Stealing the Clock
"Huuuup!"
"Wha—?!"
"......!!"
The instant the ball grazed Liam's fingertips, the entire stadium held its breath and watched the moment unfold in slow motion, as if time itself were crawling forward frame by frame.
And then, when Liam rose to his feet with the ball cradled against his chest, all that accumulated time detonated at once.
"GRAAAAGH!!"
"Interception! Whoa! No, I mean... whoa..."
"They flip the game at the very end, to the very last second?! Does any of this even make sense?!"
"LIAAAAM!! I knew you could do it!!"
"WICHITA NOOOOORTH!! LET'S GO, BOYS!"
The Wichita stands had turned into an outright festival. Middle-aged men tore off their shirts and whipped them around overhead in wild circles, and though bystanders might normally have said something, everyone else was too drunk on the game to care, too busy screaming to notice anything else.
In stark contrast, Blue Valley's stands had gone stone cold. The cheerleaders and the marching band alike sank into a grief-stricken silence.
"You've been freeloading off that one five-star freak this whole time, haven't you? Haha!"
"Ahahaha! It's our turn now!"
"That's right! We've got...!"
Every head in the stands turned toward one player.
A player who, as if he'd been waiting for exactly this, was calmly pulling on his gloves and settling his helmet into place.
Number 21.
Wichita North's ace.
The greatest monster running back in state history.
The fact that he had still been in his pads—that he'd never once taken them off—made it look as though he had known all along he'd be taking the field.
He'd trusted his defense to give him a chance, no matter what. Something about that quiet certainty made the crowd's blood burn all over again.
"GOOOOO!! REDLINE 21!!"
"Run it! Punch it into the end zone!"
"Prove you're the strongest there is!!"
Cheers erupted from the stands with such force that the offensive players heading onto the field turned back to answer them with a roar of their own.
"W-Wichita North is going to win it all. We're going to be state champions..."
"No! The game isn't over yet! There's still fifty-eight seconds on the clock!"
"Fifty-eight seconds might as well be zero! Still, we're in trouble if we don't put up any points here."
Amid that swirl of celebration and anxiety—of shouting and gasping rising from the crowd—Jaehyuk gave returning Liam nothing more than a small nod.
"I'll get the points, hyung."
That deadpan calm cracked Liam's excitement wide open into a grin.
I always think this, but this guy... he's something else.
"Why are you calling me hyung? You're older than me."
As he sent Jaehyuk off toward the field, Liam called after the offensive players.
"Go break 'em, and come back!"
"YEEEAH!!"
High-fiving the defenders as they crossed into battle, the offense poured onto the field, burning with the resolve not to waste a single scrap of this chance.
"Whew... hoo."
Quite possibly the final drive of the game. Tony Garcia took a long, deep breath.
"It's okay if you mess up."
Jaehyuk passed behind him, dropping the words as he went. Tony, who by now knew beyond a doubt that this wasn't just lip service, gave a firm nod.
"I'm trusting you, Redline."
And one by one, the others looked to Jaehyuk and offered their own small prayers—one pressing his palms together neatly, another tracing a cross over his chest, another bowing at the waist like a man at a shrine.
"What am I, a good-luck charm?"
Muttering in disbelief, Jaehyuk straightened his stance anyway.
Time to resume the game. Time to run wild, gloriously.
BRAMP BRAMP BRAMP! BRAMP BRAMP BRAMP!
WAAAAH—!
The noise battering his ears pumped more life into him than ever before.
Their final drive would start at their own ten-yard line—the spot where Liam had ripped the ball away.
Starting farther back than usual was far from ideal, but simply reclaiming possession was a massive feat in itself. And prying it away from Blue Valley, whose every single defensive snap was a nightmare to endure, was worth more than a touchdown on its own.
Flap, flap.
...What's that.
Something strange flickered into his vision—and then he realized it was snow. The flurries that had begun drifting down without warning thickened into fat flakes, falling slowly across the field.
"Ready, ready. Set, hut!"
And before the first snowflake could touch the ground, Tony called the play alive.
THWACK!
The black line stretched out long and unbroken.
Jaehyuk sprinted full-tilt toward Tony.
"OPEN THE LANE!!"
Perhaps his shout carried, because both teams' linemen suddenly began grinding against each other with even more ferocity.
"Grrrrgh!"
"RAAAAAGH!"
Somewhere along the way, James had grown genuinely comfortable going against Jordan Watts, holding up far better than he had at the start.
Jaehyuk brushed the ball lightly on the handoff, swept past, and buried himself into the second-level defenders crashing in from behind—and then:
FWEEET—!
The ball sailed out fast. In the split second every defender's eyes locked onto Jaehyuk, Willie secured the catch cleanly. The defense stumbled for a beat, and Willie ground out a few extra yards before they brought him down.
"WHOOO!"
