Chapter 132: A Menacing Look
Ten yards.
Fifteen yards.
Lance was sprinting at full speed, the ball securely in his grip. Directly ahead, he saw Baker spreading his arms wide like an eagle, ready to block his path forward.
Getting closer.
Even closer.
It seemed that the two were about to collide near the Crimson Tide's midfield, neither changing direction. They were like two runaway trains on a collision course, about to crash head-on with no brakes.
The stadium fell silent, the crowd collectively holding its breath.
Just a moment ago, they had witnessed the "car crash" between Jones and Victor, and now they were on the verge of seeing another one. Even the air seemed to freeze.
Baker remained calm and focused, controlling his excitement to avoid messing up the tackle. He waited until he was a hundred percent sure of his position before making his move.
Lowering his center of gravity, he pushed off the ground and lunged.
Got him.
Baker intercepted Lance perfectly, a surge of excitement flooding through him—until it abruptly vanished.
"Ugh."
Baker let out a grunt.
His chest tightened, feeling as if a freight train had plowed straight through his chest, flattening him. The collision's force sent his thoughts spiraling, causing his vision to darken. Before he could process what had happened, his body's balance and control had been utterly shattered.
"Huh?"
In the next moment, Baker felt weightless, as if he had defied gravity. The only sound he heard was the rush of wind in his ears.
He was airborne.
What...what just happened?
The entire stadium was in shock.
Just as Lance was about to collide with Baker, he bent his knees and lowered his center of gravity, slightly shifting his position. He slammed his shoulder hard into Baker's chest, hitting him before Baker could secure the tackle.
From his run-up to his acceleration to the final impact, Lance's raw power demolished Baker's attempted tackle. His speed fueled the blow, shattering Baker's balance and sending him flying.
Baker, who was smaller and lighter than Lance, stood no chance. All the techniques and tactics he relied on crumbled under the sheer force of the impact.
It was pure power breaking through—head-to-head, face-to-face.
Boom!
Baker was flung away like a kite with a broken string, while Lance felt the pressure lift. His speed and power, unshackled, allowed him to move freely once more.
Step, step, step.
Regaining his momentum, Lance accelerated, leaving nothing in reserve.
The entire stadium erupted into a frenzy—
"Roll!"
Crossing the forty-yard line, Lance kept advancing past midfield, the field in front of him wide open.
"Roll!"
Passing the thirty-yard line, the Georgia Dome reverberated with the Crimson Tide's signature rallying cry for the season, accompanying Lance's untethered sprint to glory.
"Roll!"
Crossing the twenty-yard line, Washington's defenders still pursued him with all their might, but the opportunity had slipped away. Lance's momentum and speed had completely overwhelmed them, and they could only watch in disbelief as he pulled ahead.
"Roll!"
At the ten-yard line, the red zone was in sight.
Touchdown line—score.
Everything looked so effortless, so graceful.
There was a composed evasion, a sudden burst of speed, a bone-crushing collision, and a runaway sprint. Lance showcased the art of ground offense to its fullest, delivering a powerful response—
Washington, are you ready? You think you are, but are you really? Have you ever seen the true Crimson Tide?
In the end zone, Lance came to a stop, without any cheering, shouting, or celebratory dance. He simply stood there, placing his right hand near his ear and waited.
He was waiting for Washington's response.
And waiting for Alabama's response.
Then—
In the stands, Washington's fans were left speechless, watching the stunned and dazed Baker, who couldn't seem to stand up.
Baker's inner monologue: Who am I, where am I, and what just happened?
Three seconds later, a unified chant echoed through the Georgia Dome.
"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere. He's the edge-walker, Lance, Lance, Lance!"
Again and again, like crashing waves, the entire stadium seemed to bow in reverence before Lance. Even the broadcast commentators were drowned out by the overwhelming noise.
Tough!
Relentless!
Dominant!
Washington had struck first, taking control of the game and declaring their intent to win. But they hadn't expected their move to awaken a sleeping giant. The Crimson Tide's swift counterattack shattered the advantage Washington had painstakingly built.
Lance, wearing the number 23, had just completed a seventy-five-yard touchdown run, weaving through four defenders to reach the end zone. In less than thirty seconds, he had wiped away Washington's hard-earned lead and reset the playing field.
A terrifying display!
Washington was left in disarray. Browning, Baker—both looked shaken. They had put in their best effort and executed their strategies perfectly, yet it all seemed useless.
So, what now?
Boom!
Boom, boom, boom!
The Georgia Dome had transformed into Bryant-Denny Stadium, with the Crimson Tide's fans completely overwhelming Washington's supporters. The deafening roars left Washington's defense, once so determined and confident, standing in bewilderment.
Baker remained seated on the ground, unable to get up: small, helpless, shivering.
Meanwhile, in the end zone, Lance, hardly even breaking a sweat, took off his helmet and high-fived his offensive teammates. He handed the ball to the special teams' player, casually strolling to the sidelines to pass the torch to the defense.
Humphrey, having finally regained his grin, looked at Lance and broke into a broad smile. "Beast! You're an absolute beast. They're trembling at your feet, haha, I love it."
Lance clapped hands with Humphrey. "The real beasts of the Crimson Tide are the defense. Coach Saban's watching you guys, and it's your job to make them tremble."
Allen joined in, patting Humphrey on the back. "You heard that, right? Anyone who doesn't know would think we're an offense-first team now. Ten years of defensive tradition—gone, just like that. We can't let that happen."
That little joke brought an exasperated look to Humphrey's face as he turned his gaze to the opposing sideline, cracking his knuckles—
Pop, pop.
Clearly, Washington wasn't planning to back down. If they had the nerve to challenge Alabama, it meant they were ready for whatever came next.
After all, Washington had scored on their first drive, right?
Browning straightened his shoulders, ready to face the reigning champions once more. But as soon as he stepped onto the field, he could feel the shift in atmosphere. The piercing gazes of the Alabama defense bore into him, like wolves eyeing a helpless rabbit.
Those grins—each more menacing than the last.
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