American Football: Domination

Toss. Catch.

Toss. Catch.

The oval-shaped brown football danced in Lance's hands like a child's yo-yo, flipping up and down as he walked back, passing by the scattered "wreckage" on the ground without a hint of disdain. Instead, he wore a warm, spring-like smile.

He even nodded slightly, as if acknowledging the cheers of adoring fans at a superstar's concert!

That sprint just now wasn't long—starting from the midfield line, it covered about fifty yards to the end zone. Lance had given himself a little test.

His ability to burst and sprint was indeed impressive, but he felt there was still untapped potential. Lance couldn't help but bounce lightly on his toes, like a boxer, eager to see how much he could grow and evolve with professional training.

In no time, Lance reached Allen, who looked a bit disheveled. His jersey was dirty, contrasting with Lance's clean and fresh appearance. Lance, however, offered a sincere smile, full of genuine warmth.

"Sorry, I didn't keep my promise. I guarantee, next time, the dance will definitely happen!"

Allen: …

Can he swear at this guy?!

But instead of getting angry, Allen laughed, "Ha, that was just a careless mistake. Next time, rookie, there won't be any freebies. If you want to make me dance, you'll have to try a little harder."

Lance flashed a bright, toothy grin.

It was only now that Allen took a good look at Lance—

With his clear and refined features, Lance was the complete opposite of the rugged, bulky players around him. He exuded a scholarly, sunny charm, standing out like a striking figure in a landscape.

Allen had indeed underestimated Lance based on his appearance, and that had cost him. But not this time. He was ready to get serious, already picturing Lance's crushed defeat, the smile creeping back onto his face.

"Come on, bookworm, let's see how your ballet looks!"

Allen beckoned, returning to his position but still showing some generosity, giving Lance a little extra space by stepping back—

This time, however, he was fully on guard, no longer underestimating his opponent.

Lance turned and returned to the midfield line, lifting his head to survey the field. The first thing he did, as usual, was assess the space and the positions of the four defenders. Their formation hadn't changed drastically, only tightening slightly, moving a step or half-step forward. On a field this large, such a small adjustment seemed negligible.

But Lance didn't take it lightly.

He was alone, with no blockers, and the tightened formation meant the defenders could react and close in faster, making the defense more compact.

He needed to be cautious.

Lance glanced toward the sidelines. Since he'd decided to take on this challenge, his personality dictated that he'd go all out, pushing his limits to see just how far he could go. Impressing Burns, Saban, and the coaching staff was the first step, and perhaps now was the time to show a different side of himself.

The opportunity was PERFECT!

So.

Standing on the midfield line, Lance ran his fingers over the leather of the football—

He still wasn't used to it.

The football's oval shape made it tricky to hold with one hand, and with Burns emphasizing the importance of not fumbling, Lance quickly realized that ball security during hard tackles must be crucial in football. This meant there had to be techniques for carrying and protecting the ball.

Lance experimented, wrapping his hand around the pointed end of the football and tucking the other end against his forearm, using the pressure between his arm and body to secure it.

For now, he'd give it a try. He could always ask the coaches or teammates for advice later.

Little did he know, this small action caught Saban's eye again—

Not only was Lance a quick learner who liked to figure things out, but he also instinctively understood the importance of ball protection for a running back during intense contact.

A promising student!

With everything ready, Lance looked ahead and made a small adjustment.

"Attack!"

Without hesitation, Lance shouted the command.

This time, his eyes immediately caught Allen's movement. Allen's start, sprint, and pressure were executed in one seamless motion.

Now in professional mode, Allen showcased his top-tier NCAA defensive skills, charging straight at Lance like a storm.

And Lance?

He didn't dodge or evade; in fact, he charged right at Allen!

At first glance, Lance's running route seemed no different from the first attempt; however, a closer look revealed that while he had run straight before, relying purely on speed to outrun Allen before contact, this time Lance was running at a slight leftward angle, directly toward Allen!

It was like an egg smashing against a rock!

Gasp.

A wave of gasps rippled through the onlookers—

They had seen foolishness before, but never a rookie as dumb as Lance. In a head-to-head clash of size and weight, Lance going against Allen was a recipe for disaster.

In a real game, with offensive and defensive lines blocking and interfering with each other, the impact of a collision might be reduced, making a direct hit less severe. But now, with no blockers, this was a pure contest of strength—a straightforward, brute-force clash.

This…

It was too painful to watch.

Some of the players couldn't bear it, turning away to avoid witnessing the impending disaster. But they were caught off guard when a chorus of gasps and shouts filled the air.

It wasn't shock or pity, but rather a mix of surprise and excitement!

Those who had looked away quickly opened their eyes and turned back:

What happened?!

There was no way Lance would be stupid enough to smash head-on into Allen. Even if he knew nothing about football, he'd know there was no way he could win in a direct collision with Allen.

As Lance closed in on Allen, he could see the excitement in Allen's eyes. Clearly, this kind of situation had happened multiple times in actual games. It was like an eagle swooping down on a chick.

But!

Just as they were about to collide, Lance sidestepped to the right, half a step—

Timing it perfectly in the split second before impact, he shifted his position, turning what would have been a head-on collision into a glancing blow to Allen's left shoulder.

Allen's strength was still formidable, but due to the last-second shift in position, his bulk became a hindrance. He couldn't adjust his balance quickly enough, leaving his left shoulder underpowered for the hit.

Ugh!

With a grunt, Allen felt the impact from Lance's shoulder. There was no hesitation, no fear, as Lance's shoulder met his, like a rhino's horn striking without hesitation! Despite Allen's best efforts, the momentum shifted, with Lance's force lifting Allen's left shoulder upward and Allen's own right shoulder driving forward.

Before Allen could react, the next second, he found himself spinning like a top, rotating clockwise!

Whoa, whoa, whoa!!!

Was this… ballet?!

Allen spun clumsily, the world whirling around him, dizzy and disoriented. He flailed his arms, as if performing a traditional Russian dance, trying to regain his balance, but he inevitably crashed down with a heavy thud.

Crap!

Allen was crushed, both literally and figuratively.

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Powerstones?