That Guy Only Flies in Real Games

"You said he was a track sprinter? Did he train high jump on the side, too?!"

Jason Harper, the newly hired offensive coach, couldn't close his mouth as he watched Jaehyuk clear the hurdle.

His acceleration had already been bleeding off as he caught the ball.

And instead of slowing down, the lunatic had used that very momentum as a springboard—hurdling clean over the tackler. The sheer audacity of it.

"Hoo... so the video wasn't fake after all...!"

Witnessing the astonishing play firsthand, Jason felt something dangerously close to awe.

"Ha! Fake, my ass."

Jitters. Jitters.

Sanders, seated on the bench, muttered under his breath.

Even as he spoke, his rear end refused to stay on the seat—lifting off, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠plopping back down, never still for a second.

It looked for all the world like a man desperately fighting the urge to leap to his feet and start celebrating.

"Honestly, I had my doubts. No, wait, that's not it. I've been coaching him personally lately, but his understanding of football is a complete zero, and his physical specs are so absurd I didn't know what to make of them..."

Ignoring Jason's grumbling, Tyrone waved his hand toward the field.

"Keep going! Keep it up!"

Once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence.

Three times is a pattern, wasn't it?

Jaehyuk had failed to stand out throughout the three days of training camp, but by now, they had no choice but to believe.

Believe that this guy was the kind of player who came alive in real games.

"But how is that even possible?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

Jason asked at Tyrone's mutter.

"How can someone only be strong in actual games? A split that clean—is that even a thing?"

"Oh, come on, it happens. Even world-class athletes have all kinds of bizarre jinxes. That's nothing by comparison."

Put that way, Tyrone had no comeback.

And come to think of Jason's words, it wasn't entirely implausible.

Consider the outlandish routines and superstitions of world-famous sports stars...

Kim Jaehyuk, that cheeky bastard.

Maybe he was deliberately loafing through practice, saving his real speed.

'Then you could've said so. You're making people jump to conclusions for nothing.'

"Tyrone."

"Yes, sir."

Tyrone, deep in thought as he watched Jaehyuk jogging back from the end zone, snapped out of it at the voice calling him.

"The running game. We can use it."

"Th-that's..."

"It needs more verification, but what am I supposed to do? We don't have a starting running back. I'll have to make do with him."

It was a radical decision.

Sanders might have joined the team out of personal interest in Jaehyuk, but a director's responsibility was another matter entirely.

Putting a beginner with less than a week of football experience on the field—and in the regular season, no less—was frankly absurd.

"If you have complaints, go find me a running back better than him. And tell the kids they're free to complain anytime they want."

"They absolutely will complain."

Meanwhile.

The scrimmage began again.

The defensive unit, having witnessed Jaehyuk's insane performance, was showing ironclad resolve that they would not be burned the same way twice.

But—

Whish-!

With every defender keyed in on Jaehyuk, quarterback Tony threw a forward pass.

The ball landed perfectly in the receiver's hands.

A clean, crisp pass play, completed.

"That's the first time I've ever seen Tony's passing this stable."

"Less pressure on him. Kid's got decent skills—take away the mental fragility, anyway."

Mid-conversation with Jason, Tyrone flinched at a sudden gaze on him and turned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around.

There stood Sanders, wearing a lecherous little grin.

"The running game is essential in football. Just look at what just happened."

"Ahem. I never said it was unnecessary, sir."

"It was written all over your face."

Caught red-handed, Tyrone awkwardly turned his head back to survey the field.

Just as Tyrone had said—

Because of Jaehyuk's heroics moments ago, every last member of the defense had grown terrified of the running game.

As a result, the coverage on the receivers loosened up, which led to the defense dismissing the quarterback's passing threat entirely.

'If Tony gets to play on the same team as Jaehyuk, he's got real value as a backup quarterback.'

Tony Garcia had a strong arm and excellent pass accuracy, but his mentality was always his weakness.

His fear of tackles and pressure was so crushing that he'd never once shown what he could truly do—but today, he'd finally managed something.

Granted, it was only a scrimmage.

"Keep going! Keep it up! Stay right on this track—you're doing great! But cornerbacks! You asleep out there?! What are the safeties doing?! Cover the receivers properly—are you just going to stare at the running back all day?!"

Tyrone's shouting rang out across the field.

When did he make his way over here?

