Snap!
Tom Hanks caught the ball cleanly with both hands, planted his feet, and exploded forward. Grass and dirt kicked up behind him as he sprinted into open field.
"Stop him!"
Shouts erupted from the stands and the sidelines, but there was no one close enough to touch him. With nothing but daylight ahead, Hanks cruised into the end zone—replicating his first-quarter touchdown.
"Yeah!"
Hanks spiked the ball hard into the turf. The Jets sideline went absolutely berserk—players yelling over one another, coaches pumping their fists, helmets slamming against shoulders. The noise was deafening against the stunned silence hanging over the rest of the stadium.
"Forty-four to forty-four. The Jets still need the extra point," commentator Ziegler groaned into his mic. "Oh, that's brutal! Just brutal! God, that's tough to swallow."
His booth partner, Chernow, stayed quiet for a long three seconds before finally adding, "A beautiful throw. Tyrannosaurus—Zhao Dong—has the makings of an elite quarterback. Congrats to the New York Jets… you're as lucky as the Knicks."
The two exchanged a glance and a wry smile. Tie game or not, they both knew which team had the momentum now.
Players from both sides left the field for the special teams unit. Zhao Dong trotted toward the bench. His lower back and side still ached—nothing serious, but uncomfortable.
"System, local minor injury recovery," he commanded silently.
"Executing now," came the instant reply.
Warmth spread through his muscles. Within seconds, the tightness and soreness faded completely.
"Beautiful. More of that in the future, please," Zhao Dong muttered under his breath. The system, as usual, stayed silent.
On the Jets bench, kicker Hans Clingham was loosening up. He looked tense. Miss here, and they'd be headed for overtime—just like last week.
"Hans, relax. Just put it through," Zhao Dong said, giving him a solid punch to the chest pad.
"No problem," Clingham grinned. "Watch this."
Thor squeezed in beside Zhao Dong. "Zhao what if he shanks it?"
Before Zhao Dong could answer, General Manager Maureen Phillips barked from behind them, "Then I'll rip his brain out and shove it where the sun doesn't shine!"
The bench roared with laughter.
Clingham jogged out and lined up the kick. Snap. Hold. Kick—clean and true, splitting the uprights.
The Jets were up by one.
Two-point-one seconds remained. One last possession for the Colts. Peyton Manning dropped back, launched a deep one… and overthrew it out of bounds. The clock hit zero.
Final: Jets 45, Colts 44. Two straight wins to open the season.
Zhao Dong and his teammates stormed the field, helmets in the air, shouting in celebration.
For Zhao Dong, it had been a monster day: six interceptions total—five against Peyton Manning himself. Three came on short routes, two on medium passes. One, in the first quarter, had gone all the way back for a touchdown.
Four of his six system "missions" were now complete, and with them came a prize—Peyton Manning's mid-range passing technique.
In the locker room shower, Zhao Dong opened the system menu in his mind.
"Hey, I knocked out another mission task. No bonus reward?"
"No," the system answered flatly.
"Cheap," Zhao Dong muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Fine. Install Manning's mid-pass."
Seconds later, his mid-pass skill level ticked up to 80—one more step toward eventually running an NFL offense himself.
Quarterbacks, he knew, were the rarest commodity in football. In the draft, they went early—like centers in the NBA's golden days.
---
An hour later, the post-game pressers began. The Colts' room had the heavy air of a team that had let one slip away. Luckily for them, it wasn't a division game.
"Coach Lomas," a reporter began gently, "you've got a strong roster. What happened out there?"
Head coach Adam Lomas gave a thin smile. "One guy. Tyrannosaurus—Zhao Dong. We just didn't have anyone who could match up with him."
He shook his head. "He's a nightmare to scheme against—special teams, offense, defense. We kept the ball away from him on returns, but he still found ways to hurt us. On defense, he lined up at strong-side linebacker and wrecked our tight end in coverage. Six interceptions. Two in the red zone. Two touchdowns. Brutal.
