American Football: Domination

Rookie?

Even though everyone jokingly called Lance a "rookie," Orakpo would never underestimate him. Underestimating Lance for any reason would be foolish.

Orakpo knew Lance's speed. He also knew his agility and footwork. As a veteran linebacker, he understood that if he allowed Lance to gain momentum while putting himself on the back foot, it would likely mean the opportunity had already slipped away—

He had to strike first.

Just like now. Before Lance could accelerate, Orakpo initiated his tackle, triggering Lance's reflexes.

Then, he waited—exactly where Lance would try to evade.

One move.

One tackle.

Orakpo launched himself into the air, fully breaking free from gravity, wrapping his arms tightly around Lance's waist, and locking his grip.

Tighten.

Clamp down.

He had him.

Orakpo was 100% sure he had Lance secured, but he still couldn't defy gravity. His entire body spun clockwise like a whirlwind, but he wasn't flustered. He just held on, waiting for his feet to touch the ground again. Then, with all the momentum and rotational force—

He drove.

He lifted.

He slammed.

Orakpo, with an almost impossible display of strength, hoisted Lance like a sandbag and flung him over his shoulder. In one fluid motion, he executed a textbook suplex, sending Lance airborne.

A wrestling move!

A high-level wrestling technique!

The world spun violently.

"Whoa!"

"Orakpo! Orakpo, with superhuman strength, just threw Lance over his shoulder! My god!"

"But!"

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"

"Lance is still standing!"

"Ah—"

Pash's mouth hung open wide enough to fit a fist inside.

"Lance! Former mixed martial artist!"

"He just displayed unbelievable core strength! Even after losing control, he somehow stabilized his balance and used the momentum to break free from Orakpo's tackle! He's still standing!"

"This… this is unreal!"

Orakpo had given everything to execute that suplex, releasing his grip as Lance was thrown. But to his shock, Lance managed to perform an almost acrobatic move, twisting mid-air, landing cleanly, and keeping his balance with sheer core control.

The world was still spinning.

Lance staggered, his breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to focus, entering a near-instinctive trance.

He didn't see Williamson.

That meant he was now facing away from the end zone after that 180-degree spin and was dangerously close to the line of scrimmage again.

Step one: Turn around.

But his footing was unsteady, and as soon as he tried to pivot, he almost collapsed.

Gritting his teeth—focus, focus!

From deep within his core, he summoned his remaining strength, planting his left hand on the ground to stabilize himself, then pushing up with all his might to stand upright again. No hesitation—his feet were already moving.

Step two: Find a way out.

His footwork flowed like a waltz, maneuvering past the fallen Orakpo on the right side. He leaned sharply, like a short-track speed skater rounding a curve, using speed and momentum to maintain his balance.

Orakpo: Why is there a shadow cast over my face?

Is that a beast?

Step three: Charge forward.

Despite the chaotic footwork and near-total loss of balance, Lance spotted the end zone again and surged ahead with singular focus.

Danger!

A figure appeared on his right—Orakpo and Lance had been tangled up for too long. Now, the Titans' defense had fully closed in.

It had to be a cornerback. Ryan? Was that his name?

But Lance had no time to check jersey numbers. He also had no energy or space to maneuver. With complete clarity, his mind made an instant decision.

Spin.

Clockwise. 180 degrees.

Lance turned his back, absorbing the cornerback's hit. It was a surprise move, throwing his opponent off just enough to prevent a proper tackle. Then, at the moment of impact, Lance pushed off, breaking free.

Boom.

His insides felt like they were being torn apart, his world still spinning chaotically.

Blood boiled.

Adrenaline roared.

The cornerback's hit, instead of stopping him, became his momentum. Lance used it to push forward.

Spin again.

Clockwise. 90 degrees.

Now, he veered left at a 45-degree angle, stumbling past Orakpo, who was trying to get back up.

Williamson was closing in, ready to wrap him up—

Wait.

Why is Lance suddenly moving at 10x speed?

Williamson wasn't ready. He had barely prepared for impact when Lance slammed into his gut like a wrecking ball.

Ugh.

Williamson felt like he had just been hit by a demolition hammer. Before he could even register what happened, he was airborne—

Sent flying.

Lance wasn't much better. Dizzy, disoriented, his whole world kept spinning like a washing machine on high speed.

Ah.

Grit his teeth.

Ahhh!

Summon everything from deep inside.

Lance's eyes burned with unyielding determination. Shaking, stumbling, he forced himself forward.

Two safeties were closing in for a final tackle—

Perfect. Let the storm come.

He would smash through anything.

Nothing would stop him.

Fight until the last breath, with no regrets!

Push off. Burst forward.

Lance found one last ounce of energy and charged.

Closer.

Even closer.

Just before collision, a figure leaped in from the right—

It was Kelce.

Boom!

Kelce sacrificed himself, colliding with one of the safeties. Both men crashed to the ground in a chaotic tangle.

Amid the mess, Kelce turned his head toward Lance. His eyes, burning with battle spirit, seemed to say: Go, rookie! Go!

Lance didn't slow down—he surged ahead.

From the left, another figure flew in to take out the second safety—

It was Hill.

But this time, Titans safety Kevin Byard was ready. He sidestepped at the last moment, causing Hill to miss.

Still, Hill managed to throw a shoulder into Byard.

Lance's pupils shrank.

A window.

Lance didn't evade—he charged straight into Byard instead.

Byard: ???

Byard had no time to react. Lance had already extended his left arm—

A stiff-arm!

In the blink of an eye, their bodies collided.

Byard had exhausted all his energy. His stance was unstable.

Lance was also exhausted. His stiff-arm lacked full force.

But—

Byard spun.

Lance slipped past him.

Byard flailed, desperately trying to grab Lance, but all he could do was swipe uselessly at his arm.

And then—

Byard fell.

Byard: Damn it.

Staggering, nearly collapsing, Lance somehow kept running.

Ahead—nothing but open field.

A clear path to the end zone.

"Run, rookie! Run!"

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Powerstones?

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