Monster Hunt
"Good, good. Now you're burning up!"
Mateo's reaction actually fired me up even more.
*That's exactly what I wanted.*
This was, after all, a stage built for proving who I was.
Nothing here would be recorded, and this wasn't a regular season game either.
All I wanted was to show these elite prospects — the best in the nation, gathered in one place — exactly who Kim Jaehyuk was.
And for that, my opponent had to give it everything he had.
Some half-hearted foe?
I didn't want that.
I needed guys like hammers — ones who would beat me into something harder.
"Everyone, get back in here!"
The boys flinched slightly at my shout, but soon the fight began creeping back into them.
Shoulders squared.
Eyes turned feral.
And it wasn't just the opposing team that got fired up at the sight. Our own guys were itching for it too, puffing themselves up.
"C'mon, man!"
"Let's smash into each other already!"
"Let's see who wins! Hahahaha!!"
A frenzy of heat swept across the field, no longer distinguishing friend from foe.
Then the referee signaled, and the players regrouped and took their positions.
Two waves of momentum crashed into each other with savage force.
"Here we go again."
Mateo's declaration of war.
He was announcing his play in advance, just like I had.
"Anytime you want!"
When I roared back, everyone wore a seething grin.
"Hut! Hike!"
A snap count half a beat faster than before.
The ball moved.
Mateo apparently really had no intention of changing his strategy — he didn't call a separate play at all.
That hurts my pride, you know?
*Fine, I was the one who asked for it, but still.*
You're taking me way too lightly, Mateo.
*Ziiiing—PAANG!!*
I tore across the field, chewing up turf.
This time, I'd go straight for the interception.
Through it all, Mateo twisted and shifted his body inside the wall his linemen had built for him.
But then.
Something felt off.
*His form...*
That posture.
It was unmistakably the corrected form I'd taught him.
I'd assumed he wouldn't dare use it in a real game, not when he was still getting used to it.
*Whoosh!*
The ball flew.
I read the direction — roughly.
But only roughly.
*Tap-up!*
The receiver next to the man I was covering caught the pass and took off downfield.
"Jaehyuk missed him!"
"Wait, did Mateo's throw just look weird to anyone else?"
"Go! Go! Touchdown! Let's go!!"
Gasps and cheers erupted from the sidelines.
I kicked off from my spot and chased down the ball carrier.
He'd already shaken off our cornerback.
But he still had me to deal with.
*Pabababak!*
Despite starting from behind him, I was steadily closing the gap.
*Thump!*
The dark crimson line pulsed, urging me on — *faster, catch the ball faster.*
"Huff, huff, huff..."
The receiver glanced back at me and dug in, sprinting for all he was worth.
Running from me?
Not happening.
*THWACK!*
A tackle aimed at his waist.
It landed clean.
The moment it did, he clutched the ball to his chest like he'd rather die than give it up, and went down with it.
"Whew."
I popped straight back up and looked behind me.
Mateo was watching me.
*You little...*
Kid's got some skills.
But I was satisfied.
Now *this* was starting to feel like a real game.
Nick and the staff who'd come to this camp were all struck speechless.
But unlike everyone else, their shock had a very different source.
"Th-that throwing motion Mateo just used..."
"It changed. And the ball's trajectory seems a little different too..."
"So that's what it looks like in live play."
Every one of them had quietly watched Jaehyuk coaching Mateo earlier.
In truth, they'd initially tried to stop it.
Coaching from a non-expert was poison in itself — handled badly, a talent of enormous promise could be ruined for good.
But Nick Saban had said to wait and watch a little longer.
And watching to the end, they'd found something in the way Jaehyuk coached him.
"Huh?"
"Wait, is that..."
The moment they saw the throwing motion being taught, they caught on instantly — professionals, after all.
A form that reduced strain on the upper body.
Corrected arm angle on top of that? They were almost certain now.
"Wait, what was Mateo's injury history again?"
"He's never been injured. Not once in his life."
"Then why on earth would he change his throwing motion like that?"
"D-don't tell me he's already hurting somewhere?"
"Oh my God — it's possible!"
The staff threw out one guess after another.
Meanwhile, Nick Saban simply watched the correction take shape, admiration written across his face.
*It's too precise!*
Even doing it himself, he doubted he could have matched the corrections this perfectly. It was as if some finely tuned computer had run a form analysis exclusively for Mateo.
They confirmed Mateo practicing with the corrected form afterward. Compared to his original motion, the pass accuracy and velocity were definitely down.
"Is it really all right to just leave him like that?"
Someone asked in an anxious voice.
But they decided to let it go for now.
They'd watch tomorrow's game and judge then.
And that moment was right now.
Mateo, who had used his old throwing motion all game long, was finally unveiling the corrected form.
And the results were staggering.
A stable trajectory.
The velocity dropped slightly, but the ball's movement and flight path made it dramatically easier for a receiver to catch.
Granted, that change also raised the risk of interceptions — but with Mateo's instincts, he could cover that easily.
Better still, the correction was brand new.
Keep practicing, and his form could climb far higher.
And above all—
*It's unreadable.*
The ball rose on a perfect line, all the way to the level of his head.
Where his throws used to come from below and arc upward, now they descended in a dead-straight line.
Which meant that depending on the angle, the ball was completely invisible.
A delivery from which the ball's path simply could not be predicted.
*Tap-up!*
Meanwhile, the game rolled on.
Mateo's remade throwing motion was toying with every player on the field — Jaehyuk included.
There were even plays where everyone thought it was a pass, since the ball never showed itself, only for it to turn out to be a run.
"Touchdown!"
And so Mateo put up his second score of the day.
