufficient.” Hansen tried his best to make his voice sound firm. He knew he had to give William confidence and also encourage himself.

William slowly sat down, but he still couldn't suppress the tension in his heart. "But..." he hesitated, knowing that Hansen had made all possible preparations, and he understood that the outcome of the match would ultimately depend on strength and performance on the day, but the fear of the unpredictability of the future made him uneasy.

Hansen's gaze fell gently on William's face, and a warm feeling welled up in his heart.

At this crucial moment, having such a friend who was worried and cared for him made him feel incredibly precious.

He recalled his father's casual remark about "bad influences," a term that conveyed distrust and contempt for friends, but Hansen never agreed with it. He knew that William was his friend, his brother, and a partner who would fight alongside him on this path.

A surge of determination welled up in Hansen's heart. He thought that after the game was over, he would find a suitable opportunity to formally introduce William to his father, letting him know that William was not only not a "bad" person, but one of his most trustworthy friends in the world.

But he also knew that if he wanted his father to change his opinion and have a new understanding of William, he had to make a difference in this game, he had to win, win dignity, and make his father look at him with new eyes.

This thought made Hansen feel an even heavier burden on his shoulders; it seemed he had too many reasons not to lose.

...

Meanwhile, in the other lounge, Warwick sat alone in a corner, eyes closed, resting. His face was expressionless, his heart as calm as a still well, unbelievably serene.

In stark contrast to Hansen's excitement and nervousness, Warwick acted more like a seasoned veteran. He seemed unaffected by the upcoming match, as if it were just a regular practice game.

He sat there quietly, waiting for the game to begin. No teachers or students were around, because they all thought the game would be a piece of cake for Warwick. They were all outside eagerly waiting to see his performance, and no one doubted that he would lose.

"Warwick, it's time to go in." A staff member entered the lounge, breaking the silence with a hint of respect in his voice.

Warwick slowly opened his eyes, his gaze clear and resolute. He stood up, gently straightened his clothes, and then walked steadily toward the playing field.

As Warwick walked down the long corridor, sunlight streamed in from the doorway, the glare making him squint. He gradually heard enthusiastic applause and cheers—the audience's anticipation and support for the match.

He stretched out his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, then looked at the figure standing opposite him.