Andrew returned to his team after the touchdown, once again shooting an arrogant look at the stands where Arik's teammates seemed ready to tear him apart.
The black team once again opted for a one-point conversion from the 3-yard line.
This time, Andrew didn't make any gestures or act cocky, he simply took his position.
But what happened next, he didn't see coming. No one did.
"Set hut!" yelled Edward, receiving the ball. And without a second's hesitation, he handed it directly to Andrew.
'What?' thought Andrew, confused as he caught the ball.
Arik had already bulldozed the offensive linemen and was charging toward him. He had only three yards to work with.
There was no space, no clear route. It was clearly a suicide mission, and even if he somehow dodged Arik, there were two more guys right behind him.
There was no time to think, and running would be suicide. His quarterback instincts kicked in.
His eyes scanned the field in less than half a second, and he saw him. Number 81, the rat-man, wide open crossing in from the right.
It was his only shot, and the window would close in an instant.
Andrew pivoted his feet, bent his left knee, raised his arm, and fired.
The pass wasn't long, but it was sharp. The ball shot out like a short bullet.
It flew just above Arik's helmet, he was already airborne, trying to take Andrew down, and sliced through a tight gap between the defender's outstretched arms and his own lineman's helmet.
The spiral was clean, and the angle perfect. The ball struck the receiver square in the chest, who caught it, stunned it had actually made it to him.
Complete pass. Successful conversion.
16 to 0.
Andrew didn't need to see the catch to know it was good. He felt it in the crowd's reaction, in the sudden release of tension in the air, in the roar that followed.
But there was no time to celebrate. Arik was still in the air, his whole body already committed, and momentum couldn't be stopped. Even though the ball was no longer in Andrew's hands, the collision was inevitable.
He didn't have enough time to dodge, so he straightened his torso, planted his feet firmly on the turf, bent his knees slightly, and raised his arms.
Arik crashed into him like a train, and for a moment it looked like Andrew would be dragged backward. But he wasn't.
Andrew held his ground. With effort, yes. He took a step back, then another, digging his heels into the ground like anchors, clenching his jaw and pushing back with everything he had.
It was a brief struggle, lasting only a few seconds, just long enough for everyone to see.
When the momentum ran out, Arik didn't keep pushing. He didn't insist. He was a disciplined player. He knew when to stop. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone, just doing his job.
They stood still, face to face, breathing heavily. They stared at each other for just two seconds that felt like an eternity. Then Arik took a step back, and Andrew did the same.
They turned around and walked back to their spots without saying a word.
'His name was Edward, right? That son of a bitch...' thought Andrew as he returned to the sideline.
The handoff hadn't been a coincidence. Most likely, their quarterback, Edward, had done it on purpose. He couldn't be completely sure, but he was almost certain.
He had seen it many times before, the envy of those who couldn't stand someone else being the center of attention. He wasn't going to let this go unpunished. He already had a plan for revenge.
The green team went back on offense and this time managed to score and get the extra point, slightly narrowing the lead.
Once again, Andrew's team went on the attack. Everyone expected another epic clash between Arik and number 21.
The play began as usual. Edward received the ball, and as had become routine, he barely had time to lift his head before feeling the weight of Arik charging in like a locomotive. No space, no line, no calm. Once again, his only option was to hand the ball off to Andrew.
He threw it quickly: a short pass, barely more than a shove.
Andrew caught it without a problem, but this time, instead of running or attempting another solo play, he did something no one expected.
He threw the ball right back to Edward. Edward raised his hands to catch it out of pure reflex.
That's when Arik, who had started the play charging directly at Edward, then shifted course upon seeing the handoff to Andrew, now turned back again as he saw the ball returning to its point of origin.
And this time, he got there.
Edward was still processing the return pass when Arik crashed into him at full speed. A brutal impact that echoed loudly.
Arik's helmet slammed into Edward's chest with enough force to lift him off the ground and send him flying backward as if he weighed nothing.
Both of them hit the turf hard, but only one stayed down for a few seconds, arms spread wide, staring at the sky, gasping for air.
The ball slipped from Edward's hands. Incomplete pass.
For a few seconds, the stadium buzzed with confused murmurs. No one quite understood what had just happened.
Some took a moment to realize it, but many had already sensed it: that play hadn't been a mistake.
It had been number 21's revenge for the earlier 3-yard line handoff.
Dazed from the hit, Edward was helped up by the rat-faced kid. He brushed the dirt off his uniform and then looked up, furious, right at Andrew.
Andrew stared back. His dark helmet reflected the sunlight, and the completely black visor hid his eyes and any expression on his face. There was no smile, no mocking gesture.
Edward was about to say something. But he stayed quiet as he realized something: there was still a lot of game left.
And if he wanted to win, or even make it home in one piece, his only real option was still number 21.
He had no easier throw than to him, and Arik gave him no time for medium or long passes.
In the end, he clenched his teeth, lowered his gaze, and said nothing.
The game went on. It was played in two 20-minute halves with a short five-minute break in between.
Andrew completely dominated the entire game.
Though the green team stayed competitive, and Arik Armstead remained a constant threat on the defensive line, he never managed to fully stop Andrew.
With every direct clash, anticipation built. Everyone wanted to see if the star lineman would finally get his long-awaited revenge, but it never came.
Several times, when Arik was just about to catch him, no longer falling for jukes or explosive cuts, Andrew would simply release the ball at the very last second, with such absurd ease and precision that it left the crowd speechless.
