The Golden Field Stadium. Kickoff.
Score: 0 : 0.
The air smelled like sulfur and cheap beer. But mostly, it reeked of malice.
"BOOOOOOO—!!!"
"Get off the field! We want C-Mac!"
"This is the League, not a Kung Fu movie set!"
In the front row, a group of shirtless, painted fans held up a sign depicting Levi getting broken in half like a twig. Someone flipped him the bird.
Even the commentary booth was twisting the knife.
"Alright folks, let's see how long this 'Secret Weapon' lasts," Chuck, the legendary analyst, laughed into his mic. "My expectations for him are about the same as me expecting it to rain money tomorrow. Zero."
On the field, the Gold Rush offense huddled up.
Quarterback Brock P. looked across the line at the LA Horns' defense. His palms were sweating inside his gloves.
Staring back at him was Aaron "The Titan" Don and his legion of monsters. The defensive line looked at Levi like a pack of starving wolves eyeing a fresh steak.
"Listen, Levi," Brock whispered in the huddle, his voice shaky. "Coach wants the first ball to go to you. But... if there's no lane, just go down. Protect yourself. Seriously. Don't be a hero."
Brock was a good guy. He didn't want to see his teammate leave in a body bag on the first play.
Levi tightened the velcro on his gloves. He looked through his facemask at Brock's panicked eyes and said calmly:
"Brock. Give me the rock. Then... just stand back and enjoy the show."
Brock blinked. Enjoy the show? Is that what people say before they die?
"Break!"
The team lined up.
Levi stood seven yards behind Brock, leaning forward slightly.
Instantly, he felt five pairs of eyes lock onto him. That was killing intent. Pure and simple.
"Blue 80! Blue 80! HUT!"
The ball was snapped!
Brock took the snap, turned, and without a single fake, shoved the ball right into Levi's gut.
"Here he comes! Kill the rookie!!"
A linebacker screamed.
Instantly, the Horns' defensive line collapsed like a breaking dam.
Specifically, the two interior Defensive Tackles—both weighing over 330 lbs (150kg)—ignored the linemen blocking them. They burst through the gap like two runaway dump trucks, aiming to converge directly on Levi from both sides!
This was the infamous "Meat Sandwich".
Two 330lb giants crushing a 210lb back.
The result is usually a fumble or a stretcher.
"Oh no!"
On the sideline, Dr. Sophie covered her mouth with both hands.
The boos in the stands reached a fever pitch. The crowd wanted blood.
But.
Levi, standing in the eye of the storm, watched the two mountains of flesh rushing toward him.
He didn't slow down.
He didn't change direction.
He... lowered his shoulder.
Time seemed to slow down.
Red text flashed across Levi's vision:
[WARNING: High-Velocity Impact Detected!]
[Passive Trigger: Steel Body (Hardness +200%)]
[Active Skill: Raging Bull Charge]
"GET... OUT OF MY WAY!!!"
Levi let out a roar that sounded less like a human and more like a prehistoric beast.
He didn't dodge.
He chose violence.
BOOM—!!!!
The sound of the collision was picked up by the field mics and blasted through the stadium speakers.
It was terrifying.
It sounded like a Ferrari doing 100mph slamming into a wall of solid lead.
Beer cups stopped midway to mouths.
Curses died in throats.
In the booth, Chuck bit his tongue.
Because they just witnessed the impossible.
The two 330lb giants, expecting to crush Levi into paste, hit him... and stopped dead.
Their faces rippled from the shockwave. Their eyes rolled back.
Then, defying gravity, they bounced.
Wham! Wham!
The two massive defenders flew backward in opposite directions, spinning in the air like ragdolls, before crashing heavily onto the turf five yards away!
And the Number 33 jersey?
Levi didn't even stumble.
His stride didn't break.
He split the two falling giants like an icebreaker ship smashing through drift ice, carrying unstoppable momentum into the second level of the defense!
"Wh... What?!"
The stadium froze.
The boos were choked off instantly, replaced by a vacuum of shock.
A Horns linebacker, who was coming up to help finish the tackle, saw his two defensive tackles fly past him like cannonballs. His brain emptied.
Where is he?
Did those two just fly?
In that 0.5 seconds of hesitation, Levi was already on him.
Levi's eyes were glowing red—pure adrenaline. He saw the frozen linebacker and showed no mercy. He accelerated!
"You want some too?!"
"NO!!"
The linebacker tried to dodge, but it was too late.
THUD!
Another dull, heavy impact.
This one wasn't as loud, but the result was the same. The linebacker was bowled over like a bowling pin, rolling three times before stopping, gasping for air.
Open field!
Green grass!
No one left!
Levi tucked the ball and sprinted the final 20 yards like a red streak of lightning.
Endzone.
The referee standing there didn't signal immediately.
Even the ref was broken.
He stood there, whistle in his mouth, eyes popping out like a cartoon character. He looked at the bodies scattered on the field, then at Levi, who was standing in the endzone holding the ball up with one hand.
Is that... legal?
Is that a run? Or an assault charge?
Three full seconds of awkward silence passed.
The ref finally rebooted, shaking his head as he raised both arms straight up.
"TOUCHDOWN!!!"
SF Gold Rush: 6 - LA Horns: 0.
The stadium remained silent.
68,000 people. No cheering. No applause.
Just thousands of people with their mouths hanging open.
In the booth, Chuck dropped his pen.
His co-host nudged him, stuttering, "Chuck... was that... CGI? Do they have holograms on the field now?"
Chuck swallowed hard. He took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on.
He looked at the replay on the monitor—super slow motion showing the fat on the defenders' faces rippling as they bounced off Levi's shoulder.
"Good God..."
Chuck whispered, his voice going out to millions of homes.
"I think we need to rewrite the physics textbooks. Or... someone needs to call the insurance company for the LA Horns."
On the field.
Levi tossed the ball to the ref. He didn't dance. He didn't spike the ball.
He simply turned around, facing the section of the crowd that had been booing the loudest.
He slowly took off his helmet.
He raised one finger to his lips.
"Shhhhh."
In that moment, under the California sun.
68,000 people obeyed.
Not a single soul dared to make a sound.
This wasn't just a score.
This was Domination.