Ding!
The door of the Li family restaurant opened, and the sound of a bell echoed. A cheerful voice greeted the new arrival.
"Welcome! How many in your party? Do you have a reservation?"
"Just one, no reservation. How long is the wait?"
"About 30 minutes. If you're in a hurry, we offer takeout as well…"
Sue, who had been focused on the cash register, finally looked up from her work. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead from the rush of customers, but her friendly smile stayed in place. At a glance, she gave off a warm and inviting impression.
But suddenly, her smile faltered, and her eyes filled with surprise and disbelief. In the next moment, joy and happiness replaced her shock, lighting up her face.
"Lance! How did you get here so early? Didn't you say your flight was landing at 4 p.m.? Your dad and I were planning to pick you up at the airport. How did you get here on your own?"
Standing before her was Lance, her son.
Clearly, Sue hadn't been prepared for his early arrival, seeing her son's face hours earlier than expected. She quickly stepped from behind the counter, happily standing before him, grabbing his hands, and taking him in from head to toe. Her gaze settled on his face, and with so much to say, it all came out in just one word:
"You've lost weight."
Lance chuckled. It was true—parents everywhere seem to be the same.
Though Lance had actually gained weight in his time with the team, in his parents' eyes, he looked thinner.
He didn't argue. "The restaurant is busy, so let me help out first."
Sue held onto him. "We've always managed, even when it was busier than this. We don't need an extra hand right now. Go and rest."
Lance sighed with a smile. "Mom, if we just stand here like this, the customers are going to think I'm here to collect protection money or something. I'm not that fragile. You handle the cash; I'll take the orders."
He handed her his bag and scanned the crowded restaurant, immediately moving toward a table that hadn't ordered yet.
Sue watched him go, feeling both proud and amused. She glanced at the small, light bag in her hands, realizing he had no luggage with him. "You traveled with just this?"
Lance didn't answer, already moving through the restaurant. Shaking her head, Sue muttered under her breath, "This child."
Lance's parents were first-generation immigrants who had come to New York in the early 1990s. They started from nothing, working small jobs like construction, laundry, and street vending until they earned enough to open a small restaurant in Chinatown.
Step by step, Lance's father, Alan, and mother, Sue, finally gained a foothold in a foreign land. The restaurant started running smoothly, and they even managed to buy a small apartment in downtown Manhattan—not big, just a cozy 50-square-meter home. But it was theirs, a place to call home.
Even now, the couple led simple, thrifty lives. Alan personally manned the kitchen while Sue handled the cash register. They only had one employee to help with the waitstaff, and they continued saving, hoping to one day afford a larger home. But in Manhattan, where real estate prices were sky-high, it wasn't easy.
Lance was their only child.
When Lance had first transmigrated into this world, he'd kept some distance from his parents. After all, he wasn't the original Lance, and maintaining a bit of space felt like the right thing to do.
But Alan and Sue kept sending him texts and calling him, never about anything important, just the usual everyday things. Ignoring them seemed strange, so slowly, the distance between them closed.
Reflecting on it now, Lance realized that without his parents' support, he would never have been able to pursue mixed martial arts growing up.
When Lance was young, he was often sick and weak. His father had enrolled him in Wing Chun classes, hoping it would improve his health. To their surprise, Lance fell in love with martial arts. It wasn't just Wing Chun; he eventually dabbled in various forms of martial arts before moving on to mixed martial arts training.
Even though Alan and Sue had hopes for their son's future, seeing him healthy and genuinely passionate about something was enough for them. Moreover, Lance had always been responsible with his studies—maybe not a child prodigy, but certainly one they never had to worry about. So, they supported him, and Lance stuck with it.
Little could they have imagined that their once-frail child would grow into a strong football star.
The first "reunion" of this Christmas break wasn't awkward or strained as Lance had feared. The moment he stepped into the restaurant, the familiar, comfortable atmosphere of home enveloped him, and the busy routine of the restaurant felt like muscle memory.
Ding.
"Hey, Chef Li! Orders for tables five and seven, plus some additional orders for tables fourteen and seventeen. Also, check the special requests."
A voice called out from the kitchen's serving window. Alan responded with a quick "Got it," before realizing he had replied in Chinese. He looked up instinctively and was stunned to see Lance's smiling face.
"When did you get here?"
Lance laughed. "The customers are waiting. There's a line out the door. Keep up the hard work, Chef Li."
Alan immediately caught the playful tone in Lance's words, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He pretended to be stern, "Just don't break the customers' arms with those clumsy hands of yours."
Lance burst into laughter and went back to attending tables.
Life, Lance thought, is truly strange.
Not too long ago, he'd been on the field at Bryant-Denny Stadium, in the thick of the Crimson Tide's battles, the roar of the crowd ringing in his ears as if the whole world were at his feet.
Today, he was back in his family's small restaurant, dutifully running food to tables—not as the Crimson Tide's number 23, but as a waiter at Li Family Restaurant. No applause, no cheers, just the grounded reality of daily life.
If anyone thought that training as a football player was tough and running food in a restaurant was easy, they'd be wrong. The hustle and exhaustion from a lunch rush in a busy restaurant could leave you sore and tired in ways even football didn't.
The lunch rush finally ended around two o'clock. The last table left, and they flipped the "Closed" sign. The family of three, along with their one employee, Jake Perry, finally sat down for their meal.
Jake was a 20-year-old student at New York University who had started working at the restaurant in October to help pay for school. This was his first time meeting Lance.
Earlier, Lance had exchanged a quick greeting with Jake, but they hadn't had time to chat since the restaurant was so busy. Now that they were sitting down, Lance figured it was a good chance to get to know him.
Jake glanced at Lance's face, studying him closely. Unable to contain his curiosity, he looked again, scratching his head with a puzzled expression.
Lance smiled and joked, "What? Do I not look like my parents?"
Jake chuckled awkwardly. "No, no, it's just… you remind me of someone famous. No, that's probably not right. I must be mistaken."
Just then, Sue approached. "What are you two chatting about?"
Jake scratched his head again. "Well, your son kind of looks like this famous football player… the star running back from the Alabama Crimson Tide. Haha, but it's probably just my mistake."
Uh… could it be?
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Powerstones?
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