The Eye That Corrects

With every schedule at the camp finally wrapped up, Isaiah Horton packed his bags back at the lodging.

He was supposed to have left the day before, but at Nick Saban's request, his stay had been extended by one more day.

Horton didn't mind in the least.

No—if anything, he was grateful.

I don't know if it'll hold up against college players too, but still...

His suddenly improved skill.

Or, to be precise, he'd only fixed his own bad habits—but that alone had been a major breakthrough.

Some might scoff that going wild against a bunch of high schoolers was hardly impressive, but Horton knew without a doubt that something in him had changed.

He was bursting at the seams to get back to Alabama and run a scrimmage, to confirm it beyond any doubt.

Clack.

The moment he finished packing and stepped outside, the Alabama staff were already waiting for him—the group that had come along with Kalen DeBoer, all officials of the Crimson Tide.

"All set?"

"Yep. Thank you for waiting, Coach."

"No need. Let's head ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back, then."

"Um... Coach?"

DeBoer, already on the move, stopped at the sound of Horton's voice and turned around.

"Hm?"

"You're recruiting Kim Jaehyuk, right?"

Horton's eyes were pleading, burning with intensity. Looking into them, DeBoer nodded.

"Ah, we'll do our best."

"I—I know I might sound like I'm pushing my luck, but we have to get that kid. Without fail."

At Horton's emphatic insistence, DeBoer studied him with newfound interest.

"And your reason is?"

"In terms of raw ability, honestly, there's nothing more to say. You saw it yourself, Coach. It stings my pride to admit it, but he's better than I am. And he's two years younger, on top of that."

At Horton's candid assessment, the other staff members listened with serious expressions.

"And it's not just his skill. The kid has eyes."

"Go on."

"He seems to pick up on things most people can't even spot. I heard he's only been playing football for a short while, and I think that sharp eye is a big part of how he's grown this fast in such a short time."

"So what you're saying is that Jaehyuk will keep developing even faster from here?"

"Yes, exactly. And not only that—he'll have a positive influence on the players training around him. Because through his eyes, other players become visible too."

"Hmm."

DeBoer had already heard similar things through his conversations with Nick and David, but hearing it from Horton carried a different weight.

A player who'd be his teammate wanting him this badly was unmistakably a good sign.

The people at the top only wanted players with good results, but the coaches and players who actually had to take the field together had to weigh far more than numbers.

Especially in this world, there's no shortage of guys with great stats who poison a locker room.

Having spent long years in this industry, DeBoer had seen every breed of malcontent and loose cannon imaginable.

Granted, only time would tell—but at the very least, Jaehyuk didn't seem like the type to cause problems over character.

"I know that me voicing my opinion isn't going to change anything, but even knowing that, I'm telling you this anyway—that's how much this kid matters. He's going to be a truly great player."

At Horton's words, everyone exchanged glances.

Then they looked at each other and broke into knowing grins.

Horton tilted his head at their reactions.

Is there something I don't know? Why is everyone smiling?

As if to answer his unspoken question, DeBoer spoke up.

"As it happens, before I even came up here, I delivered my opinion directly to the athletic director and the board. To bring in Jaehyuk, we're going to use every tool we have."

"Whoa! Really?"

"That's right. But there's one thing to keep in mind—once this camp ends, every other university will be jumping into the fight for him too."

DeBoer's expression turned cold as he continued.

"The other college players who trained with you, and the officials who came with them—they all experienced Jaehyuk firsthand. You know what that means, don't you?"

"Ah..."

Until now, only those in the know had understood what Jaehyuk was truly capable of. But this camp meant far more universities were about to find out.

And it wasn't just university staff, either.

The camp was crawling with figures from every corner of the football world, so word about Jaehyuk would spread in no time.

"Universities have been drooling ever since he beat Gillery. Stack this camp on top of that, and they'll come swarming from every direction. And above all—Jaehyuk isn't even a senior yet."

A whole year still until graduation.

With a full year remaining, his market value was only going to climb. And if he kept performing the way he had during that stretch?

"That's going to be tough."

"But we will get him. Never underestimate Alabama's scouting network. Our head scout is personally handling his file, so there's no need for major concern."

DeBoer spoke with complete confidence, and the other staff members nodded along.

