American Football: King of the Bay Area

The entire offense and defense lines scattered, breaking into one-on-one matchups. The individual battles raged, and the pocket completely collapsed. It was as if the clouds had parted to reveal a clear blue sky—with his vision no longer obstructed, the entire field opened up before Lu Ke’s eyes, crystal clear.

’Pass, pass, pass.’

It was the only thought in Lu Ke’s mind. He desperately scanned the field for a target, but… there were no openings. None at all.

Four defensive players were covering four receivers. The routes were a dizzying, ever-changing blur. In the span of half a second, Lu Ke’s eyes scanned past two players, Michael Crabtree and Kyle Williams. The coverage was impenetrable. The defenders were already in position; forcing a pass would almost certainly result in an interception.

’Ted Ginn Jr.!’

Lu Ke spotted a sliver of an opening and raised his arm to throw. But in the next instant, his peripheral vision caught Sean Lee lurking just half a step away, like a rattlesnake coiling, ready to strike. He could see it already: the moment he released the ball, Lee would jump the route. Ginn would have to rely on his sheer ability to make a contested catch.

’Ted Ginn Jr. versus Sean Lee?’

A split-second of hesitation flashed through his mind, and Lu Ke instantly knew he’d missed the window. He decisively adjusted his throwing motion. Still looking to the right, his eyes moved past Ginn to a target about five yards deeper: Logan Newman, who was being covered one-on-one by Mike Jenkins.

’Logan Newman versus Mike Jenkins?’

In another split second, Lu Ke made his decision and prepared to throw. But just as he cocked his arm, the ferocious figure of Demarcus Ware lunged into his vision, radiating pure menace. Every cell in Lu Ke’s body screamed in alarm.

Five yards, four yards, three yards…

The battle between the offensive and defensive lines had disintegrated. The field in front of Lu Ke was wide open, and there was no one left to protect him. In the blink of an eye—less than a millisecond—Ware’s figure loomed larger and larger.

With disaster imminent, before a conscious thought could even form, instinct took over and his body was already moving.

But once he started moving, Lu Ke realized that his mobility rating of seventy-one was not enough to deal with the defender’s powerful rush. Far from it. And his evasion rating of sixty-three was even less helpful. He had barely taken two steps before Ware’s hands were on him, about to grab his shoulder.

Demarcus Ware. He was even more dominant, more ferocious than JJ Watt! The former was a six-year veteran, the latter a rookie. The difference in experience was real.

’Escape!’ That was the only thought in Lu Ke’s mind. ’Escape.’

’Bullet Time!’ He was stretched to the breaking point, yet he was also perfectly calm. In the midst of the chaos, he saw a sliver of hope and roared the command in his mind.

In the next moment, the world seemed to slow down, just like a slow-motion shot in a movie. It wasn’t the kind of super slow-motion, ten times slower, where every trajectory is perfectly clear. It was more like a torrent rushing down from a high mountain; after plunging over a steep cliff, it gradually reaches the plains, its slope gentling from thirty degrees to fifteen, the clear, gushing water softening to a burbling murmur.

The speed didn’t seem to slow, and yet he could feel the very currents of the air.

First second.

Lu Ke didn’t relax one bit, because he knew full well that Bullet Time was different from Absolute Step. With Absolute Step, the skill controlled his body, making every movement fluid and automatic. But Bullet Time only slowed his perception of the world by a factor of 1.2. It gave him a slight edge, but he had to perform every action himself.

Stride, a huge stride!

He took a huge stride into the open lane on his left!

Lu Ke could almost feel Ware’s right hand swiping at his shoulder. His heart seized, his muscles tensed to their absolute limit. But in that exact instant, a two-tenths-of-a-second window, his peripheral vision caught the trajectory of that thick, powerful hand as it slid off his shoulder. Then, with a slight dip of his own shoulder, Lu Ke followed the momentum of the rush and burst forward.

A narrow escape.

Second second.

Two steps to his right, two players were tangled up—a Cowboy and a 49er. In the blur of motion, Lu Ke just managed to see a white jersey break free from the scarlet one and charge at him like a moth drawn to a flame. He couldn’t make out the player’s face or number, only a streaking white blur.

On pure reflex, he twisted his torso, his feet leaving the ground in a hop. Every muscle in his body went rigid as he did everything in his power to evade the arcing white blur. He tucked in his waist, squared his chest, and dodged the tackle that seemed certain to land, continuing his push toward the left sideline.

