The Brash Freshmen
6:30 in the morning.
Joseph Baker's eyes snapped open and he checked the clock. A moment later he scrambled out of bed and rushed to get ready for school.
Thud!
"Ow!"
First, the corner of the bed caught him square in the hip. Hopping up and down on one foot, clutching his stubbed toe, he hobbled as fast as he could to the bathroom.
Whoosh!
"Ahpoo, ahpoo."
Today was the new semester he'd been waiting for — the day he finally entered the upper school.
Finally.
Joseph had moved to Wichita around this time last year, and ever since then he'd counted down the days to this one.
Thud-thud-thud!
Ready to go, he headed downstairs and ran straight into his mother in the kitchen.
"I'm leaving right now!"
"Already? You have to eat breakfast first!"
Joseph crammed the bacon and egg toast laid out on the table into his mouth, then gulped down his milk in great swallows.
"Ahh, I'm off!"
"Look how excited you are. All right, be careful out there."
Outside, he unlocked his bike and swung a leg over it, pedaling off toward Wichita North High School.
"Hoo, hoo!"
He pumped the pedals hard, and in less than ten minutes the school came into view.
7:30 in the morning.
Joseph had arrived quite early. Parking his bike obediently, he walked into the building.
He'd visited the upper-school campus several times last semester on tours from the middle school, so the layout was familiar. Besides, he'd come here often even outside of those tours.
Specifically, to watch the football team.
"Haha!"
The team of his dreams. Amazingly, though, when he'd first moved here he'd been full of complaints.
A town with nothing in it. Every close friend left behind, every familiar neighbor gone — a place he'd been dragged to against his will by his father's job transfer, and nothing about it pleased him.
And Joseph loved football. He had no particular talent for it, but he prided himself on loving the game more than anyone else alive. Which was exactly why he couldn't stand Wichita North — Kansas's perpetual doormat.
That had certainly been how he felt back then.
"Here it is — the team room."
Before he knew it, Joseph had walked into the building where the sports clubs were gathered, and now he stood in front of the football team's room, simply gazing at it in silence.
Last year's Kansas regular season.
He hadn't exactly been cheering for perpetual bottom-feeder Wichita North, but as a boy who loved football, he couldn't bring himself to miss a single game.
Aaaah.
Just remembering it made goosebumps rise all over again.
Their first game was against Derby High School, one of Kansas's genuine powerhouses. The home crowd had sensed the defeat before kickoff — the Wichita North section was the smallest it had been all season.
Joseph had been sitting in those stands too, but he hadn't really been rooting for anyone. He'd simply come to watch football live, nothing more and nothing less.
Maybe I'll just take a quick peek inside.
Joseph slipped carefully into the locker room.
Classes didn't start until nine, so there was plenty of time, and no students would be around at this hour anyway.
As he stepped deeper inside, Joseph felt tears of emotion welling up.
"So this is where it happened!"
This was the locker room of the Wichita North football team — the team that had carved an undefeated legend out of the league's basement. And there, too, was the locker that now belonged to Jaehyuk, the team's captain.
Gulp.
Absolutely must not open it.
Just looking at it from this distance was enough.
I want to see it again!
That first game. A touchdown conceded the moment the clock started. The mood in the stands had been anything but good. Everyone had expected the loss, but to give up points so helplessly, so immediately...
But then!
After the change of possession — an Easterner at running back, appearing out of nowhere.
Joseph had known exactly who he was, of course. He read every football community on the internet, and he'd seen the footage of Jaehyuk torching Barry Sanders himself.
Still, he hadn't gotten his hopes up. Barry Sanders was already a man in his fifties, and he'd put on a comfortable amount of weight besides. And beating one man in a casual matchup was a very different thing from playing in a real game.
Pitter-patter-patter!
Unable to contain the heat suddenly rising in his chest, Joseph jogged lightly in place. Imagining that moment sent a fresh shiver down his spine.
Redline 21!
That glorious day — the day he had witnessed the birth of a legend with his own two eyes!
"Ahh!"
Creeeeak.
Just as Joseph was lost in his reverie, the locker room door suddenly swung open. Startled, he froze solid on the spot.
"Ah..."
The person poking his head inside froze up just as completely.
And so the two of them stood there, staring at each other's faces, saying nothing for a long moment.
"I thought nobody would be here, so I just opened the door to look around..."
The one who broke the silence was the student who'd opened the door — a Black boy with a deep bronze complexion. From the look of him, he wasn't on the football team any more than Joseph was.
"I — I'm not a member either! I just moved up to the upper school today!"
"Huh? A freshman?"
The other student's face brightened, and he let out a sigh of relief.
"I'm Quinton Gibson. You?"
"Joseph Baker."
"Yo! So you're looking to join the football team too?"
"Yeah!"
Joseph nodded, and something about the other boy's name nagged at him. He turned it over in his head for a moment, and then it clicked.
"Huh? Whoa — Quinton Gibson? The Quinton Gibson? From Miami?"
"Oh, yeah. So you've heard of me."
Joseph was thrown badly off balance. Why would a football prodigy who'd made a name for himself in Miami be here?