"Horton, your first job is winning a starting spot. You know it's not your place to worry about anyone else right now, don't you?"

"Of course. When we get back, I'll show you exactly what I've got."

Right. Jaehyuk's the kind of player who'll tear it up no matter where he goes.

Even if they did bring him in, if Horton himself couldn't earn a starting job, they'd never share the field.

His fist clenched tight, and Isaiah Horton steeled his resolve once more to become a starter.

As on any other day, once the coaching staff under Old Man Nick finished their session, I stayed behind on the field, stretching.

Empty today, huh.

It had been an especially brutal day. Between playing against the college team and getting coached on top of it, the worn-out players had all filed off to rest without a single exception.

And to think a few of them had been hanging around until yesterday.

Even Hopkins, who'd been squatting around here pestering everyone, headed back early today. He clearly wanted to stay and train more, but his mother, who'd come along, dragged him off by the collar.

"Jaehyuk. I'm ready."

"Alright."

In the end, only Mateo and I were left on the field.

Even so, a handful of onlookers still lingered beyond the sidelines.

"Start by throwing some light passes. I'll watch from here first."

"Okay."

I'd asked the staff to set up a few target markers for us.

Before long, Mateo threw his passes with the same motion as before.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Clean, dead-on strikes.

The Gift still hadn't reacted.

"Let's run some route passing too."

"Okay."

Soon I was running routes just like last time, moving on Mateo's calls and hauling in his passes.

Whoosh!

And once again, that rock-steady sensation.

This kid is insane.

He just dropped it right into my chest. No matter how weirdly I cut my routes, no matter how hard the contest got, there was this unshakable feeling that somehow, some way, the pass would arrive.

Stuff like this really would keep a coach up at night.

After all, once he changed his mechanics, there was no guarantee passes like these would come back.

After four or five passes, I came back over and asked.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Still fine."

Mateo rolled his shoulders in big circles.

And in that exact instant, the Gift activated.

Thump!

Hm?

I'd expected it to write on the ground again, but suddenly a red line wrapped itself around Mateo's body.

Then, like an anatomy model, it began showing me exactly which parts of his posture needed correcting.

"Hey—show me your throwing motion again."

"Okay."

Mateo gripped the ball and swung his arm.

The moment he did, the corrected form rendered in red lines and the flaws in his current one were plain to see at a glance.

Whoa... damn.

Wasn't this straight-up cheating?

It wasn't as precise as the written instructions, but it let me feel the corrections intuitively, and that alone was plenty.

Either way, I began adjusting Mateo's form to match what the red line showed.

"Now that I'm watching, you're leaning way too much on your upper body. The power has to come from your lower half."

"How?"

"Hmm... you ever played baseball?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know the idea. Kind of like this—"

I took the stance along the red line, then swung my arm the way it demonstrated.

There it was. That was the motion.

"When you pull your body back to throw, load your weight onto your back foot. Then, as you release, shift that weight forward onto your front foot."

"Okay."

Mateo followed the movement.

Somehow, his form came out far more natural than mine had.

Fwoosh.

When he let the ball fly, it sailed out with not a trace of wobble.

Watching him, I added more instruction.

"Hip rotation is key. I told you the power needs to come from your lower body, right? It's not just your feet—the rotation of your hips and your waist matters just as much."

"Okay."

"And your arm angle needs to change too. Elbow at shoulder height, or even a little above."

I tapped Mateo's arm upward a few times, and his form corrected itself on the spot.

He threw again almost immediately.

Fweee!

"Oh."

Well, this was fun.

Getting results on the spot—that was what teaching was supposed to feel like.

"How does it feel?"

"Awkward."

"You're overhauling your throwing motion—of course it's awkward. Never mind that. How's the ball flight?"

"Can you catch for me?"

"Sure."

We ran route passing again.

Three passes, roughly. The timing was clearly worse than before.

"Won't it get better once you've gotten used to it?"

"Mm."

"How's the shoulder pain?"

"No pain. But I think I'll need to throw a lot more to really know."

"Then hammer your core work. That form I just taught you—you throw the ball with your core."

"Okay."

Right. So—did the correction register?

Come on, hand over my reward.

"......"

Why was there no notification?

Don't tell me the correction wasn't complete yet.

Well, I guess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a form correction wouldn't wrap up that fast.

The moment I thought so—

Mateo began throwing at the targets using the form I'd taught him.

Fwoosh—THUD!

Fwip—THUD!

"Oh?"

It was getting better, bit by bit?

Guess that's a genius for you—the kid adapts in minutes.

And just then, the long-awaited mission notification blazed across ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the ground.

Yes! Instant success!

Apparently Mateo's talent was so absurd that the correction had taken hold right away. Form corrections weren't supposed to happen this quickly, you know.

"Huh?"

Now what?

I have to choose? Me?

The positions scrolled past one by one.

This was a scenario I hadn't anticipated, but there was only one real answer.

Running Back.

C? C?

My Running Back aptitude had been a measly C- this whole time?

But the moment I considered that this was my aptitude without the Gift active, it started to make sense.

If anything, a C- felt pretty respectable.

Come to think of it, a low grade is actually a win for me, isn't it?

I'd been putting up this kind of performance on a C- aptitude all along. If I kept climbing the ladder, someday I could hit S-class, same as Mateo.

S-class aptitude with the Gift on top of it...

Would anyone on earth be able to stop me then?

As I wandered off into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my own little fantasy, the Gift made it clear it wasn't finished with me yet, leaving one more line scrawled on the ground.

"Eh?"

It wasn't just me getting stronger?

The other guy leveled up too? And to S+?

"What's wrong?"

At my strangled yelp, Mateo cocked his head, holding the ball in both hands.

I froze for a moment, then looked at him.

I've got a gift of my own, sure—but this kid, honestly...

"Tomorrow, I am absolutely not going easy on you."

"Okay!"

At my random declaration, Mateo just beamed and nodded, looking absolutely thrilled.

The kid was practically rolling out a welcome mat.

Insufferable little punk.

"Um... Emily? What exactly are we watching right now?"

"W-well? Coaching?"

The indoor field had nearly emptied out. The players were all gone, and more than half of the officials had left as well.

And yet the reason the remaining half stayed rooted in place was simple: the two greatest high school prospects in recent memory were still out on the field.

Kim Jaehyuk and Mateo Rodriguez.

With both of them hailed as the headliners of next year's class, this was unmissable footage.

Then, in the middle of their session, Jaehyuk had suddenly mimed a throwing motion at Mateo.

Next, he went around tapping Mateo's body here and there, as if correcting something.

Everyone watching was stunned by the bizarre scene.

"Didn't they say Jaehyuk's only been playing football a short while? And from what I've heard, he's only ever lined up at running back, too..."

"Th-that's what I heard. Honestly, shouldn't someone step in and stop that? If it goes wrong, the consequences could be pretty ugly..."

A botched correction could snowball into a disaster.

What made no sense was that a player of Mateo's caliber would obviously know that better than anyone.

Why on earth was he letting Jaehyuk fix his form?

Fwoosh—! THUD!

Fwee! THUD!

Once the corrections were done, a string of passes followed.

And the results were, predictably, awful.

The drop in the ball's velocity and accuracy was plain for everyone to see.

"Shouldn't we stop him right now?"

"Ah, he's probably just messing around for fun."

While that chatter went back and forth—

For some reason, the more the practice went on, the sharper Mateo's throws became.

Whirr! BANG!

Whip—! THUD!!

His accuracy was still a touch off from before, granted. But something had undeniably changed.

"......"

"......"

Had the kid actually been... corrected?

No—how? That made no sense at all, did it?

While the onlookers stood frozen, gaping at the field, Alabama's head scout, David, waved Jaehyuk over with a hurried hand signal.

"Jaehyuk! That's enough—let's go!"

He looked like a man desperate to vacate the premises.

There was even a whiff of someone trying to hide something.

What is going on here? What the hell am I watching?

As the question gnawed at her, Emily of 248Sports suddenly remembered the interviews she'd conducted on her visit to Wichita North.

Several players who'd put up standout performances had credited Jaehyuk with enormous help along the way.

At the time, she'd brushed it off as the usual polite boilerplate. But maybe it hadn't been empty praise at all.

Nah, no way...

Even so, that would be crossing a line.

Or so she kept telling herself—

Whirrrr—!!

Mateo's throws were gaining bite with every single pass.