Frank's POV continued
I closed my eyes for a moment, silently wishing for the wind to cut sharper, for the temperature to drop hard and fast, as if the cold could numb the noise in my head.
But there was no wind.
Only the girl behind us, talking nonstop.
"Ugh, I've watched the championship game like, five times already. They better focus the camera on William today. I stood in line for two hours just for a chance to see him in person."
"Yeah, I want a full-screen close-up of his face!"
"No, no, full body. That man's figure is sinfully hot."
I almost laughed—partly from relief.
At least I wasn't the only one affected by him.
To be honest, this whole event felt less like a football team's celebration and more like William's personal coronation. Every light, every camera, every scream seemed reserved just for him.
There he was, standing center-field with the trophy held high above his head, soaked in applause and the devotion of a thousand eyes.
I couldn't help but joke, "Tell me I'm wrong, but doesn't William look more like a king up there? And we're all just... his loyal subjects?"
Nancy didn't even blink. "Wrong," she said, smiling faintly. "He's a prince."
She looked dazed, eyes fixed on the field.
"I heard the team's throwing a party next week at William's place. God, I wish I could go. But none of my friends got invited. Can you imagine a party in that mansion? It'd be like something out of a fairy tale."
I smirked. "Better start hunting for glass slippers. And don't forget to leave one behind."
She burst into laughter. "That's it! And since my family owns a farm, I'll turn a pumpkin into a carriage and boom—I'm the princess!"
Nancy came from a small farming town down south. She'd once invited me to spend Christmas with her family, and I'd really wanted to go.
We'd even planned a trip to L.A. after the holidays to catch a game—until I got called home unexpectedly. Plans scrapped.
She sighed wistfully. "But you and I? We're just dreaming. William, on the other hand... he's the real thing."
Yeah.
I looked out toward the field again.
Some people really were born with everything.
As if on cue, the stadium screen zoomed in, locking tight on William's face.
A tidal wave of screaming rolled across the stands, mostly from the girls nearby.
Unreal.
And then, suddenly, an idea hit me like a jolt of lightning. I grabbed Nancy's shoulder before I even realized it.
"Nancy!" I blurted. "We should apply for an exclusive interview with the White Wolves!"
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"I'm serious. After the event—let's write the email immediately. If we get it, the campus paper will absolutely run the story. I mean, come on—it's a guaranteed hit."
Just a week ago, I'd finally passed the campus paper's intern test. I was officially eligible to submit stories.
For a freshman majoring in journalism, getting something published so early would be huge for my resume—and for my future.
People underestimate student journalism, but our paper's circulation ranks top three in the whole region. We've got readers beyond the student body: local residents, faculty, even ST alumni across the country.
For someone like me—a foreign student who wants to break into American media—this paper is the perfect launch pad. And I can't afford to waste time.
Besides, I hate parties.
Most nights, I'd rather stay in my dorm, headphones on, studying data sets or working out puzzles. The only time I leave is for gym or groceries. I've got time, and I want to use it.
But Nancy scoffed. "Frank, that's impossible. You know how big they are now, right? TV networks are probably lining up for a shot at them."
I nodded. "I know."
"And don't forget, football players are cocky as hell. The team's always been difficult. Even before the championship, they were the hardest group to get access to. Now? No chance."
College sports in the U.S. aren't just sports—they're empires. Billions of dollars, endless media attention, superstar athletes. And out of all of them, football reigns supreme.
Winning the national championship meant fame, endorsements, legacy. The White Wolves were sitting on top of the world.
And Nancy was right—everything she said made perfect sense.
But I shook my head. "That's exactly why we have to try. Nobody in the paper has approached them yet. Everyone thinks it's a lost cause, too hard to get. Which makes this our window."
I paused, more serious this time. "Nancy… just trust me. If we land even a short interview, the paper will run it. With that in our pocket, we can pitch anything after."
She stared at me, then blinked—like something had clicked.
A blush crept up her face, and I saw the familiar sparkle return to her eyes.
Nancy was beautiful. That was my first impression when we met.
But she was quiet too—kept to herself all last semester, rarely talked to anyone in class. People thought she was cold. Untouchable.
She'd seen me a few times in the library, tucked in the back corner with my headphones on, expression blank, eyes glued to my screen. She told me later she couldn't imagine someone so quiet majoring in journalism.
"But don't you have to talk to people?" she'd said. "Like, constantly?"
It wasn't until we were paired for a group project that she saw the real me—quiet, yes, but not shy. I had no problem walking up to strangers if it meant getting a story. I could talk to anyone when it counted.
And yeah—I had a point.
The idea of interviewing the White Wolves was starting to sound exciting. Too exciting to ignore.
Nancy grinned. "Fine. You win. Your plan is impossible… and I still want to do it."
We had a goal now. A direction. A reason to chase something bigger than homework and lectures.
Especially when that goal involved the most talked-about football team in the country.
Suddenly, Nancy couldn't stop talking. She brought up all kinds of rumors—cheerleader gossip, stuff her roommate Joe had mentioned about the team's social scene. Apparently, the cheer squad was about to elect a new captain, and competition was intense.
Nancy leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "Frank, guess what? The new cheer captain—everyone thinks she'll be the one who ends up dating William. Like, it's an unwritten rule."
Makes sense.
The sexy cheerleader and the star quarterback—classic American fantasy.
I didn't respond.
Because at some point, without realizing it, my eyes had drifted back to the field.
To him.
To William.
Still standing there.
Still shining.