King of the Wilderness

Chapter 734: Chapter 342: Blue Water Sailing Academy

The morning in Fort Lauderdale shed its nighttime heat and ambiguity, leaving the air fresh as if washed by the sea, tinged with a slight chill.

The joggers passed him by, nodding amicably, and the engines of early-rising fishermen’s boats made a sputtering sound, breaking the tranquility of the canal.

Following the navigation’s guidance, he reached the destination; Blue Water Sailing Academy had neither a grand gate nor extravagant signage.

Its entrance was merely a simple ramp leading to a floating dock, beside which stood a weathered wooden sign, hand-painted with somewhat faded white paint reading ”Blue Water Sailing Academy,” with a simple anchor design below.

This presents a stark contrast to the reputation it enjoys within the entire South Florida yachting circle.

Expensive and luxurious decor in this high-salt, high-humidity, intense sunshine environment is costly to maintain and utterly meaningless.

A wooden plaque weathered by sea breeze, instead, serves as a medal, proving it has stood the test of time here.

On a truly functional dock, all facilities focus on practicality and safety.

More importantly, renowned institutions like Blue Water Academy attract clients via word-of-mouth within the yachting circle, and high-end clients agencies offer solemn recommendations.

Its clientele includes old money and elites pursuing genuine professional experiences, who consume top-tier services in essence, not flashy externals.

Thus, this simple wooden sign does not undermine the academy’s status; its humility instead reveals a powerful confidence that doesn’t need to boast.

Walking down the ramp, the floating dock sways slightly with the waves beneath his feet. On both sides, a dozen sailboats of varying sizes are moored.

Ranging from over twenty-foot boats suitable for novice day trips to over forty-foot keel cruising yachts capable of long voyages, each is impeccably maintained, with sails and ropes neatly stowed like soldiers awaiting inspection.

The air is filled with the dock’s unique scent, and the faint resin smell emitted by fiberglass hulls under the sun.

The constant tinkling sound of sail ropes hitting the masts rings in the ears, akin to never-ending wind chimes.

At the dock’s end stands a single-story wooden house built over the water, serving as the academy’s office and classroom.

When Lin Yu’an pushed the door open, a sturdy man was facing away from him, standing before a huge nautical chart, circling points on it with a pencil.

Upon hearing the door, he turned around. He seemed to be in his fifties, wearing a Polo shirt with the academy logo and quick-dry shorts, his bronzed skin from lifelong sea living appearing even healthier in the morning light.

He had blue eyes clear as the Florida sky, yet his gaze bore a professional scrutiny.

He appraised Lin Yu’an up and down, his gaze sharp and direct, as if assessing a vessel’s condition. Then, he offered a polite, professional smile, not excessively enthusiastic.

”Good morning. You must be Lin,” his voice was loud yet steady, not as a question but a definitive statement, ”I’m Captain Mike. Scooter Braun speaks highly of you.”

He extended his broad hand.

”Lin Yu’an.” Lin Yu’an shook his hand firmly, feeling the thick calluses that had developed over years of dealing with ropes and wheels.

”You’re fifteen minutes early. I appreciate punctuality.” Mike pointed to the coffee machine beside him, ”Coffee?”

”Black coffee, thank you.”

While Mike was pouring coffee, the inner door of the office opened, and a young girl emerged.

She looked about twenty-three or four, with sunny golden hair tied into a neat ponytail, her skin imbued with a vibrant honey hue.

Her figure wasn’t slender like beach girls, but showcased fitness filled with strength from frequent exercise.

She wore a sports bra and shorts, barefooted with steady steps, exuding the same oceanic confidence as Mike.

”Morning, Dad.” She greeted Mike first, then directed her curious gaze at Lin Yu’an, nodding amiably, ”You’re the monster trainee Scooter mentioned, right? I’m Riven, chief theoretical coach here.”

”Hello, Lin Yu’an.” Lin Yu’an didn’t expect such a young member in the coaching team.

”Riven is my daughter,” Mike handed the coffee to Lin Yu’an, subtly proud in his tone, ”also our academy’s most outstanding ASA-certified coach.”

”Don’t let her youth fool you; her total nautical miles piloting a sailboat probably exceed many old timers’ lifetime journeys.”

”Scooter has told me about your goals and timeline requirements,” Mike leaned on the nautical chart table, straightforwardly saying, ”So, let’s make it clear. My job is to teach you how to sail, not how to kill yourself.”

”We can be fast but not skip any steps. I require your full focus. Now, do we have an agreement?”

”Understood.” Lin Yu’an nodded, then added, ”But I have an additional request.”

”I’m listening.” Mike raised his eyebrows.

”I’m an outdoor streamer,” Lin Yu’an explained concisely, ”My new project is to livestream my zero-to-sail experience for my audience. So, I hope to have live streaming throughout the upcoming courses.”