Three more scrimmages followed, and only once did they fake a running play—every other snap was a pass play.

And yet, astonishingly—

Even with Tyrone bellowing himself hoarse, the defense was so busy fearing Jaehyuk's run threat that they failed to break up a single pass.

So this was one of the running back's roles?

The pass was clearly the more dangerous weapon, yet a single running play had spooked them all.

It went to show that the running game carried the bigger impact.

"You rotten bastards! Cut it out, you worthless trash! You call that defense, huh? You call THAT defense?! All defensive players, over here!!"

Aigoo, somebody's absolutely furious.

I wanted to run a little more, but I'd been done in after clearing exactly one guy.

Then again, who knew the Red Line—the one I hadn't seen in so long—would manifest so... three-dimensionally.

'It's definitely different from the Black Line.'

The Black Line had been two-dimensional.

But the Red Line was three-dimensional. In other words, it had a y-axis.

The Black Line wriggled, scrawling its message on the ground.

I wondered whether anything had actually changed, but it didn't really matter either way.

"Hey! Give me the ball next time. You handed it off just fine earlier."

"......"

Has that kid gone deaf or what?

Should I clean his ears out for him?

Set—hut!

THUD!!

The next scrimmage was underway before I knew it.

Since that long strand of noodles hadn't passed along anything, I did what I'd learned from the new coach, Jason—charged forward and shadow-blocked to protect the quarterback.

Compared to the first game, where I'd just bolted out with no thoughts in my head, it was a quantum leap.

Turns out I can protect someone too, after all.

Swish-.

Thwip!

A perfect arc.

The receiver running his designed route caught the pass cleanly, and got tackled—wait, no, secured the catch.

Either way, the pass was complete again.

"Nice, nice! Tony, keep it exactly like this! But you cornerbacks! Are you napping out there?! What are the safeties doing?! You chase the receivers properly—are you just going to stare at the running back?!"

Tyrone's roar reached my ears.

When did he get this close to us?

Three more scrimmages went by, and only once did we even fake a run—every single snap was a pass play.

And yet, incredibly—

Even after all that bellowing, the defense never once stopped a pass, because they were too busy fearing me.

So this was one of the running back's roles.

The pass was clearly the greater threat, and yet a single running play had them all cowering.

When it came to raw impact, the running game packed the bigger punch. So that's how it was.

"You rotten pieces of garbage! Cut that out, you trash! You call that defense? Huh? You're calling THAT defense right now?! All defensive players, assemble!!"

Aigoo, somebody's about to blow a gasket.

I'd wanted to run some more, but my day ended after hurdling a single man.

Still, that Red Line I hadn't seen in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so long—who'd have guessed it'd manifest so... three-dimensionally.

'It's definitely different from the Black Line.'

The Black Line had been two-dimensional.

But the Red Line was three-dimensional. In other words, it had a y-axis.

What now, another mission?

The Black Line scrawled across the ground once more.

Another durability-boosting mission.

Though the conditions were oddly vague.

Participate in a regular season game?

'Like that's up to me.'

Looking at the current situation, even I could read the room—I knew it would be hard to start in the regular season.

Our starting running back was injured, but we had Liam, the second-string running back, plus plenty of other members who could fill a backup role.

If I were the coach, I'd probably play it safe with the backups too, rather than some kid who'd been playing football for barely a week.

Wait—so did the first mission actually succeed or what?

Why does it feel like barely anything's changed?

The moment the question crossed my mind, the Black Line twitched, as if it had read my thoughts.

"Oh, that's kind of amazing."

I was genuinely impressed.

So I could check my physical stats like this. Graded with letters and numbers, no less.

But my durability was only a D?

Well, I couldn't exactly argue.

Being Asian and not an F was already a miracle—what more could I ask for?

'Can I see my other stats too?'

I probed the thought, but the Black Line stayed quiet. Apparently it didn't work on demand whenever I pleased.

"Stingy little thing."

"What was that, you brat?"

"Huh—old man."

Sanders had come up beside me without a sound.

My body still didn't feel fully warmed down—fancy a 1-on-1, old-timer?

"Call me Coach."

"Yes, Coach."

His eyes, still hidden behind sunglasses, scanned me up and down.

"You want to play?"

"Oh, you've got a good read on me. Of course I want to play."

"Says the kid who doesn't even know the rules yet?"

