"Nervous?"
Li Wei slowly and thodically wrapped tape around his wrists as he glanced at Travis, who stood beside him.
Travis was bent over next to him, hands braced on his knees. His face had a sickly, ashen pallor. His chest heaved violently, and he made suppressed, dry-heaving sounds.
They were in the visiting team’s locker room at Yankee Stadium in New York.
Today was the Public School Athletic League championship.
Travis snapped his head up, trying to force a nonchalant smile. To Li Wei, however, the expression looked more like a twitch.
"There have to be ten thousand people out there, plus all the dia in New York... and coaches from every major college around here... I feel like there’s a blender running in my stomach."
"Then turn the blender off," Li Wei said with a shrug. "Just snap the ball, get it into my hands, and I’ll handle the rest."
Coach Miller slamd his hand on the playbook and bellowed, "Alright, you useless bums! It’s ti to prove who the best high school in New York is! Just like I told you—"
He glanced at Li Wei, who nodded back at him before putting on his helt.
"Build your ga around your genius quarterback," he roared. "Goddamn, how a pack of bums like you made it to the championship, I’ll never know. Guess New York’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"We’ve got Li Wei!" Craig shouted. "We’ve got the King!"
"King! King! King!"
"Alright, if you wanna lick his balls, you can form a line after we win the ga," Coach Miller yelled. "But you’ll have to get in line behind , because I’m first!"
The whole locker room erupted in laughter, and just like that, the tense atmosphere vanished.
"Alright," Coach Miller clapped his hands. "Let’s go! Let all of New York see who runs this town! Move out!"
The heavy tunnel doors swung open, and a blast of frigid air hit them, carrying the roar of more than eight thousand spectators.
For an NCAA or even an NFL ga, a crowd of over 8,000 might not even be a rounding error. But in the stacked tiers of Yankee Stadium, the sound waves reflected off the stands, creating a seismic, tsunami-like roar.
The team’s deep blue banner waved above the stands. The cheerleaders’ pom-poms glittered in the sun, catching and refracting dazzling shards of light.
The mont Li Wei led his team out of the tunnel, the stadium announcer’s voice bood, rising in intensity:
"...And now, entering the field, the phenonal quarterback from Franklin K. Lane High School! The King of Brooklyn! Hailed as the most talented quarterback in Arican history! Liiiiiiiiii Weiiiiiiiiii!"
A rhythmic booming echoed from the stands—the sound and vibration of thousands of students, spectators, and parents stomping their feet in unison.
The head referee walked to the center of the field. A red coin glinted in the sunlight as it flipped through the air and landed.
Franklin High School won the toss. Li Wei chose to receive. Manu, the team’s wall of a tackle, stepped up in front of Li Wei.
"It’s all on you, man," he said to Li Wei in a low voice. "This championship is huge for . It’s my ticket to a full ride at a D1 school."
"Leave it to ," Li Wei said with a smile. "Just watch the show."
The whistle blew. On the snap, the center hiked the ball back to Li Wei.
After catching the snap, Li Wei didn’t take a traditional dropback. Instead, he tucked the ball and ran himself, charging straight at two converging linebackers.
Up in the comntary booth, the ESPN New York comntator shot to his feet, screaming into the microphone, "And we’re underway! The Franklin High School center with a perfect snap to Li Wei! But wait... he’s not dropping back! He’s not dropping back! He’s not looking for a receiver! He’s running it himself!"
Even for a professional comntator who had called NFL gas, this was an incredibly rare sight.
The quarterback is the core and the brains of the entire team, a position equivalent to a general leading his troops.
For Li Wei to run the ball himself on the very first play was, in the comntator’s eyes, like two armies clashing for the first ti, only for one’s general to single-handedly charge ahead, making a beeline straight for the enemy commander’s headquarters.
CRUNCH!
The two high school linebackers, each weighing over 220 pounds, hit Li Wei and it was like they had run full-speed into a granite wall moving at 25 miles per hour.
Before the referee could even think about blowing his whistle, the two defensive players went flying like kites with their strings cut. Not only did they fail to make the tackle, they were sent sprawling onto the turf by the sheer force of the impact.
"Oh my God!" The comntator’s voice cracked. "The quarterback just trucked two linebackers! Li Wei is still accelerating! The 20, the 10... He’s unstoppable! TOUCHDOWN!!!! Less than ten seconds in, the King of Brooklyn has taken over this ga in the most humiliating fashion imaginable! He’s not competing with them, he’s embarrassing them! Tactics? Ga plan? Throw it all out the window!"
The referee ran toward the end zone, crisply signaling the touchdown with both arms raised high as his whistle echoed throughout the stadium.
What was that about a general? This was a general carving through enemy lines like they were made of paper, single-handedly storming the enemy headquarters to slay their commander and seize their banner.
...
Over the next two hours, Yankee Stadium witnessed what was perhaps the most brutal "slaughter" in the history of the Public School Athletic League. Even the comntators were saying this wasn’t a high school ga anymore. It was more like an NFL number one draft pick playing against a middle school team—a complete and utter rout.
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