"On offense? Even worse. Running back one play, tight end the next, then out wide at receiver. Every snap was a problem."
From his tone alone, it was clear Peyton Manning was in a foul mood.
"Peyton," a reporter from the New York Sports Daily asked with a smug grin, "has your opinion of the Jets' 'Tyrannosaurus' changed after tonight?"
Manning's chest rose and fell as he took a breath. His voice stayed steady, but there was weight in it.
"He played great tonight. I didn't. He picked me off five times—one of those went back for six, and another almost did. This loss is on me."
It wasn't like Manning had never thrown interceptions before. He'd once been picked three times in a single quarter. But five by the same player in one game—by a rookie, no less—hit different. It stung.
Still, after five seasons in the league, his confidence had been hardened by experience. He shook off the frustration and continued.
"We were careless tonight. We didn't prepare well enough for Tyrannosaurus—Zhao Dong—his ability to read routes, and the way he moves around their offense. We weren't ready.
"But I believe we have the strength to beat the Jets. If they don't make it to the Super Bowl this season, then next year… we'll see them again, and we'll get it back."
"Can you give an overall evaluation of Zhao's performance?" the Sports Daily reporter pressed.
Manning thought for a moment.
"Physically, he's elite—one of the best I've ever seen. His burst, his leaping ability, his wingspan, his speed… it all makes him dangerous in coverage.
"Half the time tonight, he looked like a superstar. The other half, he was just… solid. But for a rookie still adjusting to the league? That's more than good enough. Like I said yesterday—he'll make it in the NFL. He's got the talent and the tools."
---
Over in the Jets' media room, questions flew at Zhao Dong one after another.
A New York Times reporter grinned. "Zhao, congrats—you're now leading the league in interceptions. But you've lost your top spot in sacks. The Patriots' defensive end, 'Man-Eating Shark' Newman Dakal, picked up two more tonight. That puts him at three for the season—number one."
" Newman Dakal?" Zhao Dong echoed.
He knew the name all too well. Dakal had terrorized Jets quarterbacks for years. Since Waring Paul joined New York three seasons ago, Dakal had sacked him eight times in just six meetings—more than once a game on average.
The guy was a monster—6'3", 308 pounds, all power, explosion, and speed. He'd led the league in sacks last season, and now here he was again at the top.
And next week? The Jets would host the Patriots—defending Super Bowl champions from the 2001–2002 season.
Zhao Dong didn't need to be told what they were up against. As someone who knew how history played out, he understood exactly how good they were. Ever since they hired Bill Belichick in 2000 and drafted Tom Brady—the "Amazing Tom" of the future—the Pats were on the path to becoming the NFL's greatest dynasty. Their 2001 title was only the beginning. If nothing changed, they'd win it all again this season.
"Zhao," a reporter asked, "you didn't record a sack tonight. Planning to get back to the top of the list?"
"Why not? I like a challenge," Zhao Dong grinned.
Another voice from the back: "You threw two incredible passes in the red zone tonight—both for touchdowns. Ever think about becoming the Jets' quarterback?"
That one was tricky. Sitting just to Zhao Dong's right was the team's starter, Paul Wein, whose face tightened at the question.
Zhao Dong shot him a friendly look and said, "Haven't thought about that. Wein's doing a good job."
"Zhao," a third reporter jumped in, "you've gone two straight games without a sack. Why is that?"
Zhao Dong leaned back and thought for a moment. "I'm playing linebacker. That's not exactly close to the quarterback. And we've faced guys like Manning—pure passers who get the ball out quick. Six or seven yards between me and him every snap. You need the right break to get there."
"Planning to get to Tom Brady next week?" someone asked with a smirk.
Zhao Dong's grin widened. "Of course. What defensive player doesn't want to bring down the other team's quarterback?"
(End of Chapter)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for Advanced Chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9