The Dolphins broke the huddle and moved into position.
The Jets' middle linebacker—Lewis—was the defensive captain. He'd earned that role after years of calling adjustments and running the defense. He was also the guy Zhao Dong had banged up in a scrimmage earlier in the year, which didn't exactly help their chemistry.
"Shotgun formation," Lewis muttered after scanning Miami's offense.
The shotgun meant one thing—pass-first football. The quarterback lined up five yards behind the center with a full panoramic view, ready to air it out.
Lewis barked orders, shifting the defense into a 4–3 front: four defensive linemen on the line of scrimmage, three linebackers stacked behind.
On the line, two massive defensive tackles clogged the middle, flanked by two quick defensive ends. Because Miami's quarterback, Minsk Reuben, was right-handed, the Jets loaded their stronger pass rushers on his blind side—the left edge from the offense's perspective.
Behind them, the three linebackers split into roles: the strong-side linebacker covering the tight end, the weak-side linebacker for short-to-mid passes and backside runs, and Lewis himself in the middle.
Lewis glanced to his right.
"You—rookie—take weak side," he snapped at Zhao Dong. "Don't lose your man, or you're gonna regret it."
He didn't trust Zhao Dong enough to put him on the strong side.
Zhao Dong's eyes narrowed. The tight end on the strong side was a big body—maybe bigger than one of their linebackers. That mismatch could hurt them. But Lewis was in charge on the field, and the clock was ticking. No time to argue.
On the sideline, head coach Edwards saw the alignment and frowned. This wasn't how he'd drawn it up.
---
Reuben surveyed the Jets' defense from behind center. The formation looked perfect for the play Miami had just drawn up.
The whistle blew.
"Set… hut!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The snap hit Reuben's hands in the shotgun. In an instant, the trenches exploded—linemen slamming into each other, helmets cracking, hands fighting for leverage.
The Jets' four down linemen fought to collapse the pocket. Miami's five blockers strained to keep it clean. Shoulder pads popped, turf flew, bodies hit the ground.
On the far right, star wide receiver Brent Lint took off down the sideline, instantly drawing double coverage—one cornerback trailing him, and even the deep safety shading his way.
The strong-side linebacker glanced toward Lint too, momentarily distracted.
That's when tight end Luka Rex slipped into the middle seam. The linebacker responsible for him reacted a beat late.
---
Reuben stood tall in a rock-solid pocket. The Jets hadn't broken through. Part of that was because Zhao Dong had leveled Willis Venis—their best pass rusher, nicknamed the "Three-Eyed Monster"—on the opening clash, slowing the inside push.
Reuben waited for Luka to get deeper.
Five yards… seven… ten… thirteen… perfect.
He cocked back and let it fly—a mid-range bullet lofted just high enough to clear any linebacker's fingertips.
On the Jets' sideline, Edwards' eyes went wide.
"Dammit! Lewis put Zhao on the weak side?!"
Edwards had planned for Zhao Dong to be on the strong side, using his size, blocking strength, and vertical leap to neutralize Luka Rex. Instead, they had Yokham—a shorter linebacker—trying to cover him.
Luka leapt, arms stretched high, and plucked the ball out of the air. Yokham jumped too, fingertips brushing leather—but the placement was perfect. The ball dropped cleanly into Luka's hands.
"Snap!"
He landed smoothly, ready to turn upfield. The backfield behind him was empty—Lint had pulled almost every defender away. It was a clear runway to the end zone.
Yokham lunged, but Luka shrugged him off with a stiff-arm.
"It's over!" Yokham thought.
"It's over!" Lewis muttered under his breath.
"It's over!" four different commentators shouted in unison from the broadcast booths.
In the stands, thousands of Jets fans had the same sinking thought.
WHAM!
A green-and-white blur came flying in from the side—Zhao Dong. He wrapped Luka up and drove him into the turf before the tight end could take another step.
The stadium detonated.
"YEAH!"
Cheers erupted like a pressure valve bursting.
Lewis and Yokham went from despair to euphoria in an instant.
"Beautiful!" Lewis yelled.
"That's how you hit!" Yokham added, slapping Zhao Dong's helmet.
"Huh…"
Coach Edwards finally exhaled. They'd been pushed back 15 yards, but it wasn't a total disaster.
"Damn it!"
On the opposite sideline, the Dolphins were fuming. Every player glared at the Jets' No. 1—Zhao Dong—the man who'd just dropped their tight end, Luka Rex, and erased what looked like a guaranteed touchdown.