By a hair’s breadth.

Third second.

Another white figure lunged from the left, but his speed was hampered. A player in red was hounding him relentlessly, repeatedly bumping him with his shoulder. At full sprint, neither could generate their full power, but the constant shoving disrupted both of their rhythms.

Lu Ke could clearly see the player diving at him. It wasn’t in slow motion; it was fast, as if the film was speeding up. But Lu Ke’s own movements were half a beat faster. He changed direction, lifting his legs high in an awkward, bizarre high-knee motion, like a can-can dancer—bouncing, leaping, and surging forward.

The white figure shook off the red one and dove, his hands reaching for Lu Ke’s calves, trying to trip him to stop the play. He could almost feel the power in those legs and instinctively tightened his arms, preparing to lock them down completely. But his tackle closed on nothing but a gust of wind.

Another brush with death.

Fourth second.

Lu Ke could even feel the gust of air from the missed tackle on the tips of his toes. Milliseconds. He was only milliseconds away from being sacked. But, fortunately, he wasn’t.

The problem was, Lu Ke was not a mobile quarterback, and running with the ball was far from his forte. With his rhythm broken three times in a row, his knees felt surprisingly weak when his feet hit the ground. Gravity felt heavier than ever. Still, Lu Ke gritted his teeth, forced power into his calves, and continued pushing diagonally toward the left sideline.

His eyes scanned to the right again, searching for a receiver. He wasn’t a mobile quarterback; passing was his weapon.

But, in a flash, Lu Ke realized he’d been an idiot. Once a quarterback runs past the line of scrimmage, he can no longer make a forward pass. He had lost his chance to throw and could only run the ball himself. In the instant he had that thought, his eyes caught two more white figures closing in. A swarm of red jerseys followed like shadows, but they were half a step behind, unable to keep pace. The scene was like a descending tornado of chaos.

’Faster, faster, faster,’ Lu Ke urged his legs, pushing again toward the left sideline.

Fifth second.

The sideline was just ahead. The safety to his front left was charging straight at him, leaving no room to evade. In the intense pressure, Lu Ke’s mind grew sharper. He pushed hard for the sideline. Closer, closer. He and the safety were like two high-speed trains on a collision course.

Without a doubt, if they collided, Lu Ke would be the one getting injured. There was no other possibility.

Ten yards. It looked so close, yet so far. Lu Ke just wished he could run faster, just a little bit faster.

Just before the head-on collision, Lu Ke leaned his upper body forward and sprinted, successfully ducking out of bounds. At the same time, the safety charged in but only managed to bump Lu Ke’s shoulder. It wasn’t a solid hit, and while they both wobbled, neither completely lost their balance.

Bullet Time ended.

Lu Ke spun with the momentum to dissipate the force, then stood in place, gasping for air. The muscles in his legs were so tight they felt like they were about to explode, but the rush of adrenaline washed away all the tension and pain. At that moment, he had only one urge: to scream.

And so he did. Clenching his fists, he let out a savage roar. ”AHHH!”

”Lu Ke! Lu Ke! Lu Ke!” Troy’s commentary devolved into simply shouting the same name over and over. Words like ”jaw-dropping” or ”unbelievable” were completely inadequate to describe the sheer shock of the scene unfolding before him.

”With the offensive and defensive lines completely tied up, Lu Ke chose to run it himself! He shook off one tackle, evaded a second—God! Oh my God! A third tackle misses! Lu Ke! Lu Ke! Lu Ke! He completes the run! Jesus Christ, Lu Ke just ran for a first down! Seventeen yards! God, seventeen yards! What did we just witness?!”

”Just when everyone had forgotten that on the first drive of the second half, Lu Ke scrambled with his own two feet to create an opening for a fifty-yard pass that completely turned the tide of the game! Now, on the final drive of the game, Lu Ke has once again carved out a path with his legs! Seventeen yards! Not only did Lu Ke get the first down for his team, but they are now at the Cowboys’ 27-yard line!”

Troy grabbed his own hair in disbelief, pulling hard. Even though he’d seen it with his own eyes, he still couldn’t believe it. His heart was pounding so hard he felt like he was about to have a heart attack. ”What just happened?! What in the world just happened here?!”

Meanwhile, Chris Wilson was completely speechless. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out. His soul, however, was screaming. ’AH! AHHH! A miracle! We are witnessing a miracle! God! Oh, God!’ As the silent scream went on, Chris’s mind went completely blank.

The stadium erupted.