Crisis!
Buckner’s alarm is sounding all over, every cell in his body is issuing a warning. Although he can’t see the whole picture and can’t understand Reed’s strategy, Buckner’s beast instinct stays vigilant in the match, realizing this could be the mont of life and death at the first instant.
If there really is a mont of life and death in the Super Bowl, this is it.
Start, step up, breakthrough.
Buckner bursts out with unbelievable energy, stepping forward regardless, breaking through the offensive line with a reckless attitude but slightly slower —
After all, he’s not Aaron Donald.
The Kansas City Chiefs’ offensive line also realizes this is a life and death battle, instantly bursting with astonishing energy and directly colliding with the defensive line without giving an inch.
The collision of strength and strength, the confrontation of montum and montum, ti and space appear briefly frozen and stalemated, the sll of blood spreading in the freely spewing sweat.
Then!
Just as Buckner is trying to break free from the offensive line tangle, his peripheral vision notices a touch of white on the left side of the pocket.
That’s... Bosa.
Not only Buckner, but Bosa also realizes the crisis, instantly bursting with energy, avoiding the offensive line’s positioning, and cutting into the pocket from the side, rushing straight towards Mahos.
This is good news!
Energy, release.
Bosa bursts instantly, seemingly regaining his peak form from last season, a hint of killer instinct bursting in his eyes, finally regaining his montum while standing in a desperate situation.
But... where is Li Wei?
Why didn’t Li Wei disrupt Bosa in the pocket?
Buckner doesn’t have ti to survey all around, let alone ti to find Li Wei’s position, all he can do is quickly cut into the pocket and apply pressure.
Ah, ah ah ah!
Buckner finally breaks free from the offensive line, piercing Kansas City Chiefs’ heart like a dagger, with Mahos directly exposed in front of him.
The pocket, broken.
San Francisco 49ers’ all-out gamble eventually takes the lead in the offense-defense confrontation, all happening in a brief mont, Mahos swaying dangerously like a leaf boat in a storm, swept into wave after wave of turbulence, ready to overturn at any mont.
Bosa charges first, Mahos is forced into a hurried stop and change of direction, barely evading Bosa’s grasp, just lifting his head to scan ahead, shifting from his own right to left, searching for a passing target, only to encounter Buckner right in front.
Eyes et, and sparks fly.
Gasp!
Mahos holds his breath.
Bosa: ??? Damn!
Buckner is very patient, not rash, not impulsive, stepping forward while muscles are tense, maintaining 100% focus.
If Mahos throws a pass a step earlier, don’t bla Buckner for a block.
Air tightens instantly.
Mahos continues scanning, finally pausing at the Kansas City Chiefs’ left diagonal area, causing Buckner’s heart to contract instantly —
Hill.
No need to look back, no need to observe, Buckner already judged the field position, the target is evidently Hill in that direction and position, aning Mahos is preparing to challenge the end zone directly.
Damn it!
Fourth down ten yards, Kansas City Chiefs actually choose to play big, not only risky but directly aiming at the bullseye.
Buckner shows no hesitation, no delay, raising both arms high, launching himself towards Mahos.
Ti. Space. Completely freezes at this mont.
Mahos is exhausted, chest burning, knees trembling, smoke and fire surge up and down in throat and chest cavity with each breath, whole body disintegrating, likely falling apart any mont, even without Buckner’s touch, avoiding Bosa already drained his last energy.
But!
Mahos’ mind is a void, no distractions, focusing with each breath and basis the body’s fatigue, concentrating completely on this mont of freeze, a hint of unwavering belief bursts from his pupils —
Co on, Buckner.
Mahos’ pupils reflect Buckner’s figure, as for Bosa? Already out of sight.
Get closer.
Closer still.
Mahos holds breath, allows flas to burn every inch of muscle, calmly watches Buckner approach, bit by bit.
Then, lifts right hand.
Just a mont before Buckner arrives, able to clearly see Buckner’s twisted face under the helt, seizes the fleeting instant.
Wrist, a gentle flick, relying solely on forearm and wrist strength, the football turns into a hazy red and brown light shooting out.
Buckner: Hehe, just in ti! Accurate prediction!
Buckner’s eyes betray a trace of ferocity and pride, both hands reaching up, fully stretching, extending to the extre —
Block, intercept.
He, like Gandalf the Gray from "The Lord of the Rings" intercepting Fla Dragon, blocks the path, calmly shouting:
"You shall not pass!"
Fourth down ten yards, blocking interception, Buckner is set to beco the Super Bowl hero, just like Malcolm Butler in the forty-ninth Super Bowl, largely altering the situation and overturning victory with an interception/steal, leading the team to the pinnacle of Super Bowl Champions on Rainbow Cloud.
Pride reflects from eyes, Buckner seemingly sees the entire Hard Rock Stadium cheering and bowing for him, ready to embrace with open arms the applause and heat wave that belong to him, even can’t help but conceive his celebratory moves.
Ah! Ah ah ah!
Energy, gushing.
But—
Where is the football?
Buckner’s body already stretched to the limit, energy released without reserve, but no target in sight he intended to attack.
Suddenly, Buckner feels his heart firmly seized by surprise, all surging, excitent, blood boiling, instantly freezing to ice, dropping into a cold abyss in an instant.
Buckner rounds his eyes, clearly seeing Mahos’ eyes, no barriers, no obstructions, both gazes colliding through the helt.
Revealing all.
Those eyes, so clear, so bright, so honest, earnest and diligent, even showing a touch of innocence.
Yet, Buckner doesn’t see the trajectory of the football flying in his front or above, his hands for blocking forlornly waving in the air.
The ball?
He knows sothing is amiss, but has no proof.
Suddenly, Buckner feels like a fool, the pride in his pupils freezing in an instant, swallowed by panic and fear the next second.
Bosa!
Undeterred, unyielding Bosa, after Mahos evades, spins quickly like a top, managing to stand up with stumbling movents, has no ti to distinguish direction, seizes the red flush in the pocket with peripheral sight, fiercely crashes in with gritted teeth.
Bang!
Bosa and Mahos collide, Mahos rolling out, Bosa staggering, barely controlling footing, turning around as his gaze collides with Buckner’s amid chaos, Bosa’s eyes reveal flaunt in his pride.
However, Buckner seemingly sees a fool: "Is your brain waterlogged?"
Yellow Flag!
Rough quarterback collision foul.
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