Truly, the darling of talent itself.
"Mateo is absolutely insane."
"Corrected form for one single day, and he's already putting on a show like this!"
"How is he still getting *better* out there?"
"He's growing mid-game! Look at that ball — it's getting sharper with every throw! This is unreal!"
As the staff spilled gasps and exclamations, Nick Saban alone quietly said something different.
"What on earth did he see to make those corrections? A genius like that."
"..."
The staff fell silent.
And then they remembered a fact they'd somehow forgotten.
This Mateo — putting on this absurd, superhuman display.
Who was it, again, that had corrected him?
"H-haha..."
"Unbelievable..."
"So he's not just some kid who runs fast..."
Now was not the time to be marveling at Mateo's performance.
The one who had created all of this was someone else entirely.
Kim Jaehyuk.
A Korean boy who'd immigrated from a town where nobody had even heard of American football.
And he—
"He's running!"
"Kim Jaehyuk has the ball!"
The industry insiders, who had somehow become a roaring crowd, erupted.
And there he was.
The strongest high school running back in the nation, leaving nothing behind but an afterimage.
**
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Ragged breathing tickled my ears. My vision had gone red at the edges, and enemy defenders swarmed after me like starving dogs.
*Didn't want to have to use this so soon, but oh well.*
*Grrp.*
I clamped a hand on the helmet of the defender plastered to my side and slammed it down with everything I had.
*CRACK!!*
One monster stiff-arm per game — the strength surge on full display.
Riding that momentum, I ran even faster.
*It's definitely different!*
I could feel it.
The rise in my Position Aptitude.
Power was overflowing from me now.
Even the red line's movements and paths had grown far sharper and more certain than before.
And there were even more lines to choose from.
"Ghh!"
drunk on the aptitude boost, I found the second level of the defense closing in on me.
That one.
Was that Hopkins?
Unlike the others, he wasn't lunging recklessly for the tackle. Willing to concede a few extra yards if it meant catching me at the perfect moment, apparently.
But Hopkins.
Sorry — I can see the lines.
I have a rough read on everything you're going to do.
When the mind games failed to land, Hopkins finally committed to the tackle. At the same instant, the red line in my vision coiled once.
Spin move.
*Whoosh.*
One rotation to the right.
Then a curve that bent sharply inward.
A side-step juke.
*PAANG!*
I didn't surge forward so much as leap sideways in place, throwing off my rhythm entirely.
The sudden change of speed scrambled his senses.
Hopkins, completely fooled, hurled himself into the tackle — and hit nothing but air.
Trying to stop me? Come back in ten years.
A few players still stood between me and the end zone, but the road ahead was clear.
Cutback.
A long, sweeping change of direction that strung the defenders out like puppets.
What waited beyond was a wide-open field and the end zone.
*Toktoktok...!*
"WHOOOOOAAA!!"
"TOUCHDOWN!"
"How many guys did he break?! Huh? I gave up counting!"
"Kim Jaehyuk! That was f***ing glorious!!"
"Who the hell IS that guy?! He just ended them!"
Against the roar of the crowd, I tossed the ball to the referee.
Not enough.
I can still run harder.
I can still break more.
I can still score more.
More.
More.
*More.*
The main character of this game is me.
The score sat at 14:14.
It was only midway through the second quarter.
There was plenty of time.
Nobody was worn down yet.
"Hhh."
So this is what football is.
*It's this much fun!*
Every season, every game, every moment.
Time on a field where I could prove myself whenever I pleased.
Nothing like track, which had been lying dead and cold.
"You're not scoring this time."
I threw the words at Mateo as I jogged back past him.
He stared at me like I was some kind of monster, then narrowed his eyes.
"Monster hunt."
"What?"
With that single phrase, he turned and headed back to his position.
*Did you just call me a monster? And say you're going to hunt me?*
Cute.
Let's see how that works out for you.
"Touchdown! 21:14!"
"Touchdoown! 21:21!"
"Touchdown. 28:21."
"Touchdown!! 28:28!!"
A ferocious back-and-forth.
And the end of it all...
"Hgk, hgk, hgk."
"Snnngh, hoo. Gulp."
...was a pure war of attrition.
With eleven on eleven playing full-time, it had been inevitable from the start.
Some players were throwing up in great heaves, dragging themselves through on sheer willpower.
These really weren't ordinary kids.
"You're holding up pretty well. Not a single man down."
"Heh. Of course. You're still standing right next to me."
"What?"
I was busy admiring myself when he came out with the most unexpected answer.
The lineman who'd been puking slapped my shoulder and bellowed.
"You're the one running hardest out here! If YOU'RE still standing, there's no way I'm going down first!"
Words I never saw coming. One by one, the others piled on after him.
"RAAAGH!! I'm hanging on no matter what! I refuse to collapse before those bastards do!"
"I'm winning this! Nothing else matters anymore! Just WIN! I'm going to stomp those guys into the dirt!"
"Fight on! Hut! Hut! Hut! Hoo!"
"Godd***it! Let's go, you ugly sons of b*ches!"
Their bodies had to be at the absolute breaking point.
And yet their fire burned hotter than it had all day.
"Haha."
And watching them, for the first time—
I was at a loss for words.
So this is football.
Everyone here is half out of their minds.
"..."
And once again, I thought:
I am so, so glad I chose to play this game.
"The guys who can't keep up can just crawl around on the grass. I'll finish it myself near the end anyway."
"Puhaha. I'm following you to the end of hell!"
"UHAHAHA! Let's go! Hit each other one more time!"
Ten minutes of game time remained.
The fourth quarter was fast approaching its midpoint.