American Football: Domination

"Oh my God."

Pash was utterly stunned. His entire brain had been reduced to a single thought:

Unbelievable!

Opening the game with a 75-yard touchdown run to take the lead; closing the game with a 67-yard rushing touchdown to seal the victory.

A total of 287 rushing yards in the game.

Dominating the field.

Stealing the spotlight.

What... just happened?

Last season, Alabama's Derrick Henry took the NCAA by storm with a record-breaking 36 rushing touchdowns. Despite Alabama's reputation as a powerhouse for running backs, even Henry's performance left people in awe. Now that Henry had gone pro, the question on everyone's mind was how Coach Saban would continue to build the team for the new season.

But nobody expected this—a completely unfamiliar face storming onto the field with the presence of Adrian Peterson, tearing through the defense like a tornado.

Of course, this was just an intrasquad scrimmage, not enough to draw solid conclusions. Patience was still necessary; there was no need to jump to any conclusions just yet.

However—

Pash still couldn't recover from the shock.

"Lance."

"This number 23's name is... Lance? Lance Wei?"

"Lance Wei?"

"No high school ranking, no star rating. A player with a background in mixed martial arts, only registering as a football player for the first time in spring training?"

"Jesus Christ!"

Pash pulled up the data, and the more he read, the more stunned he became. He might have dislocated his jaw again. He even began wondering if he had prematurely developed farsightedness.

Could this really be happening?

"And... he's Chinese-American?"

"Is he some kind of Sun Wukong who leaped out from a stone? He just showed up and wreaked havoc, stirring up a storm at Alabama."

"Wow! I mean, wow!"

"Incredible."

Pash found himself at a loss for words. No matter what he said, it couldn't fully capture the shock he was feeling. His mind had short-circuited, and he had been reduced to a machine repeating expressions of awe.

"We're in the fourth quarter, and there's still three minutes and twenty-seven seconds left. The Red Team still has a chance. They can turn the tide, but the question is, does their high school quarterback, Jalen Hurts, have the willpower? Does he know what to do?"

"College football is too harsh for an 18-year-old high school kid."

"Which makes number 23's performance all the more impressive. Lance Wei, ladies and gentlemen, remember this name. He may just be the Crimson Tide's player to watch this year."

Boom!

The stadium roared to life as Pash raised his voice, struggling to be heard over the deafening cheers in Bryant-Denny Stadium. But the feverish excitement among the fans was far from over.

Who could resist a game like this?

And then—

The game's outcome was no longer in doubt.

As Pash predicted, without a coach's guidance, Jalen Hurts, the young quarterback, was too inexperienced to handle the situation. The Red Team's offense, led by newcomers like Jacobs and Clark, lacked the tactical understanding to mount a counterattack.

The White Team's defense, meanwhile, was unstoppable, completely shutting down the Red Team.

Not only did the starters fail to score, but they also gave the White Team another chance to go on the offensive. This time, the White Team showed impressive composure and calm.

They didn't rush for a touchdown to widen the lead. Instead, they methodically ran the ball to drain the clock, playing like seasoned professionals.

Saban and Burns exchanged glances—could this strategy have come from Bateman?

Both men smirked, seemingly sharing the same thought.

The White Team controlled the game, and against all odds, even with the Red Team's defense pressing hard, they managed to move the chains with two passing plays. Their strong rushing game opened up opportunities for the passing attack.

Finally, Bateman connected with wide receiver Robert Foster for a passing touchdown, sealing the game once and for all.

"3:21."

The White Team, wearing their away jerseys, decisively defeated the Crimson Tide starters by a wide margin.

The game ended.

Bryant-Denny Stadium turned into a roaring sea of excitement.

The White Team players hugged, high-fived, and bumped shoulders in celebration.

Even though it was just a scrimmage, this was the comprehensive test of spring training camp. The backup players needed this shining moment to prove themselves.

Bateman, overjoyed, immediately embraced Lance, repeatedly asking, "Did we win? Did we win? Did this really happen? God, this isn't a dream, right?"

Lance took off his helmet, patting Bateman on his headgear. "We won."

Bateman threw his arms in the air and jumped up and down like a kid on a trampoline, leaping higher and higher.

And then—

Ah!

From the stands came a shrill scream, so sharp and loud that it made a bunch of players instinctively turn toward the source.

They saw three girls huddled together, grinning widely, eyes sparkling with hearts, and shouting excitedly.

"Hey, handsome!"

Just then, Humphrey came over to shake Lance's hand, flashing a bright smile and waving at the stands. "Hey, ladies!"

Crimson Tide games were not just for the guys. For the townspeople and students, everyone was welcome, from young to old, and that included plenty of enthusiastic college girls who were just as crazy about football as anyone.

But the bold, eager girls waved their hands at Humphrey and shook their heads. "No, not you—the guy next to you, number 23. Hey, you! Handsome! What's your name?"

Instantly, the other guys started teasing.

Humphrey didn't mind. He raised his chin proudly, "You don't understand my charm, and that's your loss. So, this is Lance, my bro."

"Your bro who totally crushed you?" someone quipped nearby.

Haha.

The group burst into laughter.

In the midst of the chaos, Lance spread his hands—why did it seem like nobody cared about the person involved?

A gentle breeze blew across the field, the sky painted with a brilliant sunset.

The glowing evening light illuminated Lance's sweaty face. His chiseled features, far from the ferocious look of someone who had just dominated the field, radiated a scholarly air. Even his damp hair seemed to shine under the setting sun, and his sharp, striking brows drew everyone's gaze.

With his helmet off, up close, his good looks were unmistakable. No wonder the girls had been screaming.

"Hey, Lance, catch!"

The bold girl folded a paper airplane and threw it toward him. It floated lazily through the air before landing in his hands. She made a "call me" gesture, laughing with her friends as they turned and walked away.

Around Lance, the teasing only got louder—

Being handsome was a crime.

Roar, roar, roar! Everyone was shouting and laughing so much that Lance felt like his ears might go deaf.

Then Allen's voice came from behind him. "This is bad—he's crushed us with his skills and looks. Now all the girls at Alabama will only have eyes for Lance. There's no room left for the rest of us."

"Boys, let's get him! Time to teach this guy a lesson!"

Boom!