I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Chapter 152 A resounding victory!

After a suffocating silence of two or three seconds, Larry erupted in a roar that nearly overturned the commentary booth: "Touchdown! Touchdown on the return of the fumble! Leon! It's Leon again! He knocked the ball away from Kyle Anderson, picked it up, and charged a full 58 yards! He charged past all the Lumberjacks players who tried to stop him, he smashed through the last ranger like an unstoppable tank, and he brought the ball into the end zone!"

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Larry's voice trembled violently with excitement and disbelief: "Ladies and gentlemen, I can't believe my eyes! But the scoreboard doesn't lie! The Cavaliers, another 6!"

Points! With the extra point, they'll take the lead! From 0-28 to now, my God, if the extra kick goes in, it'll be 35-35! It's tied! They've tied it! In the third quarter! By one man! Almost by one man!

'

Larry continued excitedly, "This is insane! This is fucking insane! This is the most fucking insane game I've ever seen! The most fucking insane individual performance! Leon! This number 21! What kind of monster is he?!"

'

Halfway through the logging team's work area, a desolate graveyard lay before them.

Kyle Anderson finally managed to stand up.

He stood blankly outside the sideline, watching the dark blue figure in the far corner as he placed the ball.

His face was completely blank.

His eyes were unfocused, as if his soul had been ripped away.

Sweat, cement, and paint mingled together, making him look utterly disheveled.

Several teammates walked over, seemingly wanting to pat him on the back.

But halfway up, his hand fell limply to the ground.

Everyone felt as if their spines had been removed.

Their defensive players stood on the court, hands on their hips, heads down, chests heaving, but not one of them spoke.

Dwayne Johnson stood at the edge of the crowd, no longer roaring or angry, but staring intently in the direction of the End Zone.

In the stands, the deafening roar of "Kill him!" had long since vanished.

Instead, there was a chilling, almost vacuum-like stillness.

Countless fans wearing yellow jerseys stood frozen in place, their expressions blank and their eyes vacant.

Some people slowly sat down, holding their heads in their hands; some covered their faces; and some looked up at the stadium roof.

It was as if they couldn't bear this cruel reality.

Only sporadic, tearful curses and sobs sounded particularly jarring in the deathly silence.

One fan muttered, "This is impossible!"

Another fan said desperately, "We're finished!"

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Someone angrily cursed: "Damn number 21!"

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Some whispered in anguish, "A complete disgrace!"

In stark contrast to this despairing yellow hell was the Cavaliers' bench, which had completely descended into madness.

All the players, coaches, and staff rushed out of the bench, surging towards the end zone like a blue tsunami.

They waved towels, helmets, anything they could wave, roaring, jumping, and hugging wildly.

Coach Duke ripped off his headphones and slammed them to the ground.

Then, like a child, he jumped and hopped around, waving his fists at the sky, his face turning bright red, and the veins on his neck bulging.

He turned and grabbed the offensive coordinator next to him, pounding his fist on the man's back, screaming incoherently, "Did you see that?! Did you fucking see that?! He did it! That kid did it! He fucking ripped the sky apart! God! I love that kid! I love this game!"

He even rushed to the sideline, facing the direction of the lumberjacks' bench, pounding his chest and letting out a beast-like roar.

He poured out all the pent-up anger and anxiety that had accumulated throughout the third section.

On the court, the Cavaliers players had surrounded Li Ang, and countless hands were slapping against his helmet and shoulder armor, making a dense thumping sound.

Bruce charged ahead, slamming his helmet into Leon's with a loud clang, then yelled in a hoarse voice, "Brother! You're a fucking legend! From today onwards, anyone who dares to say a bad word about you, I'll knock their teeth out!"

'

Li Ang was in the center of the crowd, being pushed and hugged by his teammates, his helmet banging loudly as it was slapped.

He could feel those burning hot palms and the overwhelming ecstasy that almost drowned him.

But he simply raised his hands and pressed them down.

The voice cut through the noise, reaching each teammate clearly: "It's not over yet, brothers. It's not over yet. The score is tied, but the game continues. They're not completely dead yet; they can bite again as soon as they breathe. Let's not rush to celebrate; let's hold onto this momentum and truly grasp the victory. Okay, brothers!"

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These words were like a bucket of just the right amount of cold water, directly extinguishing everyone's restless and impatient mood.

Bruce was the first to react.

