"I went to the bathroom this morning."
Brown rolled his eyes, then quickly came up with an excuse to help Dawson explain himself.
Despite getting worked to the bone in yesterday's training, Brown didn't hold a grudge. On the contrary—he respected Dawson even more.
That training load was massive, yet Dawson stuck with him the entire time.
Brown knew full well Dawson didn't have to.
But Dawson did anyway.
Obviously, it was to encourage him—showing that if Dawson could complete the drills, then so could he.
"This has nothing to do with that," Dawson waved it off calmly.
They'd only just begun. A sudden jump in training volume and some weight fluctuation was perfectly normal.
Just the sweat Brown had poured out yesterday was probably a couple of pounds.
"Come on, let's warm up."
No more chatter—Dawson led Brown through the warm-up routine.
When they were done, Dawson took him under the basket and tossed him a black basketball.
"Huh? What's this?"
Brown caught it and instantly noticed something was off.
The black ball in his hands was clearly heavier than a regular basketball.
"This is a weighted ball," Dawson explained.
In recent years, players had started using weighted basketballs for training, mainly to add resistance while working on ball-handling.
NBA players have incredible dribble power.
Once you adapt to the heavier ball, switching back to a standard ball gives your handles a noticeable boost.
But you can't use it all the time—too much would mess with muscle memory and cause bad habits.
The right way is to mix it into training in moderation, using it as a way to add load and gradually build strength.
That said, Dawson hadn't brought this ball for Brown's dribbling.
Ball-handling wasn't the most urgent thing for him right now.
Dawson wanted to train his hook shot.
In the simulation space, Dawson could not only replicate Brown's body condition, but also recreate his games.
For example, those few possessions they'd played against each other earlier—every detail had been recorded by the system.
Inside the simulation, Dawson could replay them from any angle, even analyze muscle activation to pinpoint where Brown's power output was lacking, then target those weaknesses in training.
From their earlier sessions, Dawson had already spotted plenty of issues.
First—his skills were rough.
Brown didn't have much in the way of technique. Like most high-school prodigies, he relied heavily on athleticism.
That's common—high school competition isn't that strong, and many gifted players can dominate just on physical tools, rarely putting in serious work on skills.
Only when they get to college do they start refining their game.
That's why, as Donovan had suggested, Brown really should spend a couple of years in college developing.
The second issue—core strength.
Brown was strong, could run and jump, but Dawson could feel he wasn't generating full power.
The best example was that first dunk when they met—he barely got high enough, needing to reach to finish instead of exploding cleanly.
Over the past two days, Dawson had also reviewed a lot of Brown's game tape.
It was clear his lower body was strong enough—he could hold position inside against contact.
But his release wasn't stable.
That wasn't just because of his relatively small hands—at the root, it was his lack of core strength. Under contact, he couldn't fully control the ball.
So Dawson's training plan was clear.
Physically—focus on building core strength. That's why yesterday's drills hammered his back and waist.
Technically—time was short. Just one month.
A complete skill upgrade wasn't realistic, so better to focus on one move and master it.
That move—the post-contact half hook.
If Brown could make it reliable, it'd be a huge plus in workouts, and once in the NBA, it'd give him a go-to weapon to survive.
In theory, with his smaller hands and less flexible wrists, Brown could develop a full Kareem-style sweeping hook, using the arm swing for power.
But the game has changed.
Rules have loosened—no more offensive foul calls for lowering the shoulder in the post. A player like Shaq could easily back down and create space. No need for such a big, looping hook.
A tighter, more compact half hook is better—it's quicker, more deceptive, and can draw fouls.
The downside—it depends heavily on touch and wrist strength.
That's why Dawson brought the weighted ball—to strengthen Brown's wrists.
"Let's get started."
Dawson set up three tall obstacles—one on each side of the rim and one in front—having Brown work hook shots over them.
Five shots from each spot. Three spots made one round. Five rounds in total.
"This thing really is heavy."
Brown flipped the ball in his hands—the first shot fell short.
He adjusted his force—the distance was fine, but the accuracy was off, clanging hard off the rim.
Dawson didn't have him start from a stationary hook.
It wasn't that Brown couldn't do it—just that his touch needed refinement.
"Pay attention to rhythm. When you go up, you can hang for a split-second—aim—then finish. Sync your motion with your power," Dawson said, stepping in to demonstrate.
The badge's effect was a little more lenient in skill drills—Dawson didn't have to match Brown rep-for-rep.
Spotting the issue, demonstrating, and making adjustments counted as leading by example.
Brown took note, but still struggled when it came to actually executing.
His learning speed wasn't great—nothing to do but grind it out through repetition.
Luckily, with the badge's bonus, Dawson wasn't worried about lack of results.
Training time flew by.
Even though today's sessions were lighter than yesterday's, three-a-days still left Brown exhausted—his shooting arm was so sore he could barely lift it.
The team's massage therapist hadn't arrived yet, so Dawson stepped in to fill the role.
The next day, they were back to strength work—this was the real priority.
Through the system, Dawson could clearly see that after a day's rest, most of Brown's fatigued muscles had recovered from yellow to green.
The recovery speed was faster than Dawson expected.
He figured it was the badge bonus kicking in—30% extra, equivalent to a Level 3 trainer certification.
That meant he could safely keep pushing the training plan.
Half a month passed in no time.
One morning, before anyone said a word, Brown was already on the scale.
"Ryan! Look! I'm up a full pound!" he shouted excitedly.
The scale read 248.2 pounds—exactly one pound heavier than yesterday.
Connors glanced over. "Don't get too excited. We're looking for long-term trends—short-term weight shifts are normal."
Brown raised an eyebrow. "Ryan, why do you sound exactly like Dawson just now?"
"I do?"
Connors blinked and turned to Moore.
Moore nodded.
More than just "exactly"—it was word-for-word Dawson.
A little embarrassed, Connors muttered, "Then that just means he's right."
After two weeks of working together, Connors' attitude toward Dawson had completely changed.
He'd never seen such a dedicated trainer.
Most importantly—the training was clearly working.
Brown's weight was steadily increasing, and his athleticism was just as sharp as before.
With more interaction, it was no surprise some of Dawson's lines slipped into his own speech.
"By the way, where is Dawson?" Connors asked.
Normally, he was the first one at the gym.
Right then, Dawson walked in—with a tall figure beside him. The two were chatting and laughing as they entered.
"Hey—isn't that the guy from the Magic?" Dan Moore blurted out.
Connors recognized him immediately.
If he wasn't mistaken, that towering white guy was none other than the Orlando Magic's starting center—Andrew DeClercq.