The True One-on-One

Derby High School boasted a total of three star players.

The first was their quarterback, Hudson.

A 3-star recruit.

Derby itself was so famous within Kansas that ESPN and other media outlets regularly came calling, and the bulk of that attention had always landed squarely on Hudson. He was a prospect who, while still rated 3 stars, would almost certainly be bumped to 4 the moment he lifted a championship trophy this year — and since Derby was a serious title contender, more than a few outlets had already penciled him in as a 4-star.

Next came the offensive lineman, Carter Jennings. The mightiest gatekeeper protecting quarterback Hudson, and a 3-star prospect in his own right. He wasn't especially large, but he possessed monstrous strength — so overwhelming that he'd never once been overpowered, earning him the nickname the Invincible Shield.

And last, anchoring the defense: Steve Hopkins.

Playing cornerback — essentially a running back of the defensive variety — he blazed across the field with breathtaking speed. Unlike the two 3-star talents Derby carried on offense, he single-handedly held down the entire defensive side, a testament to just how enormous his skill was. He was only a sophomore, yet already rated 4 stars — a certifiably insane talent. Give him another year or two, and a 5-star rating seemed all but guaranteed.

"......"

And that was the young man now staring blankly at Jaehyuk as he strolled into the end zone, still feeling the ghost of the grip that had locked onto his shoulder for that brief moment.

I was sure I had him.

The spin move. He'd read it — just a beat too late. But Jaehyuk's speed and power had been beyond anything he could have imagined. For a football player, the kid was on the small side, which made that strength utterly impossible to predict. If he had to put the feeling into words...

Yeah. It was like running into a wall.

"Gulp."

No. It had to be a fluke. If the guy had lined up against him straight, no trick plays, no games, there was no way he would have lost. But the instant that thought formed —

Their eyes met again, Jaehyuk emerging from the end zone.

A chill shot down his spine.

Those burning, black, utterly arrogant eyes. The fierce pressure radiating from them froze Hopkins in place. He was clearly the taller of the two, and yet somehow it felt like he was the one being looked down on.

Any other day, he would have blown up, hurled an insult, something — anything.

"......"

But his mouth wouldn't open. His feet wouldn't move. He simply stood there, drowning in the sensation of being utterly overwhelmed, his gaze sliding away on its own.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up! Who'd have thought Wichita North would pull a dirty stunt like that? Guess they were getting desperate."

A teammate had come over to console him. Only then did some air return to Hopkins's lungs; he gave a stiff nod and trudged back toward the bench.

But still.

He didn't have the courage to look back at that monster.

THWACK!

Another Steve tore off his cap and hurled it to the ground, then swept the field with burning eyes before glowering across at the opposing bench.

"That damn old man resorts to tricks like this?"

Derby's head coach, Steve, ground his teeth as he watched Barry Sanders smirk serenely from the sideline. But he knew better than anyone that this was useless venting.

I got too complacent!

Everything up to Derby's first offensive series had gone perfectly. The game had unfolded exactly as he'd predicted, and the scouting on the opponent's defense had been within margin of error. The problem was his own defense.

He'd simply assumed the opponent's starting running back was injured, and the newly inserted one hadn't factored into his calculations at all. And to be fair, he'd had a safety net — even if the new running back did somehow get loose, he had one man he trusted to handle it.

Cornerback Steve Hopkins.

A kid with elite potential who, if he developed right, had a genuine shot at the NFL.

Fine. I'll concede the touchdown — couldn't be helped.

He'd personally ordered Hopkins to shadow the opponent's receiver, number 13. And sure, the way number 21 had moved was still awe-inspiring — that flawless cutback was something he'd have loved for his own running backs to study on film.

The problem was what came after. Who in their right mind attempts a two-point conversion from the field goal line?

"Well, honestly, if I had a running back like that, I'd milk him too."

Now that the secret weapon was out in the open, squeezing every drop of value out of him before the full picture of their offense emerged was the correct call.

But losing Hopkins in that matchup? That he never saw coming.

Who the hell IS this kid?

Yes, the trick play had created chaos — but at the end of the day, it had come down to one-on-one. And the result was a total rout. To dominate a future 5-star prospect like Hopkins by such an overwhelming margin...

"What exactly is that guy?"

At Steve's question, one of his coaches hurriedly pulled up a tablet.

"From this footage, sir — he's the one who went one-on-one with Barry Sanders. His records say he's been running track all the way up until this year."

"Track? Is he one of those elite-track guys trying out running back? Because that would be a late age to still be doing track for someone on that path."

"Word going around is that this is his first year ever playing football."

"Ha! Don't spout nonsense. You're telling me THAT skill belongs to someone playing his first year?"

The coach had no reply. He agreed with his head coach, after all. Accepting that level of play from a first-year player would be the same as telling every promising recruit in the nation to quit football.

"My head hurts. It's a change of possession, so I'll need to run through the game plan with the defense."

"Understood."

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it became. First year? And looking closer, the kid wasn't even Black or white — he was Asian. An Easterner playing football for the first time in his life, at running back no less, putting on THAT kind of show? Give me a break.

But there were things even Steve didn't know. That Jaehyuk had picked up football barely a week ago — and that he was growing stronger, right now, at this very moment.

