Storming the Castle

Pressure. Impact. Chaos.

Lance felt like a canoe caught in the eye of a stormy sea, tossed helplessly amidst the waves, teetering perpetually on the edge of capsizing.

Danger.

Danger, danger, danger!

The feel of the leather football against his hands had barely registered before Lance sensed the predatory gaze of the defense locking onto him. Instincts fired like alarms: predator versus prey. But the rapid shift from a quick pass to a run left him no time to adjust.

He felt as though he'd seen this scene before—like a scene from a claustrophobic escape room thriller.

The walls were closing in from every side. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as if he were about to be crushed into oblivion.

The greater the peril, the calmer he became.

To his left and right, two linebackers closed in fast. Even before Smith had lobbed the football, Lance had been tracking them, preparing to evade.

Now, his feet sprang into action—

A sidestep.

To the left.

Why?

Kelsey was positioned to his right.

Typically, a tight end's side is the "strong side," offering a clear advantage for breaking through using Kelsey as a lead blocker. But that side was also heavily guarded by the Patriots' defense.

Lance, known for his speed and agility, preferred the open field, where he could unleash his full potential. He made his choice without hesitation, breaking left toward the "weak side."

Patriots linebacker James Harrison grinned. Perfect.

This time, there would be no mistakes. Harrison, a seasoned veteran, had joined the Patriots from the Pittsburgh Steelers specifically to fortify their run defense. The earlier mishap was embarrassing enough. Letting it happen again would be unthinkable—

Wait.

What was this?

One moment, Harrison was set to take down Smith. The next, he was forced to switch targets as Lance darted into his line of sight.

This shift required Harrison to adjust his footing and lower his center of gravity. Tackling a running back was a far cry from tackling a quarterback. At 6 feet tall (183 cm) and 242 pounds (110 kg), Harrison's reaction speed wasn't what it used to be.

At 38 years old, his body betrayed a slight delay.

That fleeting pause was all Lance needed.

Quick. Agile. Fluid.

Before Harrison could plant his foot, Lance had already surged forward, his shadow sweeping past like a tornado.

A sharp, upward impact struck Harrison square in the shoulder.

A grunt.

Though the hit landed on his shoulder, Harrison felt it as if it had connected with his jaw. The raw force rocked him back, spinning his body like a carousel.

In the chaos, Harrison lost sight of Lance altogether.

An abrupt, overwhelming collision. A rapid sidestep.

The momentum of Lance's run carried him further into the defense. And then—

There was Butler.

Cornerback Malcolm Butler remained composed, calm as ever.

Butler's assignment had been to shadow wide receiver Chris Conley. A deceptive route had nearly fooled him, pulling him further downfield.

But Butler stayed sharp, recognizing Conley's bluff and quickly pivoting back toward Lance.

As Lance bore down on him, Butler slowed just enough to read the rookie's movements. This was a duel now, a split-second game of chess.

Lance didn't have the luxury of time. With the Patriots' defense collapsing around him, hesitation wasn't an option.

He made the first move.

Butler's pupils shrank. "Gotcha," he thought.

Lance juked right—a clear feint. His true intention was to cut left and dash up the sideline. Butler had seen this move before, had studied this exact tendency.

Butler even pretended to bite on the feint, stepping toward Lance's right before shifting left to intercept him.

The rookie had fallen into his trap.

Or so Butler thought.

Then came the smile.

The grin under Lance's helmet stopped Butler cold. Before he could react, Lance shifted right again, seamlessly and unpredictably.

A second cut.

Butler's mind reeled.

It felt like an invisible rope tethered him to Lance's feet, each of the rookie's steps pulling him out of position. His body twisted awkwardly, upper half outpacing his lower half. Desperate, Butler lunged forward—

And slipped.

With a dull thud, Butler hit the turf face-first, helplessly watching as Lance danced past him.

Humiliation.

Complete and utter humiliation.

Lance didn't even glance back.

His feet shuffled, realigned, and exploded forward.

Ahead, Conley was back in the picture. Their eyes met for a split second, exchanging an unspoken understanding.

Conley curved back into the field, positioning himself slightly ahead and to Lance's right, creating a makeshift barrier. Together, they charged forward at full speed.

"One tackle avoided!"

"Two tackles avoided!"

"A gap opens up! Lance uses his incredible agility to create an opening, ripping apart the Patriots' defensive formation. Their aggressive front-line blitz fails, leaving the backfield dangerously exposed. Lance, with Conley as his shield, is breaking free!"

"To the 40-yard line!"

"Safety Devin McCourty is closing in fast."

"Beautiful! Conley blocks McCourty, sending him flying!"

"Now it's down to Patrick Chung! Chung is the Patriots' last line of defense!"

"Chung approaches, but wait—Conley's back again!"

"This third-year receiver nearly lost his starting spot during the offseason but fought his way back, defeating four competitors. And now, he's proving his worth with relentless effort."

"Conley disrupts Chung, momentarily slowing him down. But Chung powers through, shoving Conley aside and closing in on Lance. Even so, Conley's interference may have bought Lance just enough time."

"Lance! Chung!"

"Chung! Lance!"

"Number 23 versus Number 23! Two Asian-American players face off in a historic showdown!"

"History is unfolding before our eyes!"

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Powerstones?

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