The Red Line Debut
"Whew."
I'd thought I'd be able to stay calm, but my body was already trembling with excitement.
Glancing toward the stands, I saw a crowd far, far larger than anything I'd ever drawn back in my track days, all gathered to watch. The thought that they were about to witness what I could do sent a thrill of pure pleasure stabbing through my mind.
Switching was the right call.
It wasn't something I liked to admit, but in America, at least, football seemed to sit one rung above track and field. Of course, different sports offered different levels of status and honor—but personally, I believed popularity was the truest measure of an athlete. And on that scale, no other sport in this country could touch football.
"So, Jaehyuk—how's it feel?"
Spoken like the guy who'd dragged me onto this team in the first place. For the record, James was a bench player. He hadn't made the starting lineup, sadly enough.
Looking at that body of his, I honestly can't figure out why.
Well, the coaching staff must have had their reasons. We'd only trained together a handful of times, so I couldn't really say.
"It's the best."
"Whoa! Now that's confidence!"
"Hey! Quit yapping and gather up!"
Meanwhile, the coaches had begun calling the players in. Amid the rising chatter, Sanders's voice boomed out.
"Eyes front, you brats!"
The bubbling excitement settled at once. They were still just high schoolers—quick to boil over—but thankfully Sanders kept a firm hand on the lid.
"Play this game with clear heads. The only edge you have over those boys is that they're underestimating us. That's it."
Fair enough, considering last year's record had been one win and nine losses. An unbelievable record—in more ways than one.
"Mark Hamilton."
"Yes, Coach."
"I know your tendencies. You need the spotlight on yourself. But this once, you judge the situation coolly and call the play we agreed on. Nothing else."
"Understood."
Mark gave a curt nod, his face carved from ice. So now I had to wait on the ball from that guy. Come to think of it, the only quarterback I'd ever built chemistry with was the backup sitting over on that bench—the Hispanic kid.
Not syncing up until game day—does that actually make sense?
Honestly, I had no idea. Football was still a puzzle to me.
"Mark. Just like we said."
"Yes, sir."
Suddenly Mark and the coaches were exchanging loaded glances—and then, one after another, their eyes drifted to me too.
What? What's with the look?
They'd clearly worked out some separate play call involving me, so why was I the only one being kept in the dark?
"Coin toss!"
The coin toss to decide possession began.
And we…
"Ha! We're receiving in the second half."
"Is that good?"
"Obviously. In football, the second half matters more than the first. Since we deferred in the first half, we get the ball to open the third quarter after halftime. And if we score at the end of the first half, we can keep the ball and score again right after—easy momentum."
One of the linemen rattled off the explanation. Either way, as the running back, I had no role in the opening plays—so I watched from the bench.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The band's playing swelled louder with the sound that marked the start of the game.
Our team's kickoff. The moment our kicker, one of the special teamers, took the snap, he blasted the ball downfield toward the opponent's territory.
FWOOSH—!
The ball sailed far—sailing clean out of the end zone, and the game was underway.
Still can't tell what's what out there.
Play resumed at the opponent's 25-yard line. Players set their stances and lined up along the line of scrimmage. No Liam? A glance showed he was sitting on the bench like me. Had the staff decided switching positions for the real game was too risky?
"Hmm."
Whatever. I pulled out the memo pad stashed in my pocket and spread it open. I'd memorized everything already, but it never hurt to double-check. That said, there weren't many plays available to me in the first place. I had to memorize which routes to run on which call signals, which defenders to block, how each play was constructed and executed—it was so complicated that even after a little over a week, I hadn't absorbed it all.
"Set, hut!"
THUD-THUD-THUD!
The roar of players colliding at full force. I pored over my play calls against that backdrop of noise.
And then—
TOOOOOT!
"Ah!"
"Damn it!"
At the despair in my teammates' voices, I looked up. Out there, a Derby High player who'd hauled in a pass was sprinting untouched toward the end zone.
"TOUCHDOWN!"
Points surrendered in a single breath. The team trudged back to their positions, shoulders slumped.
"Dave! I told you to mark number one! Why are you changing your route on your own?!"
Tyrone's shout carried across the field as we began getting ready to take it ourselves. A touchdown meant the units swapped—defense off, offense on. Derby tacked on the extra point soon after, and the score stood 7–0.
"Damn it."
"We've barely started and we're already down a touchdown…"
Okay, seriously, what is with these guys? They've given up one score and they're whining like this already?
"Hey."
"?"
"Don't worry about the score. Just do your jobs. I'll put the points on the board myself."
My teammates just stared at me, too stunned to react. Then Willie burst out laughing.
"PWAHAHA! Right! We just need to score more! Let's go—no cold feet!"
Time for the offense to take the field. I gazed out at the field, which looked wider than ever today, and smiled to myself. The weather was pleasantly cool—good running weather, too.
"YO, BROOOO!! Run your heart out—enough for both of us!"
A voice rang out from the stands. Ronnie, no question about it. Without turning my head, I raised a hand in a lazy acknowledgment and scanned the opponent instead. Derby's defense was looking right back at us.
"Who's this stick figure supposed to be?"
"One win and nine losses, right? We'll make it zero wins this season."