He grabbed Li Ang with his uninjured arm and yelled at the crowd, "Yeah! Li Ang is right! Guys, did you hear that? The game isn't fucking over yet! Shut your mouths and save your energy for the next defensive down!"

The team members nodded emphatically, stopped celebrating, and their ecstasy quickly subsided into deeper focus.

The outcome of the next match was almost entirely predictable.

When the Lumberjacks returned to the court, both their defensive and offensive units moved unsteadily and their eyes were vacant.

Kyle Anderson stood with his pocket in his pocket, the leisurely ease he once possessed long gone.

Instead, a lingering sense of unease prevailed.

Each time he retreated, his gaze would involuntarily drift towards Li Ang's direction.

It was as if that deep blue shadow was a curse etched onto his retina.

The pocket protection became riddled with holes.

The attacking forwards seemed to still be replaying in their minds the fatal ball drop and the long, humiliating return for the touchdown.

The movements were stiff and hesitant.

Bruce, leading the Cavaliers' defensive frontline, charged fiercely at the fragile yellow barrier like a beast unleashed from its cage.

The passing became hesitant and forced.

Kyle saw the receiver run into open space several times.

However, they dared not shoot because of Li Ang's seemingly casual positioning, which actually blocked the best passing lane.

Ultimately, under increasing pressure from the close passing, they hastily threw the ball out of bounds, or were simply tackled to the ground.

The offensive came to a complete standstill.

Third-tier elimination, conceded.

He went back on the field and was eliminated in third place again.

The Cavaliers' offense was completely taken over by the duo of Leon and Bruce.

Bruce, dragging his half-crippled shoulder, charged forward like an enraged bull, clearing a path with the most savage charge.

Li Ang, with his accurate reading and calm passing, repeatedly found gaps in the defense.

The process became smooth and stable.

Each first attack was like another nail driven into the heart of the lumberjacks.

The game time ticked away steadily under the Cavaliers' control.

The lumberjacks' morale plummeted, like a deflated balloon.

In the stands, the once deafening yellow roar has become as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

Many fans held their heads in their hands, silently watching the glaring, ever-widening point difference on the scoreboard.

His face was etched with numbness and acceptance.

As the final whistle pierced the air above Lincoln College Stadium, the scoreboard stood still:

Lincoln College Lumberjacks 42:56 River Valley College Knights.

A stunning 56-point comeback occurred during those breathtaking twelve minutes in the third quarter.

It was directed and completed by that young Chinese-American boy wearing a dark blue number 21 jersey.

An eerie silence fell over the entire stadium.

There were neither cheers nor boos.

In the commentary booth, Larry Jensen took off his headphones, took a long, deep breath, and then slowly exhaled.

He stared at number 21 on the field, who was surrounded by a blue wave, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

After a few seconds of silence, he put his headphones back on and spoke into the microphone.

The voice was no longer its usual excited or mocking tone, but a rare calm tinged with deep emotion: "Ladies and gentlemen, the game is over. 42 to 35. The Valley Knights, on the road, have done it. How can I put it? A miracle? No, miracle is not enough. It was a hellish journey and a divine flight."

"I know I'm a fan of the lumberjacks' iron bars, I love this yellow, and I'm heartbroken by what the lads did today. But, guys, listen, that doesn't stop me, Larry Jensen, from being completely blown away here."

"I was completely blown away by Li Ang, number 21 of the River Valley Academy Knights. What this young man did tonight was the most incredible individual performance I've ever seen in my twenty years of commentary, no, it might be the forty years I've been watching football. There is no one like him."

"He came from the River Valley community, stepping onto this court that had been declared almost dead. Then, he played for the Special Teams and completed 95..."

He scored a touchdown on the breakaway. He played defense, completing a steal and a fumble recovery, both of which led to long runs for touchdowns. He even played offensive quarterback, assisting a teammate for a touchdown with a brilliant play.

"He single-handedly accounted for almost all of the Cavaliers' points in the second half. He single-handedly carried a team that had been beaten down by 28 points in the first half, and led them back from the brink of defeat, nailing the once-invincible Lumberjacks to the pillar of shame."

"I've seen many geniuses, but Li Ang is different. He has a cold-blooded focus and an extreme, pure competitive instinct. He's only a sophomore in high school, and this is his first official match. Think about it, guys, think about what this means!"

'

"I'm not making excuses for the logging team. We lost, we lost completely. But I want to say that losing to such an opponent, with such a performance, is not shameful. Not shameful at all!"

'

He looked back at the field, at the figure being lifted up by his teammates, and his voice suddenly became passionate.

The message, broadcast over the loudspeaker, echoed throughout the silent stadium: "So, Lumberjacks' Nation, let us set aside our disappointment and anger for now. Lift your heads and look at that 21..."

Number! Remember this name, remember this face! Because what you are witnessing today could very well be the beginning of a legend! The birth of a future superstar!

"He has speed, strength, intelligence, and that cold-blooded heart! He can do everything! I bet my entire commentary career that, as long as he stays healthy, the River Valley Knights, under his leadership, have a real chance to break out of the division, make it to the playoffs, and even go further!"

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"Now, I implore you all to join me. Let us give this rising star who conquered Lincoln College Stadium the respect he deserves! Let us chant his name, his nickname!"

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"Lightspeed runner, number 21!"

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At first, there were only sporadic, faint sounds.

The few Cavaliers fans scattered in the stands, all wearing blue jerseys, were already in tears.

He shouted back at the top of his lungs.

Then, some Timbers fans, those who truly appreciate great games, looked up.

They looked at the scoreboard, at the blue figure being tossed into the air, and recalled the chilling twelve minutes of the second half.

The sense of shame remained, but another, stronger emotion—the shock and awe at the absolute power and extraordinary performance—began to surge.

One, two, ten, a hundred, more and more yellow figures stood up.

They might still be pursing their lips, their expressions still grim.

But then they raised their hands, joining in, albeit in staggered but increasingly loud voices: "Lightspeed runner, number 21!"

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"Light Speed ​​Runner! Number 21!"

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The sounds gradually became clearer, more organized, and finally coalesced into a powerful wave that transcended the camps and resounded throughout the entire venue.

The chants echoed through the stadium again and again: "Light Speed ​​Runner! Number 21!"

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"Light Speed ​​Runner! Number 21!"

'

On the court, the Cavaliers players had already gone completely wild.

Someone shouted "Throw him up!" and Bruce, Marcus, and the others immediately responded.

More than a dozen strong arms reached under Li Ang.

"one two three!

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"Yoho!"

'

Li Ang was tossed high into the air, his deep blue number 21 unfurling under the stadium's dazzling lights.

It falls, is caught again, and then tossed up again.

Each time he took to the air, it was accompanied by deafening cheers from the entire stadium, a tribute to the hero.

"Light Speed ​​Runner! Number 21!"

'

Finally, after several tosses and catches, Li Ang was safely placed back on the ground.

His feet had barely touched the ground, and he was still a little unsteady when a strong hand pressed down on his shoulder.

He's the Duke coach.

The volatile middle-aged man who had just been roaring and raging like a madman on the sidelines was now standing in front of Li Ang.

His face still flushed with excitement, and his hair was ruffled into a bird's nest.

The combat uniform was still splattered with water stains from the bucket he had just kicked over.

Coach Duke merely pursed his lips, and a fleeting, almost imperceptible awkwardness flashed in his eyes, which were usually wide open and filled with dissatisfaction.

There was also a deeper sense of relief and exhaustion, and a touch of almost clumsy emotion.

He raised his large hand, not to pat, but to press heavily on Li Ang's shoulder armor, which was soaked with sweat.

Then, he looked away and gazed at the cheering crowd beside him.

With his hoarse but unusually clear voice, he quickly and dryly uttered a few words: "You've worked hard, kid."

After saying that, he seemed to think that his words were too cheesy, or that his posture was not in line with his tyrannical persona.

He immediately let go and turned to leave.

His steps were so fast that he was almost in a hurry, and even his hands and feet moved in unison for a moment.

Without looking back, he plunged into the crowd of players who were celebrating wildly, and was quickly swallowed up by the blue wave of people.

All that was left for Li Ang was a somewhat disheveled back view.

Li Ang stood still, the rough touch and heavy pressure of the coach's hands still seemingly lingering on his shoulder armor.

He gazed in the direction where the Duke coach had disappeared, and the corners of his mouth, hidden behind his mask, curved upwards almost imperceptibly.

Then, he turned around and looked at the sea of ​​people in the stands, which, though still predominantly yellow, were now cheering for him.

He slowly raised his right hand, made a fist, and gently tapped his left chest, where his heart was.

This is his response.