American Football: Domination

Childress's face lit up with pleasant surprise. He hadn't expected Lance to adapt so quickly, skillfully playing to his strengths while compensating for his weaknesses. Unable to contain his delight, he turned to Reid.

Reid, ever the poker-faced strategist, remained stoic, but his gaze stayed locked on Lance. A subtle shift in his expression betrayed a hint of astonishment.

Running backs are often plug-and-play players in the NFL, with many excelling in their rookie seasons. The real question is how a coach can maximize their potential.

Reid's mind raced, considering the possibilities.

In the ring, however, Bailey was furious.

What had started as mild irritation had blossomed into full-blown rage. Being embarrassed in front of his teammates had stoked a fire that threatened to consume him.

"Fine," he spat, scrambling clumsily to his feet, sweat streaming down his face. His jersey was disheveled, and his breathing was heavy. "You want another go? Let's do it."

Then, lowering his voice, he added with a sneer, "Or are you scared? If you want to back out, just say so. No shame for a rookie. We'll go easy on you."

His eyes burned with malice as he glared at Lance, his words laced with mockery.

Lance's response?

Perfect timing.

He stepped forward into the ring without hesitation, ready for a third showdown. No words, no posturing—just action. His body language alone was a challenge, his every movement dripping with confidence.

Bailey, caught off guard by Lance's calm and collected demeanor, gritted his teeth. "Damn it, this kid," he muttered under his breath.

Around them, the energy in the room reached a fever pitch. The defensive unit roared in support of Bailey, urging him to teach the rookie a lesson. On the other side, the offensive unit rallied around Lance, cheering for him to defy expectations once again.

In the chaos of this building storm, Reid observed silently.

The media had not been kind to the Chiefs' draft decisions. Those same doubts had trickled into the locker room, where skepticism about the rookies lingered.

And as the third overall pick, Lance was at the center of that storm.

If Lance could emerge victorious, Reid knew, he'd quiet more than just his critics—he'd take the first step toward becoming the leader this team needed.

The players took their positions, crouching low.

Sweat rolled down their faces, and their jerseys clung to their bodies. Every muscle was taut, every breath ragged. The crowd roared around them, their shouts blending into a cacophony of sound.

Tweet!

The whistle blew.

Lance was hyper-focused. He knew that a straight-up collision would never work against someone like Bailey. To prevail, he needed to stay calm, read his opponent, and use his brain.

He glanced down.

Knuckles still.

Bailey wasn't charging. He was holding his ground, bracing for Lance to run into him.

This approach suited Bailey perfectly—if Lance came straight at him, Bailey would use his size and strength to nullify any attempt to break free.

Lance smirked. Predictable.

Bailey's strategy wasn't one of dominance—it was one of fear. By staying defensive, he was ceding the initiative to Lance.

Lance shifted his weight. He knew what he needed to do.

Exploding off his back foot, Lance charged forward.

Bailey widened his stance, arms out, ready to grapple. But instead of colliding with Bailey's chest, Lance dropped his weight lower, bending at the knees until he was almost level with Bailey's thighs.

The key? Leverage.

Instead of striking head-on, Lance targeted Bailey's knees. His arms wrapped tightly around them, his entire body coiling like a spring.

With a powerful surge, Lance pushed upward.

Bailey's massive frame teetered. His arms flailed helplessly, unable to find purchase.

Then came the inevitable.

Crash!

Lance flipped Bailey clean over his shoulder, sending the 288-pound defensive lineman sailing through the air.

Bailey landed flat on his back with a thunderous impact that seemed to shake the earth beneath them.

The defensive players fell silent, mouths agape.

The offensive players erupted into cheers, their voices rising in unison.

Even Patrick Mahomes, typically full of jokes, stood slack-jawed before bursting into applause.

"Did… did Lance just do a suplex?" someone stammered.

Reid, watching from the sidelines, let out a long exhale. He hadn't expected Lance to adapt so quickly to the NFL's physical demands. It was an impressive show of intelligence and tenacity.

Before Reid could fully process his thoughts, the unexpected happened.

Bailey rolled onto his stomach, then pushed himself to his feet. His face was a mask of fury, and he clenched his fists tightly.

He was done with games.

Without warning, Bailey charged at Lance, fists raised.

"Bailey, no!" someone shouted.

But it was too late.

Chaos erupted on the field as players and coaches scrambled to intervene.

Reid's heart sank. This was not how things were supposed to go.

Disaster loomed.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates