Chapter 876: 875 Picking Stars with Bare Hands
Focus. Focus. Still focus.
This was the only thought in Mahos’ mind. Fully engaged in reading the defense, he realized the atmosphere was entirely taut. Flaws and gaps flickered in and out of sight, and the tenser the mont, the more patience was required.
“Attack!”
Mahos called the snap. At the very first mont—
He stepped back. Continued stepping back.
His light footwork created distance. Sure enough, next ca Donald charging like a tiger descending the mountain, executing a bull rush with unstoppable force, breaking through with devastating might.
Blitz!
The Los Angeles Rams Head Coach McVay knew exactly how critical the current situation was. He also knew they had to apply imnse pressure at the frontlines.
Despite the recent Fourth Down with two yards to go, where McVay had expected Reed to opt for a pass but had been caught off-guard by Li Wei’s fierce ground assault that audaciously stole five yards,
McVay didn’t hesitate to attack again. For the second consecutive ti, he chose a blitz. He was certain Reed would stick to a passing play, and Donald’s target was clear: Mahos. Ruthlessly, Donald cast Li Wei entirely aside.
When Donald operates at 100% focus, he’s a god of destruction.
To Donald, the offensive line was no tougher than paper. A single step forward, a bull rush—it all happened faster than a blink as he cut into the pocket.
Yet Mahos, too, had prepared. He had already stepped back to create space—
The primary aim being to evade Donald’s initial bull rush.
Despite Donald’s overwhelming ability to follow up, his greatest danger lay in that first rush. Thus, by predicting ahead of ti and pulling back early, Mahos could carve out crucial breathing room, allowing himself to duel with Donald.
However, Mahos underestimated one thing: Donald’s resolve.
Sparked by Li Wei’s earlier outstanding performance, Donald was now surging with 200% intensity, his acceleration and power even more ferocious than normal. Like an unstoppable predator, he clung to Mahos, relentless in pursuit.
Mahos kept retreating but couldn’t make enough space. He had no ti to reset or survey the field. He had to throw.
—Bang. Impact.
—Whoosh. The pass.
Contact made!
Donald’s hit and Mahos’ pass execution happened nearly simultaneously. In the chaos, Mahos didn’t even have ti to complete a full throwing motion. Relying rely on a wrist flick, he barely controlled the ball, which arced in a shallow parabola, skimming above the tangled fray at the line.
It rose high, then fell rapidly.
The intended target was—
Kelsey?
Right after the snap, Kelsey had darted in a diagonal route to the right, matched up against his forr teammate, cornerback Peters.
Peters stayed fully alert. He was well aware of Kelsey’s prowess. One-on-one against Kelsey, Peters knew he was at a disadvantage, but his confidence didn’t waver. Attention sharp as a blade, Peters kept two to three steps of separation while closely shadowing Kelsey’s movents, sparing only the barest peripheral glance toward the pocket.
It’s coming!
Donald’s relentless pressure on Mahos left no ti for adjustnts or waiting. This ant whoever the target was, they had to be ready this instant.
Peters couldn’t afford to scan the field for other options. He fixated solely on Kelsey. What Peters didn’t notice, however, was his teammate moving in to assist with marking Kelsey. Understanding dawned in an instant: the Kansas City Chiefs had tactically spread their receivers across short passing zones to pin down the safeties in the defensive backfield while creating a nurical advantage for their offensive group up front.
Wait, hold on—those numbers don’t add up.
The Los Angeles Rams were rushing five n. Two linebackers and two cornerbacks handled man coverage in the short passing zones, leaving exactly four receivers matched up for the Kansas City Chiefs.
So, where was the nurical edge?
The ga moved too fast to think it all through. Peters imdiately noticed Kelsey cutting back and internal alarms flared. He lunged forward without delay.
Though strenuous, though difficult, Peters managed to close the gap with Kelsey just in ti, seeking to block him off—
But where was the football?
Peters tilted his head upward, searching for the ball, and caught a glimpse of a streak of white speeding toward the sideline in his peripheral vision.
His eyes faltered, struggling to track everything. He almost doubted his own vision.
On pure reflex—guided by instinct—he abandoned Kelsey and pivoted, sprinting towards the fleeting streak of white.
But it was already too late, half a step behind.
The figure in the white jersey, number twenty-three, executed a stunning turn, leaping into the air. His slender fra fully extended, poised and graceful.
The football’s flight was unstable—a visibly imperfect parabola, with inconsistent force control causing the ball to wobble precariously. It wasn’t a clean spiral. Instead, it looked like a fallen autumn leaf trembling in a whirlwind, as though any second it might vanish into the storm.
Shaky and swaying, the ball seed bound to soar overhead and out of reach.
Although fraught with difficulty and danger, rushed and precarious, Mahos had threaded the needle under Donald’s suffocating pressure. This was a bold ten-yard pass, and following the conversion on the recent Fourth and Two, it was clear that Mahos intended to capitalize on the montum with a daring attempt on First Down.
But due to Donald’s fierce embrace, Mahos’ control faltered. The throw veered between eleven and twelve yards and edged slightly toward the boundary line, even as the parabolic arc was just contained. By all accounts, this seed destined to be—
An incomplete pass.
Then, that elongated silhouette reached its utmost extension, every ounce focused, eyes locked unerringly on the ball. No distractions, no hesitation. His back arched into a crescent bridge, his right hand tracing the descent of the football, fingertips giving the faintest nudge to alter its falling trajectory.
In the next heartbeat, body and ball plunged together.
Yet those hands reached forward assertively, as if plucking stars from the heavens, firmly cradling the unruly ball into his grasp.
“Caught!”
“Unbelievable!”
Gasps of astonishnt froze mid-throat, trapped unwillingly. The catch alone wasn’t enough—his feet now had to stay inbounds.
The sideline, razor-thin like a cliff’s edge, held the gaze of the entire stadium—and indeed the entire North Arican continent—fixated on the white-jerseyed number twenty-three’s feet, dancing precariously on the brink.
Ti, montarily suspended.
Left foot down. Right foot down. His body defied gravity, balanced perfectly within the sideline.
Exhale.
A brief hold on breath broke.
Then, he pivoted mid-air—a clean 360-degree spin—to recover balance and poise, landing flawlessly.
The performance was complete.
Boom.
In an instant, roaring passion surged across minds and hearts, tearing through the constraints of ti and space. Frenzied cheers and shouts erupted, so fierce it drowned out all sound into a muffled ringing. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, staring in stupor at the scene unfolding.
Peters gave everything he had but failed to join the act, reduced to a re bystander as he overshot his mark and tumbled out of bounds in awkward surrender.
“Shit!”
Peters couldn’t stop a curse from slipping out. Turning around, he spotted Li Wei and Kelsey high-fiving in celebration, their shoulders bumping in camaraderie.
A perfect play!
The defense delivered brilliantly; the offense executed masterfully. Blow after blow exchanged between titans, neither side giving an inch. Blades clashed, crimson stakes rose high, and the tallic tang of blood tainted the air, igniting an all-encompassing energy.
This is the peak showdown.
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