The Eye of the Storm

KSHSAA Football. This year, twenty teams had entered the 6A class, divided into four groups, A through D, with only the winner of each group advancing to the playoffs.

Six teams total would make the cut — the four group winners, plus the two second-place teams with the best records among the rest.

We should get through without much trouble.

Tyrone, who had been watching practice, glanced down at his tablet.

Three weeks had passed since the regular season began. Wichita North, slotted into Group A, had played two games and walked away with two emphatic victories.

The second had been against Wichita Southeast. They were a far cry from Derby in terms of skill, so North had crushed them 17–0, an utterly one-sided rout. The offense needed no explanation — the one-two punch of Jaehyuk and the wide receiver Willie had blown the defense apart. And surprisingly, it was the defensive side that had stolen the show.

Liam Hughes.

A running back turned edge rusher through a position change. As if he'd suddenly awakened, he had recorded no fewer than four sacks in a single game.

Thud! Boom!

Even now, Liam was drilling hard in the defensive line, sweat pouring down his face.

In truth, a sack was easier said than done. Pull off just one in a game and you'd start hearing the word "ace" thrown your way. Four in a single game was almost absurd.

But here was the funny part: the more Liam shone, the more attention heaped onto Jaehyuk.

"What the hell is that kid's deal?"

Word had it that Liam's position change had been entirely Jaehyuk's suggestion.

Of course, it was probably just dumb luck. What could a kid who'd only just started playing football possibly know? The proof was right there on the field — even now, during scrimmage, Jaehyuk would stand around blankly mid-play before scrambling to match his route a beat too late.

He clearly hadn't adjusted to tactical movement yet.

"Hm?"

Just then, one round of scrimmage ended, and Jaehyuk suddenly walked over to someone and started talking.

The someone was James.

James listened, scratching at his helmet with a troubled look on his face.

"What's he doing now?"

James was, in many ways, a frustrating player to coach.

195 centimeters. 142 kilograms. A frame you almost never saw in a high schooler, and monstrous muscular endurance to match — he could bench press 100 kilograms a full twenty-six times. Among high school players, that was a record worthy of the phrase another level entirely.

Yet for all those perfect physical gifts, his actual play was desperately lacking. Tyrone had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always found it a shame, and had tried every which way to make use of him — but...

He never actually stops anyone. His technique's half-baked.

Was it his personality? Or simply a matter of skill? Tyrone had only been at Wichita North for three months, and prepping for the regular season had consumed every waking hour. There simply hadn't been time to sit down with bench players like James and work through their flaws in detail.

"Ready—! Set, hut!"

Boom-boom-boom!

The scrimmage restarted.

But this time, James's movement jumped out at Tyrone.

"Whoa—?"

CRASH!

James drove straight through his man and flattened him into the turf. The result was nothing like the half-crouched, barely-holding-on attempts of the past.

WHAM!

And in the gap James left behind, the opposing defense slipped through and dragged down the quarterback.

On paper, it looked like a blunder — James had abandoned his post. And yet...

Fix one or two things, and he'd be far more useful than I thought.

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

Tyrone's eyes gleamed. At the same time, the defensive coach watching beside him shouted out.

"Let's run one more scrimmage! Hey, James! That last rep wasn't bad at all. Run it again!"

"Hm."

Apparently the man had noticed the same thing.

But what on earth had happened? Since when did a player transform that dramatically overnight?

In the scrimmages that followed, James kept steamrolling the opposing defense. The formation collapsed again and again, but unlike before, he somehow held his ground every time.

"No, seriously — does that even make sense?"

Up through the first scrimmage the kid had looked as hopeless as ever, and then suddenly this? Could it be...

Just then, Tyrone caught Jaehyuk sidling up to James again, whispering something. Thinking there's no way, he nonetheless found himself walking over with his heart pounding.

