Monday afternoon practice in East Texas is not a sport. It is a survival experiment.
The air was so thick you could chew it. The grass was dead. And I was wearing twenty pounds of plastic and foam that smelled like a locker room that hadn't been cleaned since the Alamo.
I adjusted my helmet. It was too big. It wobbled every time I turned my head.
"Cooper! Quit playing with your helmet and get in line!"
That was Coach Wilkins. He was a good man, a friend of my dad's, and the defensive coordinator for the High School team. But down here in Junior High, he was the Emperor.
"Yes, Coach!" I yelled, jogging over to the sideline.
I stood with the "rejects"—the second-string offense. We were the practice dummies. Our job was to get beaten up by the first-string defense so the starters looked good.
And the King of the Starters was Kyle Benson.
I watched him from the sideline. Kyle looked like he had been held back a grade. Maybe two. He had a patchy mustache, hairy arms, and he was at least five inches taller than me.
He took the snap. He dropped back. He had a cannon of an arm—I'll give him that. He launched the ball forty yards downfield.
It sailed five feet over the receiver's head and landed in the dirt track with a thud.
"Come on, Miller!" Kyle screamed at the receiver. "You gotta be faster than that! I'm putting it out there for you!"
"It was ten feet high, Kyle!" the kid argued.
"Shut up and run the route!" Kyle barked.
Coach Wilkins blew his whistle. "Benson! You throw another one into the parking lot, and you're running laps until you puke! Accuracy, son! This ain't an artillery range!"
Kyle rolled his eyes, kicking the dirt. "Receivers are slow," he muttered.
I stood there, watching. The System overlay was active, glowing blue against the brown grass.
[Target Analysis: Kyle Benson]
[Arm Strength: A-]
[Accuracy: D]
[Football IQ: F]
[Status: Frustrated]
He was a classic "Arm Punter." He could throw it a mile, but he couldn't hit a barn door.
"Alright, First Team Defense, stay on the field!" Coach Wilkins yelled. "Second Team Offense, get in there! Give 'em a look! Run the Power-I."
This was it.
I strapped my chin strap. I trotted onto the field.
The huddle was a sad place. The linemen were small. The running back, a kid named Dave, looked terrified.
"What's the play?" Dave asked.
"Coach said Power-I," I said. "24 Blast. You run right up the gut, Dave."
"I'm gonna get killed," Dave whispered. "Their linebacker is huge."
"Just follow the guard," I said. "Break!"
We walked to the line of scrimmage. I wasn't playing Quarterback. I was lined up as the "Z" receiver—wide right.
The Quarterback for the second string was a nervous kid named Timmy. Timmy walked up to the center. He started his cadence.
"Down! Set!"
I looked at the defense.
[System Activation: The Mahomes Vision]
[Scanning Defensive Shell...]
[Alert: Strong Safety Blitz Incoming]
[Alert: Cornerback Playing Soft Coverage]
I saw it. The safety was creeping up. He was going to blitz right into the gap where Dave was supposed to run. If Timmy handed that ball off, Dave was going to lose three teeth.
But the cornerback in front of me? He was terrified. He was playing ten yards off, afraid I'd run past him.
It was a free touchdown if we threw a quick screen.
But I wasn't the Quarterback.
"Hut!"
Timmy took the snap. He turned to hand it off.
*WHAM.*
The safety crashed through the line and tackled Dave before he even got the ball. The whistle blew. Bodies went flying.
Coach Wilkins threw his clipboard. "Timmy! You gotta see that blitz! The safety was practically inviting himself to dinner!"
"I... I didn't see him, Coach!" Timmy stammered, picking grass out of his facemask.
"Get out of there!" Wilkins yelled. He scanned the sideline, looking for a replacement, then his eyes landed on me. "Cooper! Your dad told me you've been throwing in the driveway. Get in there at QB."
My head snapped up. "Yes, sir!"
"Timmy, move to receiver. Cooper, run the same play. And for the love of Lombardi, don't let the safety kill the running back again."
[Quest Alert: The Audition]
[Objective: Complete a positive play]
[Reward: Respect]
I ran into the huddle.
"Okay," I said, my voice low. "Same play. 24 Blast."
"I don't wanna die," Dave whimpered, rubbing his ribs.
"You won't," I promised. "Just trust me."
We broke the huddle. I walked under center.
The smell of the center's sweaty back was awful, but the feeling of the ball in my hands? It was electric.
I looked at the defense.
They were doing it again. The safety smirked, creeping up to the line. He thought I was just another panicked kid.
[System Analysis]
[Blitz Probability: 99%]
[Solution: Quick Slant / Bubble Screen]
[Mahomes Mechanics: Unlocked]
I didn't hand it off. I stood tall.
"Blue 80!" I yelled, pointing at the safety. "Blue 80! Check! Check!"
The defense froze. Junior High quarterbacks didn't change plays. We were supposed to do what the coach said.
"What's he doing?" I heard Kyle Benson laugh from the sideline. "He doesn't know the signals."
I looked at Timmy, who was now lined up wide left. I tapped my helmet. Timmy nodded, confused but ready.
"Hut!"
The ball snapped.
The safety charged. He came screaming off the edge, unblocked.
In my old life, I would have panicked. In this life? Time slowed down.
I didn't retreat. I took one smooth step back. I didn't wind up. I dropped my arm to that weird, side-arm angle—the one Dad hated.
The safety's hands were inches from my face.
*Flick.*
The ball left my hand like a bullet. It hissed past the safety's ear hole.
A sharp twinge of pain shot through my shoulder—a reminder that my tendons weren't quite NFL-ready yet—but I ignored it.
Timmy ran a quick slant—just three steps and turn. The ball hit him perfectly in the numbers. He didn't even have to break stride.
He caught it, turned upfield, and realized... there was nobody there. The safety had blitzed. The corner was too deep.
Timmy ran. Ten yards. Twenty yards. Touchdown.
The whistle blew.
Silence.
I stood there, wiping my hands on my towel, rubbing my aching shoulder. The safety was lying on the ground, confused about how he missed me.
"Cooper!" Coach Wilkins roared.
I winced. I disobeyed a direct order. I changed the play.
I jogged over to the coach. "Yes, sir?"
Wilkins looked at me. He looked at the safety. He looked at Timmy celebrating in the end zone.
"I called a run play," Wilkins said, his eyes narrowed.
"Yes, sir," I said calmly. "But the safety was showing blitz. If I handed it off, Dave gets tackled for a loss of four. I checked to a slant."
Wilkins stared at me for a long, uncomfortable second. Most kids would be shaking. I just looked him in the eye.
Then, a slow grin spread across the Coach's face.
"You read the blitz?"
"Yes, sir."
Wilkins turned to the sideline where Kyle Benson was standing with his mouth open.
"Benson!" Wilkins yelled. "You see that? That is called *reading the defense*! Take notes!"
Wilkins turned back to me.
"Get back in there, Cooper. First team offense. Let's see what else you got."
[Quest Complete: The Audition]
[Integration: +1%]
[Status: First String Reps Unlocked]
I strapped my chin strap tighter.
"Yes, sir."