Before the Showdown
Before the duel began, Raysheen Guillory didn't give it much thought.
Only one thing filled his head: a lazy wish to crush this opponent fast and get on with the camp already.
Tap, tap.
The other guy was kicking at the ground, testing it out. Guillory was pretty sure he'd heard the name a while ago, but it still hadn't stuck.
Only the nickname remained in his memory.
'Redline? Is he kidding me?'
If you wanted to play with crayons, you should've gone to kindergarten, not a football camp.
Guillory shook himself loose and jogged in place a little. Even if the opponent was a nobody, you had to put on a convincing show or the people watching would be disappointed.
"Come on in, scrub."
At his light taunt, the Asian kid smirked—then dipped into a stance with the ball cradled in one hand.
"?"
What the hell is that stance? A hundred-meter dash?
It felt like being mocked, and Guillory didn't like it one bit. Pulling cheap stunts in front of me?
"Go!"
At the signal, Guillory surged forward. At the same time, the other closed the distance just as fast.
Half a second? By feel, that was about all it had taken. The Asian was suddenly right on top of him.
'Little punk... I'll flatten him into the dirt right now.'
The moment he thought it—
Whoosh. A rapid-fire series of jukes. Jaehyuk cut left and right in a dizzying blur of direction changes.
Guillory flinched and shot his arms out. Instantly, a spin move chained right into it. Sleek—the reaching hand slid harmlessly past air.
But Guillory was a 5-star from the state of Texas. He read the spin fast and moved to recover.
'...!'
There was no room for any other thought. Nothing but the single, overwhelming need to catch the man in front of him, right now.
Yet as if he'd read that very thought, Jaehyuk—fresh off the spin—mixed in another direction change. A juke. Guillory chased anyway, dragging his body after it.
"Ugh!"
Certain he'd read the man's movement, he jammed in a tackle at full speed. But he never laid a hand on him. The instant he committed, Jaehyuk was already a step back.
No—he hadn't stepped back at all. The movement had simply been so flashy it fooled his eyes.
'A cutback?!'
A violent deceleration, weight shifting backward—it looked exactly like a retreat. And he'd thrown that in directly after a spin and a juke?
Guillory felt awe and humiliation hit him at the same moment. His own hand flat on the ground, thanks to a botched tackle—how shameful was that?
He picked himself up, piece by piece, and turned around—only for the ball to come flying at him. He caught it on reflex, and a voice drifted over.
"Word is you can play. Show me something."
That easy, unhurried attitude told Guillory everything. The guy had been toying with him from the very start.
"..."
Who in the world is this kid?
Instead of answering, Guillory settled into his stance—resolved, this time, to never let his guard down again.
**
Right after winning the state championship and its MVP, I'd collected my rewards immediately.
[Reward: Durability has increased]
[Reward: Speed has increased]
A double reward—and one of them was Speed, of all things.
My speed, riding the Red Line, was already beyond comparison. It was that overwhelming. And now it was climbing even higher.
Durability: C2 → C4
Durability had shot up, now knocking on B-grade's door. Then again, I'd never once taken a tackle that felt like a real tackle, so I'd never actually reaped the benefits of it.
'A sturdy body's a good thing anyway.'
And then, the long-awaited Speed. This reward also let me see what my base grade actually was.
Speed: C3 → C5
So my raw attributes were around C3, huh. In other words, my speed without the Gift active.
It was a believable number. Against guys famous for being fast, I was on the slow side when the Gift wasn't running. But compared to ordinary people? Blisteringly quick—the kind of speed that made people call you a natural.
Even with that middling baseline, the Gift now showed me room to grow beyond my limits. The only regrettable thing was that C-rank came with no special perk. Strength and Durability had each granted a bonus ability upon reaching C-rank, ones I'd been putting to good use—but Speed gave me nothing.
Click, clack. "Phew."
Either way, my speed currently sat at C5. Among the slow ones, probably the fastest there was. And once the real thing started and the Gift kicked in, I could push performance even further.
Just like a minute ago.
"Kim Jaehyuk of Wichita North wins. Offense and defense switch."
I'd cruised through my match with ease, and now it was my turn to play defense. Win one more here, and it was over.
Buzz, buzz. The crowd's murmuring wouldn't die down. An Asian beat Guillory. An Asian brushed past him like he wasn't there. Nobody could even see the movement—it was total chaos.
What was obvious to me, apparently, was anything but obvious to them.
"Go!"
Crack! At the signal, this time the opponent came charging at me, ball in hand. Every ounce of tension in his body. Unlike a moment ago, he was playing for real now.
But—
Sssss—. Dark crimson lines bloomed into view.
Fainter than when I carried the ball myself, but more than enough to handle an opponent. Predicting his path in advance was, frankly, cheating.
"Hup!"
His face was twisted with effort. What he was about to do was plain as day. Payback for what I'd just done to him, most likely.
But as I keep saying—illusions don't work on me.
'I can see exactly where you're going. All of it.'
The dark crimson line moved. Left. Tsk! Right, then left. Tsk! His choices shifting in real time—and my body reading each one about 0.1 seconds ahead of the shift. I looked like a mime mimicking a mirror, matching him step for step.
"W-what is that?"
"What on earth is he moving off of, ahead of time?"
"Can he see micro-movements in the muscles? In a situation this frantic?"
When the jukes stopped landing, the flustered guy spun his body—but the path was already laid bare before me. I wrapped around his waist and brought him down.
Thud!
Good grief, that's some serious strength. I almost had to burn my Strength ability just now.
Luckily, his balance was wrecked mid-spin, which let me force him down. Honestly, if he'd just driven straight through me, it would've been far harder.
"..." "..."
Somehow, nobody said a word. Even the coordinator acting as referee just stared, blank.
"Do we keep going?"
At my question, the coordinator finally snapped out of it.
"K-Kim Jaehyuk of Wichita North wins! Raysheen Guillory of Aledo is eliminated."
"Unbelievable!"
"G-Guillory, eliminated...?"
"This is insane..."
Astonished murmurs rippled through the crowd. I paid them no mind; the duel was over, and I stepped back from my spot.
"Hey!"
My opponent was calling me from behind. Raysheen Guillory, was it? He came charging up bristling with agitation, and something about it felt ominous. I frowned at him—and right at that moment—
"Raysheen Guillory. Did you not hear that you've been eliminated?"
Old Man Nick appeared. A grizzled, white-haired elder, but his presence hit as hard as any active player's.
"Pack your bags and get off the field. Now."
"..."
Guillory glared at even the old man, resentment written all over his face. At that, one of the players stepped forward.
"Guillory."
Younger-looking than anyone else out there. A Latin American kid—this one had a face just begging for a slap across the cheek, like Hopkins.
"See you around."
At those words, Guillory spun on his heel and walked off the field without a word. The old man resumed the duels as if nothing had happened, and I went back to my own road.
"Kim Jaehyuk."
Ugh, now what.
It was the player who'd just talked Guillory down, calling to me. I gave him a puzzled look, and he spoke.
"I'm Mateo Rodriguez. Nice to meet you."
Stone-faced. Not a flicker of expression. Was that a face for greeting someone you were glad to meet?
"Kim Jaehyuk. From Kansas."
"Redline 21. I watched the state final. That ability of yours really wasn't an exaggeration."
Huh. He knew who I was. If he was a fan, I supposed I could manage an autograph.
"You bring paper and a pen?"
"?"
"You're not here for an autograph?"
At my words, Mateo's blank face went slack with shock—the first genuine expression I'd seen on him.
"No—I mean, you didn't bring paper or a pen, and you wanted my autograph?"
"Huh? Oh. Uh. One second..."
Mateo hurried off to the edge of the field on short, quick steps and came back with a pen borrowed from someone who looked like his agent. The agent's expression—half smiling, half crying—was something to behold.
"Sign my shirt."
"Sure."
I'd been practicing my signature in spare moments, after all. Worked out the design with my siblings plenty of times, too.
Ssssk. I signed across the shoulder and added the date. Phew. Came out pretty clean.
"Thanks."
At his thanks, I just waved a hand. Anytime he wanted another, I'd write it again.
I stood at the edge of the field to catch my breath—and now Hopkins came strolling over. Seriously? Back-to-back nonsense. Is he here for an autograph too?
"H-hey! It's really you!"
"What now."
"That's Raysheen Guillory! You beat Guillory! The strongest sophomore in the nation!"
"Strongest?"
"And that was Mateo Rodriguez just now! One of the greatest QB prospects of all time—a genius among geniuses, already getting shoutouts from Mahomes!"
"Who's Mahomes?"
"...You don't know Patrick Mahomes?"
Hopkins was babbling nonsense I couldn't parse. Shouldn't you be worrying about surviving your own match instead of this?
"Get ready for your duel. You warmed up or what?"
"Ooh, Jaehyuk. Are you worried about me? Of course—after facing me twice, you can't help but respect me as your true rival, right?"
"..."
Somehow I was seeing my own schoolmates in this guy. Must be my imagination.
**
Along the outer edge of the field, every staff member and scout who'd watched the Jaehyuk–Guillory duel was struggling to contain their shock.
And no one here was more stunned than one particular man.
"H-how..."
Aledo High School—a name that carried weight even within the state of Texas. And the monster who'd seized the starting running back job as a freshman and piled up explosive numbers ever since was Raysheen Guillory.
Aside from a narrow playoff exit in the round of sixteen, his regular-season record stood at eleven wins and zero losses. That was the kind of overwhelming player Guillory was—hailed as the next generation's strongest running back.
"Our Jaehyuk took the 1v1. Sure, a real game could go either way, but either way—nobody's going to be seeing Guillory again this camp."
David said it evenly, barely suppressing the cheer that wanted to tear out of his chest. Truth be told, he'd been terrified. He'd believed in Jaehyuk with all his heart, but who could ever be certain how these things would go?
But Jaehyuk had repaid that faith spectacularly, obliterating Guillory with room to spare. At this point, the title of high school football's best running back might as well have been Jaehyuk's already.
"Has that player already signed with Alabama?"
Auburn's chief scout, Ralph, asked in a rush. David answered with feigned ignorance.
"Ah, that's 'top-secret' Alabama information. I'm afraid I can't share it."
"..."
He'd been burned, and badly. Ralph had assumed he'd won the bet and hadn't thought through a single contingency. Who could have imagined Raysheen Guillory would lose like that?
"I'll reach out to you separately. A debt's a debt—we'll settle it properly."
"Ahem."
Now Auburn's entire recruiting board for this cycle was at risk of exposure. That said, David had his own reasons for restraint; he wouldn't push for anything outrageous, just close it out at a reasonable line.
In truth, only one thing really gnawed at him.
'My eye is worse than David Johnson's?'
The sting of defeat as a scout. Right now, that was the thing coiling tightest around Ralph.
"I'll be off, then. Contact me later."
"Yes, yes. Safe travels. If we're both here tomorrow, let's talk."
David flashed a grin and gave the departing Ralph a small wave—then let a sliver of the joy he'd been bottling up slip out.
"Heh heh heh."
Jaehyuk really was a treasure. Though not yet fully in his grasp, which meant he still had to be handled with care.
'That showing just now—no, everything Jaehyuk does for the rest of this camp—is going to send the others swarming in.'
Every decent program had surely already heard about Jaehyuk. But judging by Auburn's reaction a moment ago, they clearly still thought of him as merely a very good running back.
Would they still feel that way once this camp ended?
The sports journalists around the field were already frantically making calls to someone, anyone, or flipping open their laptops and hammering out copy. And this was just from beating Guillory.
David couldn't wait to see what came next.