"Yeah, that's it. That's exactly it. Forget the quarterback — let him fend for himself. Whether he lives or dies back there, your only job is to crush whatever's in front of you. Got it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What, you don't like it? Trust your quarterback, kid. Why are you worrying about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the QB when you can't even do your own one job?"

So that's what he was saying.

It was worthless advice. And yet the truly ridiculous thing was that this worthless advice had turned James's performance one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Huh?"

When Tyrone had first heard about Liam from Coach Sanders, he'd chalked it up to a lucky coincidence. Liam's continued results since had raised a faint suspicion, but that was as far as it went.

But what was this supposed to be?

"Ready! Set, hut!"

CRASH! BOOM!

The scrimmage rolled on, and once again James demolished his man. Better still — this time he didn't just flatten him. He opened a lane.

"That's it! THAT'S what I'm talking about!"

Jaehyuk's shout carried all the way across the field. A moment later he took the handoff from the quarterback and cruised past the defense through the hole James had carved.

"...What in the world is going on here."

After winning the season opener, my standing at school had completely transformed.

Kids I'd never exchanged a word with — students I hadn't even known existed — came up to me acting like we were old friends.

This was definitely different from track.

When I ran track, even winning my main event drew hardly any attention. But in football, a single opening-day win had caused all this commotion.

And it makes practice that much more fun.

Even now, crowds of students were watching from beyond the fence — far more than before. Two straight wins in the regular season, and the team's popularity had climbed right along with its record.

"Jaehyuk!!"

SMACK!

I was busy scanning the crowd, wondering if any of my fans were out there, when a hand slapped down hard on my shoulder. I squinted against the dull ache and turned around.

"Ow, you jerk. That hurt."

"I did it! I actually did it!"

"Idiot. With that body, it's weird you couldn't do it until now."

Not that I'd been any different — I'd only spotted James's problem thanks to the Gift.

James was a thinker. A worrier, really. He over-considered everything to the point that he couldn't execute a single thing properly — that was the diagnosis the Gift handed down.

At the same time, it flagged him as a late bloomer. If he just stuck with football without giving up, the Gift said he'd fix himself eventually, even without my advice. No — better than that. His ability to weigh multiple factors at once, that natural multitasking, would eventually become his greatest weapon.

But that got me thinking.

Suppose he really would succeed someday, even without me. Would James actually keep playing football long enough to get there?

The answer was no. He'd probably quit at a reasonable point after high school and call it a day.

"Don't get cocky over one good rep. Keep practicing. Who knows — you might crack the starting lineup this season."

"Oooooh! M-me?! A starter?!"

Such a simple-minded fool. But he loved football with everything he had, and that made him impossible not to root for.

Me, honestly? Any sport, any event — as long as I claimed first place, I was satisfied. But this guy played like his life depended on it.

Anyway, the scrimmage was over. Since I'd been running to learn routes rather than to score, I went over my mistakes from earlier while starting my stretches.

"Kim Jaehyuk."

A voice from behind. I turned my head without breaking my stretch, and there was Coach Tyrone, standing there like he had something to say.

"Yes?"

"Don't give me 'yes.' What did you say to James?"

"Huh? Just told him to stop overthinking."

Coach's expression warped into something strange. Then he asked again.

"That's all?"

"Told him to crush the guy in front of him. To play more aggressive instead of guarding the quarterback. To shift his weight forward since he kept leaning back, and to knock off the habit of constantly glancing behind him."

With every word, Tyrone's face grew more bewildered.

Apparently James's showing had been a little too conspicuous.

Should I have dialed it back?

Fine, I could see the players' bad habits and weaknesses through the Gift — but to anyone watching from the outside, this had to look bizarre.

"I see."

"What's your read on it, Coach?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore."

He scratched his head raw and let out a long sigh.

Whether he was agonizing over it or not was none of my business, so I finished my stretches. But the coach didn't leave — he hovered beside me, clearly with more to say, pacing until I was done. Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he came out with something ridiculous.

"Even when you make it big, don't forget about me."

"Where's that coming from all of a sudden?"