"All defensive personnel, huddle up!"

And with that bombshell of a fact waiting to detonate on him someday, Steve gathered his defense and frantically began calling out adjustments.

A tight, grinding battle followed.

The opponent's offense, their composure clearly rattled by our counterpunch, couldn't recapture the dominance they'd shown at the start. And truthfully, our side wasn't in much better shape. Once possession flipped and our offense took the field, they swarmed me with double teams. Our coaches and quarterback Mark saw it and abandoned the run entirely, trying to grind out yardage through the air — but we couldn't put a single point on the board.

And so, with both teams locked in a scoreless stalemate...

TRIIIIL—!

The halftime whistle rang out.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

First half over. After fifteen minutes of rest, the second half would begin.

"Just hand me the ball. I'm telling you."

I scowled as I said it, but Mark didn't so much as acknowledge me — just kept drinking his water.

Haah. Infuriating.

Honestly, even I doubted I could score in one shot against multiple defenders crashing down on me. But I at least wouldn't have let things freeze up like this.

"Kim Jaehyuk. You're still the team captain. Respect Mark's decision."

Tyrone said it sternly.

Yeah, well, your 'team captain' is watching his one weapon get benched out of the game here, Coach.

Not that I didn't understand. Nobody knew about my Gift, so no one could believe I'd keep performing like this forever.

I guess it's still time to prove more.

Once my football career had more mileage on it, maybe they'd start using me the way I deserved.

"They're the ones under pressure, not us. We're ahead on the scoreboard, and we get the ball first in the second half. They're going to start forcing things — and when they do, we strike. That's how we take this game. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

I nodded along for now. Everyone here had their own ideas about the game, I supposed. More than a guy who'd been playing football for a day and a half, anyway.

The break flew by, and our offense — up first in the second half — took the field.

"Rosemary third white double-oh."

Holy hell, this play call was the hardest scramble yet. What play even is that? I frantically pieced the code together one syllable at a time...

It's me?

A running play.

The first run they'd called since the opening drive of the first half. Guess they wanted to open the second half with a bang after all.

But.

"Hoooh."

A wall of enemy defenders, every one of them staring daggers at me. The cornerback who'd chased me down earlier had been planted squarely on my side of the formation.

I'd run the ball exactly ONCE. How long were they planning to keep keying on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me?

Fine by me.

I smiled, slow and sharp.

If I could carve through all of them even now, under this kind of attention, no one would ever doubt me again. So right now, more than any moment before —

Grit.

This was the moment to collide at full power.

"Ready, ready. HUT!"

Charge. Nothing but charge.

I split ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the air at a dead sprint and ripped the ball right out of Mark's outstretched hand. Not one of those short little dump-offs from the first half — a proper, by-the-book running play.

RATATATAT!

My stride knew no hesitation. The black Gift had already activated before I even secured the ball, laying the path out before me — and the instant my fingers closed around it, the lines shifted color and began to writhe.

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

"NGH—!"

"RAAAAGH!"

"HOLD THE LINE!!"

Ahead of me, the big bodies crashed together in a raw test of strength. And through the churn of limbs, I caught it — a small gap in the wall.

No. Not that one.

The red line connected that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way, but it was severed — a break in the path. Which meant if I went there, the second wave of defenders would come crashing in behind it. So the place I needed to go was...

Come to me!

A single cornerback, planted and waiting, eyes locked on me.

The very player who'd tried to stop me before. And he wasn't hesitating either — he was already charging straight at me.

By pure coincidence, the spot I had to break through was exactly where he stood. Crack that door open, and I trusted myself to break the rest.

And so began the true one-on-one.

You've got some real talent, I'll give you that.

Unfortunately for you — you're not my match.

RATATAT!

The collision distance shrank to nothing. Any observer would have sworn the tackle was a certainty, the space that tight.

I smirked right in his face and spun.

But this time it was different from before. A textbook spin move, my speed deliberately checked.

TWIST!

The man's reaction speed was ferocious, though. He nearly whiffed past me entirely — then clawed onto the tail of my jersey at the last instant and hung on for dear life.

Let go, you son of a—

THWACK!

I drove my palm straight down onto his helmet. Already off-balance from lunging desperately at my jersey, the man slammed face-first into the turf.

CRASH!

Behind me, he crumpled in a spectacular sprawl, and I accelerated all over again. I'd meant to blow past him in one clean burst — slightly annoying, getting grabbed like that.

And for those few stolen seconds, the red lines burning in my vision grew hazy at the edges. The opponent's second wave was already coming.

"HNNGH!"

But you run until you can't run anymore. Could I really punch through everyone, even now?

KA-POW!!

With the adrenaline flooding through me —

the Gift began to explode.

"......"

"......"

Everyone had fallen into silence. No — more precisely, they were all flailing in the depths of sheer disbelief, from the stands all the way down to the players' bench. Ryan and Thomas, the men paid to call the game, had been struck dumb, able only to stare at the scene that had just unfolded. Even the online chat had gone completely dead, not a single comment appearing for a long while.

"Uh, uhh......"

"Wh-what did we just witness?"

Only when professional pride screamed that they had to say SOMETHING did the two broadcasters finally force words out. And the moment they did —

the chat window exploded.