"Rules, anything else—it all bends at my feet anyway."

"Puh-ha! You're a funny one."

With that, Sanders beckoned me closer.

When I stepped up to him, he spoke in a low voice.

"The regular season starts soon. You know that?"

"Yes, sir."

"I need to get you ready."

And that means...

He's planning to put me in the games?

"From now on, I'll be giving you private lessons in whatever time we have left, including after practice. Squeeze every last drop of my technique out of me. That's the only way you'll even earn your keep."

"You won't regret this?"

"Regret? HAHAHA!"

I had no idea which part of my words was so funny, but Sanders suddenly burst into roaring laughter.

Then he tilted his sunglasses up, wiped away an actual tear, and said:

"Heh heh. You're still a good ten years too early to talk to me about regret, you little greenhorn. Who do you think you are, lecturing me?"

Smack!

Sanders rapped me on the head and strode off ahead.

Grinning at the sight of his retreating back, I hurried after him.

KSHSAA Football Regular Season.

The day when the high schools of Kansas would go head-to-head was drawing near.

The bracket had been released, and Derby High School—a team in the 6A class of the KSHSAA—had checked it as well.

"Wichita North?"

"Aw, hell yeah. Free win!"

Within the same 6A class, Wichita North was practically a sandbag.

Last season's record? A glorious one win, nine losses.

Wichita North had just endured its worst year in memory.

Thanks to that, the entire coaching staff had been purged, and the newly appointed Tyrone had been barely keeping the program on life support.

"Don't they pick starters by seniority there, not merit? Just send out the seniors and call it a day?"

"What a bunch of idiots. Kukkuk."

Amid the jeering laughter, someone murmured.

"Hey, wait. Didn't they say Barry Sanders got hired as head coach there?"

"Huh? That was Wichita North?"

"Haahh... a man of that caliber, stuck with this garbage team..."

"So does that mean we get to meet Barry Sanders in person?"

"Oh! You're right! Gotta get an autograph on my back!"

BANG!

The locker room, where the players had been chattering away, fell silent as someone shoved the door open and stormed inside.

It was Steve, head coach of Derby High School.

"What do you punks think you're doing?! The game is right in front of us—do you have time to sit around laughing and joking? Huh?!"

At his words, the players silently scrambled to grab their bags and file out.

"Honestly, these pathetic brats. I don't care how weak the opponent is, there are limits."

It was understandable, in a way.

Derby High School was a formidable program, boasting state championships in 2019 and 2020.

A playoff berth was considered a given, and a championship run was the expectation here.

'Not ideal.'

But Steve couldn't bring himself to welcome this situation gladly.

Once the regular season schedule played out, every team would face every other team eventually anyway.

Which meant that facing a powerhouse in the very first game—with the adrenaline cranked to maximum—might actually have been preferable.

But of all teams, it had to be Wichita North—the weakest of the weak...

"And this year is supposed to be different, too."

Steve knew all about Wichita's chronic problems. He also knew that this year, the coaches responsible for those problems had been swept out entirely.

But had they really managed to right the ship in just a few months? And while he personally respected Barry Sanders, the man had only taken the job a week ago.

That was far too little time to lay a proper foundation for a team.

"Slightly better than last year. That's the read."

That said, he had no intention of letting his guard down.

Derby's goals remained the same as ever: a league title and a state championship.

Even if Barry Sanders' own grandfather showed up on the other sideline, he had no intention of losing—or yielding an inch.

Steve stepped out of the locker room and checked his tablet.

There, itemized in meticulous detail, were the scouting notes on Wichita North—the team they'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face soon enough.

Ruthless data-driven analysis and strategic planning.

This was the secret that had made Derby High School a Kansas football powerhouse.

'The ones to watch are quarterback Mark Hamilton and wide receiver Willie on their offense—though running back Ronnie Jackson is out with an injury.'

In that case, all he had to do was contain the Mark-to-Willie passing connection, and things shouldn't get too difficult.

He'd looked over the other running backs, but by Steve's standards, none of them posed much of a threat.

The only one worth keeping an eye on was Liam Hughes.

A rare power fullback—who could prove a potent weapon in short-yardage situations.

But that was, quite literally, a situational runner.

He wasn't much use when you needed to grind out long stretches of yardage.

So as long as they shut down the passing game...

"We win."

Steve's eyes gleamed as he tapped the tablet.