"I transferred in this semester."
Quinton smiled awkwardly, looking a little sheepish. Joseph nodded in return.
"I moved here last year myself."
"Oh! We've got a lot in common, then!"
"Guess so!"
That was what he said, but Joseph couldn't quite calm his racing heart. This was Quinton Gibson. The next-generation football star who'd been blowing up social media since elementary school — a player and influencer so famous among their age group that not knowing him would practically make you a social outcast. And now that kid was going to attend the same school as him!
"You were checking out the locker room?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm. Kind of a step down from Miami."
Quinton looked around with evident disappointment, and Joseph gave an awkward laugh.
"Football's just not as big a deal around here as it is somewhere like Miami."
"True. Though facilities aren't what matter anyway."
Quinton stopped in front of one particular locker. The name on it read Mateo Rodriguez.
"So the supernova out of Texas, Mateo Rodriguez, came here after all."
"I couldn't believe it either! I never dreamed someone like him would come to our school."
"And this team's captain is Kim Jaehyuk, isn't it. Five-star running back. Ranked fourth among high school RBs in the country."
At the mention of Jaehyuk, Joseph nodded along fervently. Ranked fourth or not, in his heart the man was as good as first.
"I'm curious. Should we open it?"
"Wha — huh? Shouldn't we leave other people's lockers alone?"
But before Joseph could even finish, Quinton had already opened it. His expression promptly twisted.
"What is this?"
Joseph, who had told him off, eventually lost to his own curiosity and leaned in for a look. Inside, a warning was plastered across the locker in huge letters:
— IF YOU CAN SMELL THEM, THROW THE CLEATS AWAY!
And along with it, a jumbled pile of maybe ten battered, worn-out pairs of sneakers. Nothing else. Not a single thing.
"??"
What was this? Why were there nothing but beat-up shoes in here? He was still puzzling over it when something suddenly occurred to him.
"Quinton. If his gear isn't in the locker... doesn't that mean he's using it right now?"
"Huh?"
Which meant—
Creeeeak!
Once again came the sound of the locker room door opening. Then footsteps, closing in without a hint of hesitation.
Quinton slammed the locker shut, and Joseph froze up just as he had before.
"Hm?"
Someone finally appeared at the lockers — an Easterner, a rare sight in American football, tilting his head as he asked:
"Who are you two supposed to be?"
Time flew by.
The spring semester ended, and over summer vacation, at Coach Sanders' invitation, I entered a training camp and worked out hard alongside the teammates who wanted to join in. During the regular season we focused on functional drills, but at camp the emphasis was mostly on weight training — and thanks to that, I made a discovery.
Even without a Gift reward, training alone can raise my grades.
My Strength, which had been sitting at C3, climbed to C4. That told me the work I was putting in was never wasted.
After camp wrapped up, I got in touch with the graduating seniors and carved out a little time for one last trip together. They'd all be scattering to different colleges soon, so I couldn't help feeling a bit wistful about it.
Liam, James, and Tony all made it into D1 programs. Tony had been on the razor's edge right up to the end — the kid got lucky. As for Mark, Willie, and Ronnie, they either headed to D2 schools or hung up their cleats for good and committed to their studies.
Funny how the starters drop out while the benchwarmers all go D1.
Fate was a strange thing. A year ago I was still a track athlete, and now here I was, flying around a football field.
And then summer was over, and the new semester finally began.
The regular season was right around the corner, and with a fresh batch of chicks to look after on top of it, I expected the days ahead to be busy ones.
"I'm sorry!"
"Oh — Captain!"
And yet here I was, running into those very chicks ahead of schedule. One was white, one was Black. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet — talk about eager beavers.
"Freshmen?"
"Yes, sir!"
The white kid had big, bright, earnest eyes. The Black kid, on the other hand, was busy studying me with careful attention.
"Here to play football?"
"That's right!"
"What position?"
The white kid suddenly started fidgeting — and this time it was the Black kid who answered.
"I can play corner or receiver. Give me any position and I'll handle it. Running back too."
Confident, aren't we. I was curious what he could actually do.
"And you?"
"I, uh — I'm a running back, sir."
A running back?
I looked the white kid over again. Truth be told, skill-position players among white athletes were uncommon — and a white running back rarer still.
"A running back, not a quarterback?"
"Yes, sir. It's an honor to meet you, Captain!"
Funny kid.
We had some time to kill anyway. Might as well run a little test.
"You bring your gear?"
"Huh? Yes, sir!"
"Use one of the unnamed lockers, get changed, and come on out."
The two of them looked a touch nervous at that. Had I ever been like that once? Kind of cute, honestly.
When we got out to the field, I found Mateo already loosening up.
"?"
He threw a question mark my way. He'd probably wondered why I was coming back out after saying practice was over.
He was a funny one too — once he found out I did my own extra training every dawn, he started dragging himself out to mirror me. Watching him grind through it half-asleep, looking like he had no idea why he was even doing it, I couldn't help but wonder — but at least it made the sessions less boring than training alone.
"Freshmen are here."
"Freshmen?"
"They were poking around the locker room."
"I'm a second-year now, you know."
Mateo held up two fingers with pride. A starter, sure, but he'd always been the baby of the team, and he'd been counting down to this day for ages.
"Right. Congratulations, dummy."
"Second-years aren't dummies."
By then the two of them had finished changing and come out onto the field. The Black kid took in the field and everything around it first; the white kid just wore an expression of pure, trembling awe.
"M — Mateo Rodriguez!"
He spotted Mateo and clapped a hand over his mouth. The Black freshman looked Mateo over with an intrigued expression.
"Mateo, that one's a receiver."
"Oh."
Mateo nodded, ball in hand, and the Black freshman addressed him directly.
"Quinton Gibson. You've heard the name, right? Receiver's my main position. Never thought I'd actually run into you here, Rodriguez."
Ignoring Quinton entirely, Mateo clutched the football and turned to me.
"One-on-one?"
"One-on-one? Me against him?"
Hmm. Against a freshman, though...
Just then Quinton bellowed, full of swagger:
"Cap, let's go one round. Unless you're scared?"
Well, well. A nice fresh little firecracker, straight out of the box.
I snorted a laugh, then glanced at the white freshman, whose name I still didn't know. He swallowed dryly and piped up:
"I'd like a turn too, Captain!"
Why were they both so desperate to get embarrassed?
My original plan had been to just have Mateo throw some balls at them, and somehow this had turned into a one-on-one.
...A hazing move? Mateo, you little—
I'd thought the kid was a dummy, but he was sharp as a tack. Did turning second-year come with an upgrade?
Still, I couldn't let down freshmen this eager to test themselves against me. I nodded.
"Come at me, then, you fresh things."
And then I added:
"When I'm on offense, the two of you will be covering me."
"What?!"
Quinton looked flabbergasted. The white freshman, on the other hand, nodded as if it were only natural.
"Understood, sir!"
"No, wait, what are you saying?! I can take you on my own!"
"Fine — then you go first. Mateo, ready?"
"Yep."
We took our positions. Quinton's pride had clearly taken a hit, and he glared daggers at me. A moment later he burst into motion.
Dart-dart-dart!
Oh...
For a freshman, his movement was excellent. His speed passed too. At this level he could probably hold his own against our current receivers.
But—
Ssssss—
With the Gift on my side, he was never going to be a match for me. I ran along the black line it drew, and my body followed Quinton's path as if I'd predicted it in advance.
"Ugh!"
He threw in trick after desperate fake, trying to shake me, but there was no way any of it would land. Still, one thing demanded my attention here: not Quinton's skill — Mateo's arm. That guy would find a way to thread a needle if it killed him.
Whoosh!
The ball came screaming in before the thought had even finished forming. I darted in front of Quinton and cut off the catch.
Clang!
The ball ricocheted away. One slip and that pass would have been complete.
Mateo, you rat — you threw that trying to complete it no matter what, didn't you?
"Tch."
Sore about losing to me, Quinton swallowed a groan for no good reason. I looked at him and spoke.
"You play corner too, huh? Now try to stop me."
"..."
His face said he'd win this time no matter what. When the white kid moved to back him up, Quinton waved him off.
"Let me do it alone. Just once."
"Huh? Oh. Okay."
Proud one, aren't you. I liked that type.
"Good, good. Don't lose your nerve — come at me hard."
We squared up again. Before long the Gift activated, and dark crimson lines slithered through my vision, subtly different from before. My Gift shines brightest when I'm on offense.
You can't stop me.
— BWAAANG!!
I exploded off the line in an instant. Caught off guard, Quinton scrambled after me. I hit him with a spin, then a juke — the movements came so fast his balance simply collapsed.
"Gnngh!"
But he forced himself back up and grabbed fistfuls of my jersey. Technically, holding clothes was a penalty...
Whoosh!
Tap!!
Hauling Quinton along by his own grip, I leapt into the air and caught the ball cleanly.
Both freshmen's eyes went wide at the sheer audacity of it. Every little reaction was delicious. Utterly delicious.
I peeled Quinton's fingers off my collar and said:
"Not bad. Good swagger for a freshman, and good skills to back it up."
"..."
Speaking of which — Mateo, that little rat, had deliberately thrown the pass high and awkward this time. When I looked over at him, he turned away. Guilty as sin. Anyone could see it.
Clap-clap-clap-clap.
"Th — that was incredible! That's our Redline!"
"Your turn now."
"Huh? Oh, I — maybe later..."
What's this? Courage evaporating all of a sudden? Whatever. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Once you're officially on the team, you can challenge me any time. I always accept."
"...I'll challenge you every single day. But first — one more. Right now."
Quinton, silent until now, finally spoke up.
One more, is it?
Be my guest.
"Hey, Mateo. Throw it straight this time."
"?"
He wore the face of a man who had no idea what I was talking about. Unbelievable, this kid. Honestly.
Pfft.
I let out one short laugh, set my stance, and got into position. Then I delivered the greeting I'd skipped earlier.
"Welcome to Wichita North, you little brats."