"Oh, what a stop! Number One! That's Number One!" Russell Nevida's voice boomed through the stadium speakers. "The weak-side linebacker Zhao Dong—nicknamed the Tyrannosaurus—sprinted five meters across to the strong side and made the hit of the game so far! He just wiped out what would've been six points for Miami!"
His broadcast partner, Wells Michael, didn't hold back either—though his attention shifted to the Jets' defensive captain.
"That was a stupid adjustment. Kaneki Lewis made one of the worst in-game calls I've seen in years. He put the short Yokham on Miami's big tight end and shoved the tall, athletic Zhao Dong to the weak side. Absolutely brainless. That's a mistake you can't make at this level."
The crowd picked up on it immediately. Lewis was no fan favorite—solid leader, but not a star—and the fans let him hear it with boos and jeers.
---
The Dolphins hurried to reset. In the NFL, you get just 40 seconds to get the next play off. Their offense lined up at the Jets' 36-yard line—where Zhao Dong had made the stop.
First down was already in the books, but they still had three more plays to use in this set of downs.
On the Jets' sideline, Edwards yanked his headset mic close and barked into it:
"Listen, kid—do what I say. Put Zhao Dong on the strong side, or I'll pull you off the field myself."
He was shouting directly to Lewis—the only player with a live link to the coach. Then Edwards cut the mic, turned to GM Philip, and growled:
"Morin, we need to start talking trades."
Philip nodded grimly. He'd already suspected Lewis' grudge against Zhao Dong. But ignoring the team's best matchup for personal reasons? That crossed the line.
On the turf, Lewis' jaw was tight as he pointed across the formation.
"Rookie—strong side."
Through their facemasks, Zhao Dong caught the cold stare—but he didn't flinch. Sooner or later, he'd win over the front office and make sure the guys undermining him wouldn't be around.
---
Miami quarterback Minsk Reuben huddled his offense, rattled off the play, and they broke formation.
"Attack!"
The snap came fast. Pads cracked. The trenches erupted again—linemen driving low, feet churning, grunts echoing.
Zhao Dong fired off the line and immediately met Luka Rex—the same tight end he'd crushed earlier. Rex braced, arms up, trying to shield his QB.
BANG!
The collision was thunderous. Rex went backward, hitting the turf, and Zhao Dong stumbled past, eyes locked on the quarterback just six yards away.
"Look out—Tyrannosaurus just blew through the front line! Can he get the sack?!" Nevida roared into his mic.
Eighty thousand fans shot to their feet, the roar swelling.
Reuben spotted the pressure, shuffled sideways, but kept his eyes locked downfield—on Brent Lint, his go-to wideout. Lint had a step on the cornerback, breaking free.
Reuben made the call—arm back, quick release.
Zhao Dong was just a yard away, hands reaching for Reuben's waist. Another half-second and the sack was his—but the ball was already gone. He had to pull up, twisting his upper body to avoid a late-hit penalty, and stumbled past.
The crowd groaned in unison.
"Oh, half a second short!" Nevida lamented. "Zhao Dong just missed his first NFL sack by inches!"
Downfield, Lint tracked the ball. It was ahead of him—a little too far. He hit another gear, cutting toward the spot. At the last moment, he dove, one hand outstretched—
SNAP!
He snared it mid-air, sliding a full yard along the turf before the Jets' cornerback landed on him.
"Beautiful! Forty-three yards on the play—seven on first down, three on second—they're right on track for another first down," TNT's Seth Norby shouted.
"That's what a star receiver does," his partner Philo added. "Brent Lint made that look easy."
---
Norby chuckled. "The Jets are still hurting from losing defensive end Willis 'Three-Eyed Monster' Venis to a career-ending injury in the preseason. Without him, their pass rush isn't the same. Reuben's been sitting back there with all day to throw."
"But don't sleep on Zhao Dong," Philo countered. "The Tyrannosaurus could be their next star."
Norby smirked. "Maybe. But this isn't the NBA—it's the NFL. He's 26, and we don't know if he can grow into this game in time."
---
Dolphins Adjust
On the Dolphins' sideline, head coach Locke Osman had seen enough. The Jets' pass rush wasn't cracking his O-line, and that opened up the playbook. He relayed a new call to Reuben through the headset.
Back on the field, the Dolphins lined up in shotgun again—QB five yards back, receivers spread wide, ready to attack the air.
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