Donald Yee, age 46, is a professional sports agent.
In 1998, he was just a junior legal advisor at a sports agency, handling paperwork for professional athletes while looking for a breakthrough in his career.
That year, a college scout recommended a senior quarterback named Tom Brady to Donald Yee. Brady was the starting QB for the Michigan Wolverines, and this opened a window of opportunity for the young legal advisor.
But Donald Yee didn't rush things. He watched every one of Brady's games, including the Orange Bowl that year, where Michigan staged a 14-point comeback to defeat the Alabama Crimson Tide.
Despite Brady's impressive performances for Michigan—often leading comeback wins that earned him the media nickname "Comeback Kid"—he was viewed as frail and unimpressive in training camps. Many doubted whether he could handle the physical demands of the NFL, and his draft prospects were dim.
Several agents approached Brady, but in the end, he chose Donald Yee.
The following year, at the draft, Brady wasn't highly regarded and wasn't selected until the sixth round, as the 199th pick by the New England Patriots.
Fifteen years later, Brady had led the Patriots to seven Super Bowl appearances and won four championships.
Donald Yee's foresight and decisions back then were proven right.
Without a doubt, Brady is now one of the NFL's biggest superstars.
But!
Donald Yee never flaunted his success. He stayed low-key, quietly making a fortune behind the scenes.
In 2007, it was Donald Yee, as Brady's agent, who announced the birth of Brady's first child, a boy.
During the media frenzy surrounding the announcement, many within the football industry, including experts who study agents, found themselves puzzled:
"Who is Donald Yee?"
Imagine, in the digital age of 2016, when the internet and smartphones are ubiquitous, and social media is all-pervasive, Lance couldn't even find a single photo of Donald Yee with Tom Brady.
Is that possible?
There were two explanations:
First, Lance had encountered a scam artist, someone pretending to be Donald Yee to con people.
Second, perhaps some photos of Yee and Brady do exist, but no one knows who Donald is, and the focus of all the attention is solely on Brady. Without the right search terms, finding Yee would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
This isn't the age where "good wine needs no bush." Lance was used to seeing agents' names all over the sports news: Jeff Schwartz, Jorge Mendes, Jonathan Barnett, Scott Boras, Rich Paul, and so on.
These agents' exposure levels rival those of top athletes.
In a way, they've become celebrities themselves, using media coverage to boost their influence, creating a kind of mythos that helps them achieve more.
But Donald Yee has stayed as humble as ever, quietly doing his job, which makes him a refreshing anomaly.
More importantly, Donald Yee's client list in football isn't the longest, but it's far from short:
Julian Edelman, wide receiver.
Jimmy Garoppolo, quarterback.
Sean Payton, head coach.
And many more.
When browsing through Donald Yee's list of football clients, Lance noticed that they were arranged alphabetically by last name.
For the NFL, Tom Brady might be the most influential and dominant quarterback, but for Donald Yee's agency, Brady doesn't seem any more significant than when he was a sixth-round draft pick back in 1999—at least, on the surface.
Things were getting interesting.
Compared to the cookie-cutter, suit-clad agents Lance had met before, this Donald Yee was much more intriguing.
At this point, the fact that he was Chinese-American no longer mattered much—it was just a bonus. The real question now was about his capabilities.
Lance couldn't help but wonder, what would Donald Yee say when they met next time?
Exhaling deeply, Lance returned to his dorm to change and gather his belongings. But before he could push open the door, it swung open from the inside.
His roommate, Simon Hunter, was just stepping out. "Hey, man, practice done?" Simon asked.
Lance glanced behind Hunter, noticing the empty room. "Flying solo today?"
With a righteous expression, Simon responded, "What do you take me for? Finals are coming up, man. It's study time. I'm a model student, all about the books. I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm heading to the library now, or there'll be no seats left."
He finished by puffing out his chest, standing tall as if making a grand declaration.
Lance pointed to the books in Simon's hand. "Are you sure?"
On top of the stack was the December issue of a men's magazine, one of Simon's favorites if Lance remembered correctly.
Simon's face stiffened. He discreetly tucked the magazine deeper into the pile, then once again straightened up, looking Lance in the eye with unwavering determination.
Lance nodded approvingly. "That's more like it. By the way, is it true there won't be any seats left after dinner? Some guys on the football team need to catch up on their studies. We were planning to head to the library tonight, but it's a big group. Should we go grab spots now?"
Simon waved his hand dismissively. "No need, no need. The Crimson Tide is the pride of the University of Alabama. Everywhere you go, there are cheers and whistles."
"When you walk into the library, people will gladly give up their seats for you."
"And if not, there's always the study rooms the school sets aside for athletes to use. They're designed so you guys always have a place to study."
Lance grinned. "Got it. Enjoy your studying."
Simon smiled. "You too."
They high-fived and parted ways, heading in opposite directions.
While the Crimson Tide, riding a wave of success, was busy worrying about academics…
Lamar Jackson was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Stay calm, stay calm, Lamar. You just fell asleep. It was only a nightmare. Don't panic, everything's fine. It was just a dream," people around him were trying to help Lamar regain his composure.
Lamar wiped the drool from his mouth, suddenly realizing he had dozed off while studying in the library. So, what had happened?
"Lamar, it was just a nightmare. You're awake now, don't worry. It won't come true."
"So, what was it? What did you dream about that left you looking like you'd seen Cthulhu?"
Of course, they had to bring it up.
Immediately, Lamar's mind filled with the image of Lance—
Damn it!
It had been three days since the Alabama Crimson Tide had played LSU, and yet Lance still haunted his thoughts.
Lance, Lance, Lance...
Never-ending, relentless, inescapable Lance.
He was Lamar Jackson, for crying out loud, but everywhere he went, people only wanted to talk about Lance. Reporters bugged him, coaches and teammates brought him up, and now, he couldn't even escape him in his dreams.
"Lamar, don't tell me you dreamed about Lance?" someone asked.
Lamar: Damn it.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates