Redline's Divine Descent

The locker room at Wichita North High School.

Classes had ended, and as Liam prepared for practice, he was scrolling intently through his smartphone.

"What is it, what is it? Something fun going on?"

"Look at this."

James wedged his massive frame in beside him to take a look — and promptly broke into a beaming grin as he saw threads about Jaehyuk springing up all over Lejit.

"WAHAHA! That's Jaehyuk, isn't it? Bet he's killing it out there too."

"Just look at this."

Liam showed him an article. Posted just moments ago, still piping hot: a brand-new story.

"Ra- Raysheen Guillory? Jaehyuk beat Raysheen Guillory one-on-one?!"

"It was the obvious outcome. I'm just glad he's doing well for himself."

Liam said it with a faint smirk, and James gave him a peculiar look.

"Liam, ever since you went to that All-Star game, you've gotten awfully composed."

"Hm? Me?"

"Yeah. I mean, come on. Do you have any idea how huge it is that Jaehyuk beat Raysheen Guillory? And you just brush it off like it's nothing!"

Liam Hughes.

Until recently, he'd been a benchwarmer running back who couldn't even crack the starting lineup. But thanks to his performance over the regular season, he was now an edge rusher good enough to earn a spot in the All-Star game itself.

"All thanks to Jaehyuk."

"Heh, that's true enough. Jaehyuk's a football sage."

Of everyone at the school, these two had benefited from Jaehyuk the most. One had become a nationally renowned star edge rusher; the other hadn't lost his dream of playing football and had successfully secured a college offer.

On top of that, Jaehyuk had been the driving force behind the team's state championship run, which made his standing at school something close to idol worship.

"By the way, Liam, have you decided on a college yet?"

"Not yet. There's still time until February, anyway."

"That's a brutally tight deadline, but you're talking like it's plenty."

"What about you?"

At Liam's question, James's face lit up as if he'd been waiting for exactly that. He looked like a man who had been dying to brag and had barely held it in until now.

Liam suppressed a laugh and waited.

"Virginia Tech reached out! I get to play D1 too! WAHAHAHA!"

"Yes!"

An offer from NCAA D1!

And Virginia Tech, no less — a member of the ACC, one of the so-called Power 4 conferences, the most influential in college football. It might have lagged slightly behind the prestige of the SEC or the Big Ten, but to a high school player it was still one of the dream conferences.

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"Virginia Tech is famous for producing linemen. Great fit. So you got recognized as a lineman, huh?"

"Heh heh heh."

James was embarrassed, but clearly overjoyed. Then, with a casual air, Liam turned the question on himself.

"You've probably got a place or two in mind by now, right Liam? Where are you leaning?"

"I'm going to wait until Jaehyuk gets back before deciding."

"Huh? What does Jaehyuk have to do with it?"

James tilted his head. What could college possibly have to do with Jaehyuk?

"I want to play in the same conference as Jaehyuk."

"Oh!"

Only then did James catch on.

Apparently Liam planned to confirm it directly once Jaehyuk returned. But knowing Jaehyuk...

"Wouldn't he end up in the SEC? The guy's obsessed with being number one."

"Probably, yeah."

The undisputed strongest conference — in other words, the strongest college league. With sixteen member schools, the SEC was home to nothing but the most ferocious college football programs in America, and calling it that was no exaggeration. Starting there meant you'd all but punched your ticket straight to the NFL.

"And Alabama's the most likely landing spot, right?"

"Seems like it."

Alabama's pursuit of Jaehyuk was so relentless that every member of the Wichita North football team had met David, their lead scout, at least once. Granted, that was less the school's doing and more David personally ramming the effort through as head scout — but either way, Alabama was the clear favorite.

"Then are you going to Alabama too, Liam?"

"Nah, if I'm going, I'm thinking LSU or Tennessee. Or maybe Georgia."

"Whoa."

Getting into the SEC at all was astonishing enough; James was floored that Liam had three schools to choose from.

"I'd better work even harder myself."

"Do well and we might end up facing each other in a National Championship. It'd be fun going up against you as an enemy."

"Don't think I'll go easy on you just because we came from the same team."

While James and Liam traded banter and laughter, the camp in Frisco, Texas was still in full swing.

On the first day, after half the field had been cut, we received coaching from Nick Saban himself. The coordinators he'd brought along were men of considerable renown too, and we were run through drills unlike anything I'd ever done before — enough to wring the sweat clean out of me.

"Whew... whew."

"You were flying all over the field in games, but you tire awfully fast in training, don't you?"

After the day's camp schedule wrapped up, Hopkins came ambling over while I was catching my breath. The guy had managed to survive too, and even with training over, there he was circling around me.

"Training's done. What are you going to do now? It's only four o'clock."

"Train more."

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"What? C'mon, you're exhausted and you're going to do MORE? Forget that — look over there. Everyone's waiting to come talk to you."

I turned my head, and sure enough, Hopkins was right. There was a crowd of people waiting to see when I'd finish up and come over.

But here was the problem.

I genuinely did need to train more.

Looking around, I saw the other players gradually wrapping up and filtering off the field.

"Go on."

"You're really going to keep training?"

"Yep."

I had started later than everyone else, which meant I had to pour in more hours than everyone else. I knew my results were good and my skills sharp — but my goal was to be number one in the world. That was a target I'd never reach if I got comfortable with where I stood right now.

I finished my brief rest and got back to my feet, then walked over to the coordinators who were gathering up the equipment.

"Would it be all right if I trained a bit longer? I'll put everything away myself afterward."

"Oh, Jaehyuk. Well then, would you?"

It was old man Nick, after all, who had said from the start that self-training was permitted twenty-four ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hours a day, even after official coaching ended.

I threw myself back into running drills based on what I'd just learned, without a shred of hesitation.

'Doing this alone is a little awkward, though.'

Having a coach beside you or not made a real difference. Hoping someone might still be around, I glanced out past the field — and there they were: a handful of people still waiting for me, along with David.

Maybe I should ask David to help.

"Kim Jaehyuk."

Suddenly, someone had approached without a sound. I looked over to find Mateo Rodriguez standing beside me, ball clutched in his hand.

"You scared me. Use your turn signal before you come in like that."

"Sorry."

Still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that blank expression — impossible to tell what he was thinking. So why had he come over all of a sudden?

"You're training?"

"Yeah."

"Can I train with you?"

"With me?"

I'd been grumbling to myself about the lack of a partner, so this wasn't a bad offer at all. Besides, all I'd been doing until now was running drills on my own.

Truth be told, I'd been wanting to practice catching passes too.

From what I'd heard, versatility was the trend these days — meaning it was an era where even running backs had to block, catch passes, do it all. But with my physical frame, blocking was never going to be realistic. Catching passes, on the other hand, had a skill component to it, which meant I was still a long way from mastery.

"Sounds good."

"Thanks."

Mateo, mild-mannered as ever, suggested route running. Normally that would be a drill for wide receivers, but since I'd been wanting pass-catching work anyway, it suited me fine.

"C-can I join too?!"

Hopkins — who I thought had vanished — materialized out of nowhere.

What is with this guy?

But actually, this worked out great. Hopkins would play his usual role of trying to stop me, and Mateo would have to deliver the pass to me with precision anyway — a perfect training setup, just like that.

"Do you have all the routes memorized?"

"Nope. I'm a running back, remember."

"......"

Mateo went briefly blank. Every time he made that face, I wanted to pinch him.

"I'll explain the basics."

Hopkins walked me through the standard wide receiver routes.

"A flat route moves you laterally toward the sideline. A slant is when you cut diagonally toward the middle..."

"Hey, just run it yourself."

"*Sigh*. Fine, fine. I'll show you. Mateo, can you throw?"

"Yes."

Hopkins started demonstrating the receiver routes himself, running each one. Made sense — he was the guy whose whole job was chasing down receivers, so of course he knew the route tree inside and out.

"Honestly, you can combine these into far more complicated concepts, but you'd have some idea already, right?"

"Oh, you mean the coded plays the team calls? Like, if it's 'Purple 80,' the running back runs inside, breaks to the outside, then blocks — and then leaks out past everyone and takes a pass? That kind of thing?"

"Exactly that."

Ah. So all those play calls were just different combinations of these routes. I'd been thrown into games so fast that I'd skipped the fundamentals entirely and just moved according to whatever tactics I could use right away. Thanks to that, memorizing the playbook had been pure agony. Even at home, I stayed up all night drilling our team's playbook into my head.

"Shall we try it now?"

We lined up at the line of scrimmage. Hopkins and I faced each other head-on, like a 1-on-1 duel.

Then Mateo called out in a low voice.

"Go route, then a curl at ten yards."

Wait — isn't telling me the route out loud a huge disadvantage for him?

I ran anyway.

A Black Line appeared, but its power was faint compared to the Red Line. I ran the route as called, and the ball came flying in a dead-straight line.

Thwip!

"Ooh."

"Oh......"

Watching Mateo's pass land perfectly into my arms, I was a little stunned.

This wasn't me making a good catch — he'd basically spoon-fed me the ball, hadn't he?

'Is this why everyone fights tooth and nail over elite quarterbacks?'

Sorry to Mark and Tony back at our school, but this was on another level entirely.

"Three-step hitch, then a slant."

The next call came. I planted my feet — three quick steps, like a juke in place — then cut diagonally toward the inside.

This time Hopkins actively fought to break up the play, clearly determined not to let me catch it.

But.

Thwip.

"What the... this is..."

It was genuinely like magic. The ball slipped right past Hopkins's hands and settled snugly into my chest before I even realized it. I nearly dropped it, but a catch's a catch.

Up until now, my entire understanding of a quarterback had been "the guy who starts the play." This sequence shattered that completely.

'If I can catch like this, then a receiver like Marcus I saw a while back would...'

That's insane, isn't it?

Training carried on from there. My eyes had adjusted to some degree, and Hopkins actually managed to break up a fair number of passes.

A 4-star talent really is different, huh.

The guy can definitely bring it.

"Huh?"

Just as we were starting to wind down the session, letters appeared before my eyes instead of the field — an analysis report, the kind that had rarely shown itself in recent days.

"Oho."

So that's how it is. That's how it is.

Should I mention this?

"Hopkins."

"Hm?"

"When you're playing, don't you pay a little too much attention to your opponent?"

"I dunno. Doesn't everyone do that to some degree? My whole position is covering the other guy."

"Hm. Try not to overreact to the opponent's movements — trust your instincts instead. From what I've seen of your ability, that might actually be faster."

"......"

Hopkins fell silent at my advice. Between the two of us, Mateo stood holding the ball, utterly still.

"Don't tell me — it came out, didn't it."

Hopkins spoke up at last.

What is he on about now?

"I've heard of it. Redline's divine descent."

"What kind of nonsense is that now?"

"Redline — you're the one who advised Liam on his position switch before he made the All-Star game, right? Fixed his flaws and everything. And that's not all. I heard that after you advised James on the O-line, his college offers came flooding in."

"Where do you even hear this stuff?"

When had that rumor gotten around?

Though honestly, it would've been stranger if it hadn't spread, with James and Tony blabbing their mouths off everywhere.

"I'm going to believe in it too, then. The descent of Jaehyuk, god of football."

"You lunatic."

That was when Mateo, quiet until now, finally chimed in.

"What about me? Give me advice too."

"You? You're..."

What advice? He was already playing brilliantly.

And his analysis hadn't even come up yet, anyway—

—the letters appeared the instant I finished that thought.

I quietly read through the text first.

Exactly as I'd expected. Mateo displayed an S-grade aptitude — the first I'd ever seen.

But what was written beneath it was even more shocking.

"......"

How on earth was I supposed to tell him this?