Time was like an invisible river, washing away the sharp edges of the past. Shawn gradually integrated into the Lions.
Their relationship slowly fermented amidst the sweat, mud, and occasional team dinners.
The coach stood on the sidelines, arms crossed. He watched the field as Shawn completed a long pass, and Eric caught it perfectly. Eric didn't say anything, just gave a quick nod in Shawn's direction. It wasn't a nod of approval, but more of a confirmation. The coach's brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, then relaxed.
As Shawn's rapport with the team grew, they fought and stumbled their way through the season, all the way to the state championship.
In the final two minutes of the championship game, Seagull Stadium had become a pressure cooker.
The massive floodlights illuminated the turf as if it were day, creating a stark contrast with the deep night sky. In the stands, the roars of tens of thousands of spectators merged into a tangible wave of sound that made one's chest feel tight. The red numbers on the scoreboard were like dripping drops of blood, cold and cruel: the home team was down by five, with the ball on their own 20-yard line.
The coach paced back and forth on the sidelines, his feet wearing a shallow trench into the turf. The tactical board in his hands groaned under his unconscious grip, and a fine, web-like crack appeared on its surface.
"Defense! Defense!"
Eric yelled at the line of scrimmage, trying to make his voice penetrate the wall of noise. Sweat seeped from the edge of his helmet, tracing a path through the mud on his cheeks. He looked at the row of defensive players opposite him, who looked like a moving mountain range. Under the massive floodlights, their figures began to twist and stretch, like a group of advancing giants crawling out of hell.
Only ten seconds remained. This was the final play.
The whole team surged forward, forming a human wall for Eric. But the opposing defenders charged like a pack of beasts released from a cage. The wall was instantly torn open. A defensive player nearly two meters tall, nicknamed "Rhino," crashed through the final barrier in front of Eric like a real bull and lunged straight for him!
It was over.
Everyone's heart sank. The coach shot to his feet. With a loud "crack," the tactical board in his hands, under his uncontrolled force, snapped in two.
Eric stared at the snarling face rapidly growing larger before his eyes, his mind a blank. He had nowhere to run; he could even smell the stench of sweat coming off the other man.
Just then, "Rhino's" gaze went past Eric and landed on Shawn, who was standing in the substitutes' area on the sidelines. He grinned, a malicious smile. He recognized Shawn, the guy who had embarrassed Eric in the "KissGate" incident. He raised one hand toward Shawn, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and then, with the index finger of his other hand, he quickly and insultingly jabbed in and out of the circle a few times.
A silent, extremely vulgar taunt.
Shawn's world, in that instant, completely changed.
The roars of his teammates, the screams of the crowd, all faded away into a distant, blurry background noise. The entire world was reduced to just him and the defensive player with the taunting smile. The plastic label on the water bottle at his feet began to curl and shrink, as if scorched by an invisible flame.
[Gaze of the Succubus]
The full-speed charge of "Rhino" suddenly showed a nearly imperceptible hesitation. His mind had been struck by a ridiculously absurd illusion—the Eric in front of him holding the football had suddenly transformed into a giant... rabbit? Wearing a pink tutu? The rabbit even gave him a wink.
"Rhino's" footing faltered. His beast-like instinct to charge was completely baffled by this sudden, surreal image. He even subconsciously pulled back the hands he had ready for the tackle, as if afraid of dirtying the beautiful tutu.
This hesitation lasted only three-tenths of a second. But on a football field, three-tenths of a second is an eternity.
Eric's body moved. It wasn't a calculated action, but a pure, beast-like instinct honed by a thousand trials. He didn't know why the other player had suddenly revealed an opening as if he'd seen a ghost; he only knew that his chance had come. He twisted his body and, at an angle that should have been humanly impossible, like a slippery eel, he narrowly squeezed through "Rhino's" almost-closed arms.
Then, clutching the ball, he shot forward like a black bolt of lightning.
When the final whistle blew, the entire stadium fell into a dead silence that lasted for three seconds.
Then, a tsunami of cheers, like a long-brewing volcanic eruption, exploded.
The entire team went wild. They threw off their helmets, screaming, crying, and like a group of children who had won a war, rushed from all directions toward a single point—Eric.
They lifted him up, tossing him into the air again and again. Confetti rained down from the sky, mixing with sweat and tears, glittering under the floodlights. In the air, Eric was like a crowned king, surrounded by his followers.
And Shawn just stood quietly where he was, outside the ocean of ecstasy.
He looked at the celebrating crowd, at Eric being mobbed in the center, at the final score on the scoreboard that showed their comeback victory.
And then, he smiled.