June 2013.
Howard's campus buzzed. Not because of freshman orientation or summer tours.
Because Michael Schmidt had arrived.
There was no red carpet. No massive camera crew. Just a kid in a black hoodie stepping out of a taxi with one duffel bag and a ball tucked under his arm.
Students recognized him instantly. But no one dared approach.
He walked with quiet purpose, each step toward the dorms like it belonged in a documentary.
Howard had a basketball program. But now, they had a movement.
Practice Facility – Two Days Later.
Michael jogged out alone. Lights were dim. No coaches yet. No teammates.
Just silence.
He started with footwork drills. Then shooting reps. Then defensive slide work.
Sweat poured. But he didn't stop.
Not until a familiar sound echoed in his ears:
[System Notification: Threshold Crossed – Collegiate Training Detected]
[Notice: Template Progression from this point will require exponentially more effort.]
[Michael Jordan Template: 70.12% → 70.20%]
Michael froze.
".08 percent?" he muttered, staring at the air in front of him.
[Explanation: You have now entered the Advanced Tier. Future growth will require elite-level competition, historic performances, or sustained dominance.]
He sat on the bench, wiped his face, and laughed once under his breath.
"So this is where it gets real."
Coach Beasley, the head coach, arrived a few minutes later.
He was in his late 50s. Built like an old-school gym teacher. Stern face, gray buzzcut.
"You're here early."
Michael nodded. "Can't afford to waste a day."
Beasley didn't smile. But he nodded once.
"We've never had someone like you. We won't treat you like royalty—but we will build around you. Just know that target on your back? It's already grown."
Michael tightened his laces. "Then I guess I'll just have to stay ahead of it."
The first week of practice was brutal.
New teammates tested him. Double-teamed him in scrimmages. Refused to give him easy looks.
But Michael thrived in it. He learned their names. Their habits. Their pace.
He adapted.
By the fifth day, the seniors stopped trash talking. By the seventh, they started asking questions.
"How'd you see that cutter?" "Yo, how do you hit that pull-up without resetting your feet?"
He didn't gloat. He just explained.
By the end of the second week, they stopped calling him "freshman." They started calling him "the constant."
That night, Michael lay in his dorm bed, lights off, arms folded behind his head.
The System pinged again.
[Progress: 70.20%][Next Trait Unlock: 75.00%]
[Note: You are now being monitored by NCAA scouts, media algorithms, and pre-draft tracking systems. Performances moving forward will impact public narrative.]
Michael smiled.
"Good. Let 'em watch."