Then one of them strolled right up to me and flashed a grin.
"I'll send you back to China. Monkey."
China? Why on earth would I go there?
I smiled and fired back.
"Sure. And I'll send you back to your ancestors' homeland."
"You little—!"
Ignoring his outburst, I walked over toward the quarterback and spoke to Mark, who was running the new play for the first time.
"Let's go with a run."
"That's my call to make."
Mark rattled off the play call, light and easy.
It was a running play.
Talking big for a guy who was going to run it anyway.
Hoo. Hoo.
Labored breaths, thick with tension, came from everywhere around me. Through the slits of my helmet, I could see the opposing players lined up—and beyond them, the vast expanse of the field.
Ssssss.
And then, all across the field, the black lines began to draw themselves—just like when I stood on a track.
"Ready! Ready!"
At Mark's call, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
"Set, hut!"
TONG!
The snap—the ball sucked into Mark's hands—and I took off sideways.
PAT!
Mistaking it for a pass play, the defenders chased hard after the receivers. They clearly hadn't given the run game a second thought.
"Mark 13! Double team!"
The moment the opponent's shout of warning went up for Willie—
FWIP—.
Mark finally let the pass fly. To me.
TAK!
A short pass, no trouble at all—I caught it clean and tucked it into the crook of my arm. Only one defender stood between me and open field. The rest had all crashed toward the receivers on the far side.
Thump!
At the same instant, the black line blazed into red. The moment my foot found it, overwhelming power flooded my limbs.
"Hoo—!"
In that same heartbeat, a defender came bearing down on me. Watching him, I swung my body as if to break right.
FWIP.
But while my shoulders sold the right, my lower body snapped hard to the left—a vicious misdirection born mid-sprint, an either-or the defender never saw coming. Seduced by my upper body, he committed left—and I was already gone the other way.
"?!"
His stunned face flashed past at eye level. Quite a pretty picture, honestly.
What did I tell you? I said I'd send you home.
"Ghh—."
He twisted around far too late to give chase.
ZZZEEENG—BWOOM!!
Already too late.
KSHSAA Football, surprisingly enough, was broadcast. It was only a livestream online, but it was popular enough to have dedicated commentators on the call. And right now, a matchup between Derby—one of this year's favorites for the title—and Wichita North, a team stuck circling the bottom of the standings, was on the air.
"Oh my—and just three minutes in, Derby High School has taken a touchdown off Wichita North!"
Ryan, one of the two commentators, called it with breezy cheer. Then Jack Thomas, his partner on the broadcast, began breaking down the play.
"The ball starts with quarterback Hudson and arrives to his receiver Henry on an absolutely gorgeous arc! Look at that trajectory—is that not a thing of beauty?"
"And Henry's movement shaking his defender is remarkable as well. They say he's only a sophomore—truly impressive stuff!"
Even the pair calling the game, and everyone watching the stream along with them, believed in a Derby victory without a shadow of doubt.
As the streamer skimmed the flood of comments and traded light banter with the viewers, possession changed hands on the field. Watching the players line up, Ryan spoke up.
"Wichita North has certainly been through a lot this year, hasn't it?"
"The entire coaching staff changed recently. First Tyrone came aboard as head coach, and then NFL legend Barry Sanders joined as the man in charge."
"And if I'm not mistaken, I hear their starting running back is currently injured as well."
"Ronnie Wilder! A shame, truly. A talented player—he reportedly suffered a fracture during practice."
The commentators paused to catch their breath and signaled to the production booth. The camera panned across Wichita North's formation and zoomed in on a single figure.
"Which is why they've brought in a new running back! And his identity is—of all things—an athlete from the East! The very player who's been setting the internet on fire lately!"
"Seeing an East Asian player in American football is a genuinely rare sight. And at the running back position, no less—about the most punishing job on the field. Remarkable."
"Number 21! We'll see whether he can carry his online fame onto the regular-season stage. Very much looking forward to it."
That's what they said, anyway.
Neither of them believed a word of it.
The online reaction was just as cold. To be fair, Jaehyuk's football career was exactly zero games long. The only things to his name were a few medals won on the track.
Meanwhile, one of the opposing defenders was, by the star-rating system, a bona fide four-star prospect. No matter how much buzz Jaehyuk had generated online, buzz wasn't proof of ability—
TAP!
FWAAAAAANG—!!
"Uh? Uh-oh—?"
"A run play!"
Wichita North's attack was underway—and the moment it began, their formation collapsed into chaos, and the ball was pitched sideways to Jaehyuk on the sweep.
Everything after that left the commentators—and every single viewer watching the broadcast—in open-mouthed shock.
"W-wow—a perfect cutback!!!"
"Wait, what was that move just now?! High schoolers can't move like that—can they?!"
What followed was a one-man stampede. The defenders who'd been chasing receivers scrambled after Jaehyuk far too late, but his speed was simply beyond their reach. It might as well have been the speed of light.
He was so fast that his white uniform, slashed with red, left the red line itself hanging in the air behind him like an afterimage.
"The Red Line…"
Thomas murmured. And alongside him, Ryan's voice cracked into a full-throated roar.
"RED LINE 21! He crosses into the end zone—TOUCHDOWN!!"