"Just crossed my mind. Injury-free, you could become the first Asian running back in NFL history, you know."

"Just a running back? I'm winning a Super Bowl too."

"That's exactly why you'd better not forget me. Got it? You're only playing this sport because I begged you to, kid."

"That's true. Think of it as an honor, Coach. You discovered the NFL's first pure Asian MVP."

"Puhahaha."

Tyrone laughed and walked off. Watching him go, I thought to myself: Why's he laughing? I was dead serious.

Time flew.

A little over a month had passed, and we'd played every team in our group once. Now it was time for the home-and-away flip — round two against each of them.

"Nice. Very nice."

The coverage was far hotter than it had been at the start. And no wonder — Wichita North's run was genuinely extraordinary. A team that had gone 1–9 the year before was suddenly sitting at the top of the league, with an overwhelming 5–0 record to boot.

Blue Valley High is also 5–0, if I remember right.

By point differential, we were still first. But they weren't a team to dismiss lightly — Group B, where Blue Valley played, had been called the Group of Death at the draw, packed with powerhouses. Going 5–0 in that bracket made them a school worth taking seriously.

Can't wait to meet them in the playoffs.

Let me show you the gap in our strength. Heh heh.

Imagining the look on their faces when it all came apart, I scrolled further down the article — straight into a flood of comments.

The comments about me alone filled page after page.

At first I'd tried not to care, but I was only human — I kept coming back for more.

"What's got you so glued to that thing?"

"Huh?"

I looked up to find Liam staring at me from the seat in front of mine. I showed him my phone screen, scrolling through the wall of comments praising him.

"Look. Liam, you were awesome.Liam's position change was a masterstroke..."

"Forget that — you're supposed to be looking for MY praise, you punk."

Ignoring me entirely, Liam snatched the phone clean out of my hand and began reading every comment with intense concentration.

Weirdo.

Meanwhile, our bus rolled into its destination.

"Everybody off."

"Yessir!"

Where we'd arrived was Derby High School.

Last time, Derby had come to us. This time, it was our turn to play at Derby — the sixth game of the regular league season, a rematch against the very team we'd faced in the opener.

"Quit reading and get off the bus already."

I yanked my phone back from Liam and stepped down — straight into a deluge of camera flashes.

Click-click-click.

What on earth was going on?

The shutter sounds swallowed the air in every direction the moment my feet hit the pavement.

"Wichita North players! You're riding a phenomenal five-game win streak. Feeling confident about today too?"

"Coach Barry Sanders! Could we get a word before the game?"

"Where's the captain? Somebody find the captain!"

It was chaos. We'd never drawn a crowd like this before, and I had no idea where the commotion had suddenly come from.

"Interviews will take place after the game. The match starts soon, so we'll be heading in now."

One of the coaches moved to control the crowd, but the heat wouldn't die down. Then a reporter spotted me and flat-out yelled.

"It's Kim Jaehyuk!"

"Redline21? Where?!"

"Kim Jaehyuk! You're setting high school records no Asian player has ever touched! Just one comment, please!"

Yes, yes. Of course they'd be watching me — I'd counted on it.

But right now was time to focus on the game. There was no room to entertain any of this.

"Later, please."

"Just a few minutes of your time!"

Then James planted himself squarely in front of me and shoved his face toward the reporters.

"Didn't you hear him? The game's in an hour."

"Urgh."

One glare of pure intimidation from a man that size and the reporters shrank back instantly. James turned to me with a look that said did I do good?

Why are you looking at me for? Apparently he'd heard he might get subbed into today's game, and the news had him completely wired.

"We beat them last time, but Derby's the home team today! Nobody lets up — give it everything you've got!"

Sanders delivered the customary soundbite in front of the reporters, who scrambled to jot down every word. Watching them work was genuinely funny.

Derby's home turf, huh.

Honestly? I didn't feel a shred of nerves.

"Go! Go! Wichita North!"

"GO! WICHITA!"

Ready to demolish them all over again.