The game swung back and forth—attack, defend, attack again. Because it was the Super Bowl, every snap carried extra ferocity. The hits were brutal, the collisions violent. Injuries piled up on both sides, and offensive efficiency suffered.
By the end of the first quarter, the scoreboard read Jets 13, Panthers 10. The Jets held only a field goal's lead—barely a breath of an advantage.
---
Second Quarter – Panthers' Drive
The Panthers opened the second quarter with possession, but their offense sputtered badly.
First down: Zhao Dong stormed through and crushed the quarterback for a sack, pushing them back six yards.
Second down: They managed a meager three-yard gain.
Third down: An incomplete pass.
Now stuck deep in their own 17-yard red zone, their situation was grim. Facing fourth down, they had no choice but to punt.
---
Special Teams Showdown
The punting units ran on. Zhao Dong, the Jets' primary returner, lined up.
Because of his terrifying return record—including a legendary 108-yard touchdown—the Panthers weren't taking chances. They stacked their special teams with starters, even star defensive tackle Neo Tielin and offensive tackle Carl Marton.
The Panthers' punter crouched at his own 9-yard line, staring at a hundred yards of green grass between him and the opposite end zone.
A field goal from this range was impossible—the NFL record was only 63 yards. Even blasting the ball beyond the Jets' end zone would require enormous leg strength.
Zhao Dong positioned himself near the front of the red zone on the left wing, another returner shadowing the right.
---
"Bang!"
The punter swung with everything he had. The ball rocketed upward.
But the instant it left his foot, his heart dropped.
"Oh no…" he muttered under his breath. He had overkicked—and worse, the ball veered off course.
American football isn't a soccer ball—it's pointed at both ends. A mishit doesn't just wobble, it tumbles erratically, drunkenly, cutting its distance short and sending it spinning off track.
The Panthers' sideline erupted in curses. "Damn it!" shouted their coaches as the ball drifted crookedly toward the right wing.
---
Zhao Dong's eyes lit up. He instantly read the flight. The ball would drop just outside the red zone—barely ten yards in front of him.
It was a live ball. That meant both sides had a claim to it. Whoever secured it, owned it.
Zhao Dong had two options:
Fair Catch. Raise his arm and signal. The Panthers wouldn't be allowed to hit him, and the Jets' offense would start from wherever he caught it. Safe, reliable.
No Signal. Field it live and risk being immediately blasted by defenders. Dangerous, but it meant a chance for a return.
There was one protection: before he touched the ball, no defender could hit him or even enter a two-yard halo. Any violation meant a penalty. But the second his hands touched leather, all bets were off.
The football arced at its peak, then began its rapid descent. On the ground, three of the Panthers' fastest gunners—running backs and cornerbacks—were sprinting full speed. Their timing was perfect. They would reach Zhao Dong at the exact moment he caught the ball.
---
Zhao Dong stayed ice-cold.
He knew he couldn't leave his feet. Jumping for the catch would be suicide—the Panthers would spear him in midair, and the landing could end his Super Bowl right there.
The wobbling ball made things worse. No one-handed snatch was possible; he needed both hands locked around it.
Which left him one option: secure the catch, then instantly dodge the incoming hit.
The three gunners locked in on Zhao Dong's position, rushing like predators scenting blood.
They formed a deadly triangle: the fastest barreled straight down the middle like an arrow, the second cut in from the left, the third from the right. No matter where Zhao Dong dodged, a collision was inevitable.
Seventy thousand fans in the stadium and hundreds of millions watching worldwide held their breath, bracing for the brutal impact. Many were convinced Zhao Dong would leave the field injured.
"Oh no…"
On the Jets' sideline, panic flashed across every face—from the owner to the general manager to Head Coach Edward.
Then, against all expectations, Zhao Dong suddenly leapt backward, hands stretched wide.
"What?!"
Gasps echoed through the stadium. His leap caught even the front gunner off guard. Instinctively, the rusher launched himself into the air, aiming to crush Zhao Dong mid-flight.
"Snap!"
Zhao Dong secured the ball with both hands. Then, while sliding through the air, he twisted mid-spin, pulling off a stunning aerial dodge.
"Whoosh!"
The gunner whistled past Zhao Dong's left side, missing by inches, before crashing into the turf several yards away.
"Ohhh!"
The crowd erupted in awe.
"Beautiful!" shouted commentator Lance Victor, half out of his seat.
Zhao Dong hit the ground, planted firmly, and swung his arms like a dancer, carrying the momentum into a lightning-fast 360-degree ground spin.
"Whoosh!"
The third rusher swept past on Zhao Dong's left, missing completely.
"Yeah!"
Two flawless escapes sent the fans into a frenzy, their cheers shaking the stadium.
"Go! Go!" they roared.
Zhao Dong broke free of the three gunners and surged forward. His start position was 29 yards out from the red zone. In one stride he crossed the 30-yard line, then the 35.
"Thirty-five yards! Zhao Dong's still alive—forty now, forty-five!" Lance Victor's voice boomed through the speakers.
At the 55-yard line, offensive tackle Carl Marton barreled straight toward him, a human freight train. Zhao Dong, still regaining speed from his dodges, suddenly braked hard.
"Huh!"
Marton thundered past him like a blind bear, slamming face-first into the turf.
Zhao Dong instantly pivoted, sidestepped a desperate cornerback diving at him, then hit the accelerator again.
"Unbelievable footwork! Fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy yards!" commentator Luca Michael roared, riding the wave of chaos.
Two safeties charged from the left, closing in to trap him. Ahead, waiting at the 80-yard line—the Panthers' red zone line—stood the last man: star defensive tackle Neo Tielin. Three defenders remained.
Zhao Dong's breaths came short and sharp as he sprinted. His eyes locked on the right-side safety, the fastest of the three. If he could break him, the lane would open.
Without hesitation, Zhao Dong veered right, never breaking stride.
"Here we go again!" Lance Victor's voice cracked with excitement.
Everyone knew Zhao Dong's reputation. After long-distance sprints, he had a brutal habit: lowering his shoulder and smashing through the final defender. More than once, players had left the league in his wake.
The fans knew it. They loved it. The stadium boiled over, the roar deafening, as if the roof itself might crack apart.
Mud and grass tore under his cleats as Zhao Dong exploded forward. His Savage Collision Badge triggered—his power spiked, his speed surged another level. He was already a charging semi-truck; now he was a runaway freight train.
The safety's eyes went wide. Instinct screamed louder than courage.
"Damn it!" he cursed, throwing on the brakes.
A hurricane of wind blasted past him as Zhao Dong stormed by untouched.
"Hhhhuuhhh!"
The safety gasped in relief, grateful just to be alive.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for Advanced Chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9