He'd been tackled, but he'd done his job, and Willie popped straight up into a celebration dance.
"Dirty bastards."
Jordan spat the words at them, but nobody bit. Everyone simply reset their stances.
"Hey, Redline. Scared? Our team's Marcus kept hauling in passes even with the whole defense keyed on him. And you? Ducking a head-to-head like this. Honestly, what a disappointment."
"What'd you say, gorilla?"
"What did you just say?!"
The taunt was clearly meant to bait him. Jaehyuk had picked the perfect wrong target.
"Catch your breath first, big guy. Watching you wheeze like that honestly breaks my heart."
"You're DEAD!"
Sure you are.
Jordan had apparently flattened everyone in his path all season with raw athleticism. It wouldn't work on Jaehyuk.
"Ready, ready!"
Tony's cadence cut in at the perfect moment, and Blue Valley scrambled back into position in a hurry.
"Set, hut!"
THUMP!
Tony took the snap and tossed it straight to Jaehyuk.
THUD!
The black line bled red, unraveling into loose, fluttering threads. Jaehyuk clamped the ball tight into the crook of his armpit and picked one of them.
Shall I play along for once?
A sly grin. If someone was going to trash-talk him, there was no reason not to answer.
He ran the straightest line on the field.
"Hu-up!"
Tony's astonished gasp swept past his ear as Jaehyuk charged directly at Jordan, still locked in a grueling power struggle with James.
"HNNNGH!"
The moment Jordan spotted him coming, he thrashed like a boar gone berserk, wrenching free of James and hurling himself at Jaehyuk with everything he had.
But Jaehyuk had already scored six touchdowns tonight. And Jordan Watts had stopped him exactly zero times.
Nothing had changed now, either.
WHOOOSH—
"......!?"
Jaehyuk hurdled the oncoming tackle entirely—sailing clean over Jordan Watts.
Red lines rippled and squirmed in the empty air ahead.
THWACK!
He landed. Defenders were already converging from both sides. He feinted forward—then cut hard back.
CRASH!
The defenders bit fully on the juke and slammed into each other. Through the gap they'd opened, Jaehyuk strolled forward unhurried, and the red lines converged into a single thread running straight ahead.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
A line laid out before him like a red carpet. If he just ran it, the touchdown was guaranteed.
SHRIIICK—BOOOOM!!
He stacked acceleration on top of acceleration, until no one on the field could even dream of catching him.
Jaehyuk ran alone.
"WAAAAAAAH!!"
"REDLIIIINE!!"
"RUN! RUN! RUN!"
Twip!
Someone clawed at his shoulder. Someone else dove for his legs from behind. Another tackle came slicing in at his waist.
But the red line refused to fade—still insisting, as if telling him he could keep running, that the road ahead was straight and clear.
"GRK!"
"URGH."
"Fuck!!"
Nobody could lay a hand on him as he tore down the red line, and at last Jaehyuk reached the end zone. He turned his head and scanned his surroundings.
Not a single soul had followed him in. Every last defender lay flat on the turf where their tackles had failed, or was belatedly chasing him, hopelessly outpaced.
Tap. Tap.
He slowed to a walk.
Stopping just short of the goal line, Jaehyuk looked up at the scoreboard.
Thirty-one seconds remaining. He had run it too fast—left far too much time on the clock.
Which meant...
I'd better drive the stake in all the way.
"YAAAAAAH!!!"
"Ryan! Ryan, did you just see that? Ladies and gentlemen, did every one of you at home see that?!"
The broadcast booth rose to its feet all over again. The two commentators, who had nearly stopped breathing during Liam's interception, promptly lost their minds at what followed—and when Jaehyuk finally took the ball, they shoved back from their chairs and leaned into the monitor as if trying to climb into the screen.
"A hurdle! He HURDLED Jordan Watts! Redline 21 is showing us every advanced technique a running back has in his arsenal!!"
"This is damn insane! Is this even possible? That's a five-star recruit—Jordan Watts!—and Redline is treating him like a little kid! What even IS this guy? Is he secretly an eight-star recruit or something?!"
Jack was losing his composure while Ryan carried on the broadcast whether anyone listened or not. It was absolute pandemonium in the booth, but the two of them stubbornly rode their own waves to the end.
"He hurdles like he's taking flight, then IMMEDIATELY hits the juke! Blue Valley's defense is tasting pure humiliation out there!"
"Aaagh... nobody can stop him. NOBODY can stop Redline! You grab him and he tears away—you tackle him and he runs straight through it! No—what is his body even made of, steel?!"
"If it's steel, it's far too fast for steel! He's leaving Redline afterimages at a speed nobody on that field can match! And at the ten! The five! The touchdown is right there in front of him!"
And then, at last, Jaehyuk slowed to a walk just shy of the end zone.
The two commentators shuddered at the sheer audacity of it.
"Ah—n-no one's even chasing him anymore! That's the most arrogant thing I have ever seen on a football field!"
"But that swagger! On anyone else it'd be shameful—on HIM, it fits better than on anyone alive! That's Redline 21 for you!"
Jaehyuk stood at the edge of the end zone, eyes on the clock. The commentators caught on and checked it too.
"Thirty seconds!"
"Ohhh, Redline! Cold-blooded AND brilliant! If he crosses the goal line now, the clock stops, and he hands Blue Valley a chance to answer right back—but..."
"He's stealing even THAT chance from them! What a killer!"
There was simply no reason to score right now and gift the opponent time to strike back. The clock doesn't run during an extra point attempt. Time only resumes on the next offensive snap.
In other words, scoring this instant would be handing the enemy thirty awkward, precious seconds.
At some point, Jaehyuk had come to understand the rules of American football well enough to weaponize them.
As Jaehyuk loitered near the goal line, Blue Valley's exhausted defenders finally began trickling in. But they'd sprinted nearly sixty yards (55 meters) while fighting through a wall of Wichita North players the whole way, and they arrived utterly spent.
And still Jaehyuk wouldn't cross the line. Watching him just stand there made every heart in the stadium clench.
Twenty-five seconds left. A defender lunged for him; Jaehyuk slipped it with ease and finished the man off with a stiff arm, planting him face-first into the turf.
"......"
"......"
From the stands to the broadcast booth, everyone watching lost the ability to speak.
Twenty-three seconds. Another defender came charging in, and he spun past him with a light spin move and laid him out flat. A hit came from behind—he simply sprinted away from it.
He was putting on an outright circus. But Jaehyuk was not the least bit careless.
No—if anything, his focus was sharper than it had been all game. He knew exactly how reckless this was.
But that recklessness was proof of how deeply he trusted himself, and how desperately he clung to victory. And flip it around, and it was also the ultimate compliment to the opponent: a declaration that he refused, no matter what it took, to give up possession again.
Twenty seconds left. Only then did a signal finally come from the Wichita North bench—Coach Sanders waving it in.
"Wheeeew!!"
Hearing the call, Jaehyuk sauntered into the end zone.
Tap. Tap.
Shoving aside and flattening every last player who lunged at him, he walked in for the touchdown.
There was no denying it: one of the most outrageous touchdowns ever scored.
"Wh-what did we just witness?"
"Hah... hahahaha..."
Jaehyuk had displayed overwhelming skill in a place no one expected it—literally toying with the opposing players, and that was no exaggeration. And in the wake of that jaw-dropping performance, the crowd's adoration shifted from the touchdown itself to Jaehyuk the individual.
"What IS he?! Is he playing a completely different game from everyone else out there?!"
"WAAAAH! Redline! You set my heart on fire!"
"I thought I was watching a fight card, not a football game!!"
A performance without precedent in the history of the sport. And riding the momentum of it, the scoreboard read 55 to 49.
Wichita North had taken the lead.
"......"
"......"
"......"
248Sports headquarters. Not a single person watching the screen said a word.
Their minds were simply replaying it on a loop—Jaehyuk's overwhelming dominance, the sheer audacity of it, the raw skill.
And one more thing, besides.
We are so screwed.
They hadn't known about a player like this—until now?
Reporters whose entire job was covering football, and they'd missed him completely?
If the higher-ups found out, heads would roll. And there was no question they'd find out, one way or another, through this very championship game.
"Wh-what time does the next flight leave?"
"In two hours. We'd have to leave right now."
"Should we at least watch it to the end first?"
"Emily, we're already finished. Face it."
"...I guess you're right?"
No! It's not too late yet!
Emily frantically grabbed her smartphone. She checked Rival.com, then ESFN, scanning article after article.
If anyone had already broken the story—if even one report on Jaehyuk was out there—it would be an unmitigated disaster, but...
"Nothing! There's nothing!"
"Nothing where?"
"Nothing on any sports site about Jaehyuk! We're not too late! But if we drag our feet even a little longer..."
"Damn it! We leave NOW!"
The only coverage of Jaehyuk anywhere was a blurb in the local Wichita paper and a few social media accounts—so of course the race was still open. But one thing was certain: after tonight, every media outlet in the country would know his name, and they would all come running for interviews.
"Let's move! And send one of our Kansas stringers over there immediately!"
"Ugh, they're probably busy with something else, but I'll call."
"Oh—and while we're at it, reach out to the scouts on-site! The ones who've already made contact with Jaehyuk!"
Once this game ended, Kim Jaehyuk—no, Redline—would step onto the national stage. That much was certain.
From there, the awards would follow, the ones nobody had even dreamed of, then college football, then the draft, and eventually the NFL itself.
The first Asian superstar in the history of American football.
Oh my God.
Emily couldn't even begin to imagine the magnitude of what was coming.