Breaking Through
Lance was completely focused—
The Trojans believed that the Crimson Tide would open the season with a ground attack, and indeed, the Crimson Tide chose to open with a ground offensive.
On the tactical level, there were no secrets.
So what about the execution?
Lance had been observing the Trojan defensive line. Although it was just one more player than a normal "4-3" formation, the pressure near the line of scrimmage was completely different.
"Attack!"
Hurts called for the snap.
Lance didn't start immediately. Instead, he paused for a moment, uncharacteristically hesitating on his feet. In his vision, the Crimson Tide shifted to the right like an automatic door sliding open, revealing the scene across the line of scrimmage like an unfolding scroll. He quickly noticed that his teammates on the offensive line had done an excellent job holding their ground, engaging in one-on-one matchups along the front.
Like a set of blinds.
The players stayed aligned while moving horizontally, but as the speed and strength varied, gaps appeared in the rhythm—
There it was!
Lance launched forward, stepping to Hurts' left. Hurts, pretending to pass to the right, pulled the ball back and extended his right hand, handing it off to Lance, who tucked the ball securely into his arms.
Step forward.
But there was no acceleration; instead, Lance slowed his pace, maintaining a clear mind.
This was a distinct difference between McCoy's training template and Peterson's. People often thought that McCoy, who relied on speed, would simply charge forward recklessly, but that wasn't the case.
A calm observation and careful judgment before starting was the foundation of McCoy's ground attack strategy. Once he accelerated, his speed reached its peak, rarely changing direction, even crashing into walls if necessary, to force his way through with pure speed.
Peterson, on the other hand, was known for breaking tackles and continuing forward even after being hit. McCoy, unless he used speed and agility to evade, found it harder to escape after being tackled.
Now, with a clear head-on confrontation, the Trojans had set up a trap for the running back, waiting for him to charge into their net. Lance was not about to act recklessly.
Patience, calm, wait—
For the opportunity.
Lance adjusted his steps slightly, watching the "blinds" move across his field of vision. When another gap appeared, he took off.
His foot pushed off the ground, and speed exploded instantly.
Ahead was a chaotic melee of players. Ten men from both the offensive and defensive lines collided, pushing and pulling at each other. It felt like the searing flames of a dragon spreading through the air, the view engulfed in smoke.
But Lance's patience and calmness paid off. He spotted the gap between the opposing players, and with a burst of speed, he was through.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Before anyone could blink, Lance had already crossed the line of scrimmage and escaped the Trojan's defensive wall—
Was that it?
The heavily fortified "5-2" formation hadn't even touched Lance's jersey. The solid, stacked defense had already been broken.
The wind was blowing.
Even Lance was a bit surprised. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye caught a face behind a helmet, twisted in panic and shock, eyes reflecting Lance's image. Before it could register, Lance had already become a streak of light, flying past.
A brush of shoulders, a missed tackle.
The Trojan defender tried to reach out, but it was too late—he only grabbed at a gust of wind.
Whoosh.
The wind howled as Lance broke through the defensive wall. Layer upon layer of armor unraveled and fell apart.
Before him, a brand-new world.
But danger still lurked. Before Lance could adjust his pace, defenders were already closing in, trying to surround him quickly.
Maybe the Trojans had concentrated all their defense at the line of scrimmage, but once broken, their backfield would face immense pressure. However, they had also moved their linebackers and safeties up, ready to step in immediately.
Especially after watching the Crimson Tide's scrimmage against the Tigers, no one wanted to see Lance sprint down the field for another spectacular run.
One challenge had barely ended before another arose. Just after breaking through the first layer of defense, the second wave came crashing in.
On the sidelines, Juju froze—
"How did number 23 get out of there?"
Defense, positioning, support.
Juju shot up from his seat, clenched his fists, and held his breath as she watched a Trojan linebacker wrap up number 23:
"Good job!"
Juju pumped his fist: "That's the way!"
Lance could feel the full force of the hit. The Trojans' front-line defense was indeed tight, layer upon layer, leaving no breathing room. He had barely crossed the line of scrimmage before being met with a solid tackle, his attempts to juke left and right failing to shake the defender.
Luckily, Lance had been prepared.
He had expected to be hit by the defensive line but wasn't. Slightly delayed, the linebacker's tackle locked onto his waist.
Though a bit slower, it was within Lance's expectations.
Boom!
Lance braced for impact and didn't back down, colliding head-on.
It was a clash of strength, leaving both sides shaken. The linebacker wasn't the only one impacted; Lance himself felt the shockwave, his throat catching a faint taste of blood, fueling the fire in his veins.
The difference was that Lance had been ready—
After the hit, he kept moving forward, channeling the surge of energy into driving his legs forward. The force from his core exploded.
"Ahh!"
A roar erupted.
"Ahhh!"
With full power, Lance converted the energy from his footwork into raw force, driving the shield in front of him backward.
One hit, one push.
Then, overthrown!
"Ahhh!"
The linebacker was flipped onto his back, a cloud of turf exploding as he hit the ground. Lance's momentum surged forward, and without losing stride, he accelerated.
The stadium fell into stunned silence.
Juju: ???
A collective gasp of disbelief filled the air.
After breaking through the first layer of defense, the second layer had also crumbled.
In description, it seemed like Lance was cutting down his opponents effortlessly; in reality, he had only advanced five yards. He had just crossed the line of scrimmage and broken the linebacker's tackle, with roughly five yards left to reach a first down. The crowd's eyes were glued to him, hearts in their throats, ready to burst.
Could the run continue?
At least, Lance had no intention of stopping.
Push off!
Push off!
Push off!
His speed was fully unleashed.
Just as he was about to cross the first-down marker, a linebacker came into his peripheral vision, adjusting his balance and launching himself for a diving tackle.
The reason was simple: the Crimson Tide had lined up in the shotgun formation, with Hurts following the offensive line to the right, scanning for a passing target. This drew the Trojans' attention, forcing the linebacker to stay back, and only now could he shift to make the tackle.
Closer.
Closer.
Though a bit delayed, the Trojan defensive scheme was still there. Even if their plan had been exposed, their reaction time was fast enough. The second linebacker rushed in—
There it was!
Collision, tackle!
The linebacker leapt into the air, diving forward like a missile.
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