A Bloody Battle

"Attack!"

Bateman called the play, and Lance didn't rush into action. Instead, he took a moment to adjust his steps and move forward. This was his first time facing a defense other than Alabama's—a completely unfamiliar team. From the players to their strategies and playstyle, everything was new. After watching the first half, Lance knew that charging blindly would only end in disaster.

He needed to stay calm and observe.

If anyone thought a running back's job was simply to grab the ball and plow through defenders, they were sorely mistaken. At least, that wasn't how Lance saw it.

The handoff came, and even before Lance felt the leather of the football in his hands, he had already shifted to Bateman's side and spotted the mounting pressure from the defense.

As expected.

Lance quickly spotted number 99—was his name Ferrell or something? Lance couldn't quite recall. But he remembered the jersey number vividly since it was the one he had initially wanted, and also because Burns had mentioned him during tactical analysis.

Though Ferrell was just a three-star recruit out of high school, he had room to grow. His playing style bore a resemblance to NFL superstar J.J. Watt.

So, what level was Watt exactly? In 2012, 2014, and 2015, Watt won the NFL's Defensive Player of the Year award three times. When most other defensive players struggled to reach double-digit sacks in a season, Watt surpassed 20.5 sacks twice, in 2012 and 2015. His stats, however, only scratched the surface of his true dominance. Watt had redefined what a defensive player could achieve in an offense-heavy league, earning him the title of the league's top defender for over a decade.

Of course, Lance wasn't suggesting that Ferrell had Watt's potential or abilities. Rather, Ferrell's aggressive, dominating style mirrored Watt's approach—defensive but offensive in nature.

Number 99 often took the initiative.

Sure enough, number 99 exploded forward. Not only did he fully utilize his physicality, but his raw power was like a tidal wave crashing down.

A bloody storm was brewing.

Moreover, his reflexes were sharp. Almost immediately, Ferrell spotted the handoff between Bateman and Lance, his bulky frame pivoting like a puffed-up blowfish. With a swift spin, Ferrell shot toward Lance.

Fast! That was the first thing Lance noticed.

Ferrell overwhelmed Alabama's outermost offensive tackle, using him as a pivot point to spin and break into the pocket, his menacing face breaking through.

Ferrell's pressure was overwhelming.

Lance had barely reached Bateman's position when the pocket collapsed. Number 99 had already slipped free, diving directly at Lance.

And in an instant, Ferrell had deciphered Alabama's running play. Seamlessly, his target switched from the quarterback to the running back.

Ferrell's eyes locked onto Lance, and in a flash, he surged forward with terrifying momentum.

Heavy! Lance could feel the weight of the air being displaced as Ferrell barreled toward him. Even through the helmet, Lance could see the grim expression on Ferrell's face, filled with malice.

Danger!

Just as Ferrell's massive hands were about to crush him, Lance kicked off with his left foot. Power rippled from his foot, through his ankle, and up his leg, as his muscles exploded with force. He twisted sideways, narrowly evading Ferrell's crushing tackle.

A close shave.

Even so, the slightest brush with Ferrell left Lance's shoulder stinging as if a layer of skin had been torn off. The heat from the collision seared his skin.

But Lance knew the danger wasn't over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ferrell recovering from his missed tackle, his arms following him closely.

Without hesitation, Lance used his momentum to spin counterclockwise, scattering the pressure that had been building up around him. Ferrell's second attempt at the tackle whiffed again, as Lance completed a full 360-degree spin, shifting position while keeping his breath steady and using his spin to pull further away.

The field opened up in front of him.

Ferrell's grin froze on his face—

He had been so close to making the tackle. His speed and strength had been unleashed fully, yet how had he missed?

Not once—but twice.

What was happening?

There was no time to ponder, though, as gravity yanked his hefty body toward the turf. His vision was filled with nothing but green grass.

Damn it!

Meanwhile, Lance felt the pressure behind him but didn't have time to glance back. He planted his foot and sprinted forward, aiming to break through.

But no sooner had he taken a step than the pressure mounted again.

Layer upon layer.

Defensive shields stacked up before his eyes.

Alabama's defense featured four linebackers, so the pressure near the line of scrimmage was somewhat lighter. It wasn't until Lance crossed the line that he typically felt the full brunt of it, giving him time to accelerate. That's why he had always managed to find a gap when facing defenders like Allen and Foster.

But Clemson was different. They had four defensive linemen who extended their pressure from the line of scrimmage. Even if they didn't break through the offensive line's pocket, their sheer presence created an obstacle for the quarterback and running back alike.

Now, Lance hadn't even built up speed yet. After dodging Ferrell's tackle, he was immediately met with a swarm of defenders, densely packed, blocking his view of the end zone.

It was a different game altogether.

So, what would Adrian Peterson do?

Lance remained calm. He had experienced this kind of defensive pressure many times during his system template training. There was no need to panic. Yet, real-game pressure was different from simulations. The sharpness of the tackles and the heat of the pursuit electrified his senses.

Excited and exhilarated, but still calm.

Lance's eyes scanned the field as his mind raced. In a flash, he'd assessed the situation.

He could zigzag through the gaps, which was his specialty. But Clemson's defense was much tighter than expected. Even if he dodged one defender, he'd likely end up in a dead-end.

That would be futile.

Lance quickly abandoned that plan. Instead of dodging, he charged straight at the linebackers ahead.

No dodging. He went straight into them.

Was it foolish to throw himself into their grasp?

Lance kicked off hard, pivoting his body. Leading with his left shoulder, he unleashed his strength and speed, crashing into the defense like a battering ram.

Boom! The impact echoed across the field as the collision sent shockwaves through the air.