Soon a question began to spread through the stands, among coaches, players, and tournament staff:
Was he a running back with a quarterback's vision... or a quarterback disguised as a running back?
The final score went to the black team, with a result of 40 to 15.
'Awesome, we won!' thought Noah happily. No one expected Arik to be eliminated in the first round of the tournament.
Everyone thought the opposing team was screwed on offense, that their quarterback wouldn't be able to throw accurate passes and their offense would fall apart.
'Maybe because he's mute, he can't be a quarterback?' Noah wondered, glancing at Andrew, who was now sitting on one of the benches, ready to watch the next match.
Under the tent, Brady Hoke had been watching the whole game. His eyes were fixed on number 21, who was sitting down and hydrating.
He didn't say a word for a few seconds, until he finally looked at one of his assistants and said, "Call him."
His assistant blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Number 21. Bring him here," said Brady.
The assistant nodded and left immediately.
It didn't take long. Within seconds, Andrew was walking toward the tent, his helmet still on. He wasn't surprised by this.
It made sense. He had crafted an exaggerated identity with an unbelievable backstory: American mother, Japanese father, mute, former high school player in Japan, and had uploaded a highly questionable document to the tournament system. A fake ID with a generic stamp, low resolution, and a sketchy digital signature.
When he reached the front of the tent, he stopped just at the edge of the shade. He looked at Brady Hoke, who wore a stern expression.
'Well... it was fun while it lasted,' thought Andrew, knowing his identity would likely be discovered and he could be kicked out of the tournament.
He already had more than enough material for his YouTube channel thanks to the showdown with Arik. In fact, he believed this was the strongest team in the tournament, since Arik in his defensive position made it nearly impossible for any quarterback to get a clean throw.
As his thoughts began to sort themselves out, his eyes scanned the tent.
Next to Brady were three other people, sitting comfortably in the shade. But the one who caught his attention most was a young girl.
She was seated with her legs crossed, leaning slightly forward, a slight frown on her face, her gaze fixed on him.
She was very pretty. Impossible not to notice.
But Andrew knew her.
'Thea Queen,' he thought, startled for a second.
Of course, she wasn't really Thea, she was the actress who played her, though he couldn't remember her name.
The show hadn't premiered yet, but theoretically, this girl was supposed to play Thea Queen in Arrow: the protagonist's rebellious sister, the one who eventually becomes a vigilante with a bow of her own.
Andrew, in his previous life, had watched every season of the show. Even through its worst parts, because once he started a series, his rule was to finish it. And though he'd never admit it out loud, Thea had been one of his teenage crushes.
'She's even prettier in person,' he thought, having only ever seen her through a screen. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside: he had a girlfriend now.
Brady's voice pulled him out of his mental fog.
"I want you to clear a few things up," the coach said, his tone dry and authoritative.
Andrew didn't respond, of course. He stuck to his role as the mute kid, keeping his back straight and his arms relaxed. But deep down, he knew this wouldn't last much longer.
"Your story is way too exaggerated and doesn't hold up. Your documentation is flimsy and low quality. We looked up your supposed school and it doesn't exist. No one validated your alleged transfer, and I could go on..." said Brady, eyes narrowed.
"So this is your only chance: I need to see a real ID," he continued. "If you're really a high school teenager, we'll let you stay. If not... you're out of the tournament."
Andrew thought for a moment. Reveal his true identity or vanish mysteriously?
He chose the first option.
There were still more than five hours left until Comic-Con started, and he didn't want to wander around San Diego with nothing to do.
He slowly raised his hands and used sign language to indicate the benches where his backpack was. Nobody understood him, so he had to mime opening a backpack and rummaging through it.
'Is he still keeping up the mute act...? Willa thought, raising an eyebrow with a faint, amused smile.
Once Brady understood what he meant, he nodded and said, "Go get it. Make it quick."
Andrew turned around silently and walked back to his team's area where his backpack was.
He got a lot of stares, but he ignored them.
He searched his bag, pulled out his wallet, and returned to the tent.
Without saying a word, he handed over his real school ID.
Brady took it, examined it, and read it. For the first time, his frown changed to something else.
"Oh," he said simply.
Brian, who was already standing, stepped closer with curiosity. Willa and her mother also stood up, curious to see the document.
"Andrew Pritchett-Tucker," Willa read out loud, and then everyone went quiet, turning to look at Andrew.
The same kid they'd been talking about just an hour ago. The precocious quarterback. The teen sensation with over half a million subscribers. The one who led a fifth-division team to a state title as a freshman quarterback. The one who'd made history... and documented it on YouTube.
Brady ran a hand over his face, letting out a long sigh, like he'd just been hit with something too absurd to process right away.
"Why?" he finally asked, lowering his hand and looking at Andrew with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.
"Why make all this up?"
Andrew, who still hadn't taken off his helmet, turned his head slightly to confirm no one was near the tent. From his angle, the structure provided enough privacy. No one within a few meters would be able to hear what he said unless he raised his voice.
So, for the first time since he arrived, he spoke.
"Mostly out of boredom..." he answered. "And because I needed content for my YouTube channel, not sure if you've heard of it..." he added.
Everyone went silent, more surprised by hearing his voice than by what he said. It was a perfectly clear voice, nothing like the arrogant persona he had projected until now.
"All that for a video?" Brady muttered, confused.
"Yeah... you know, to entertain my audience," Andrew nodded, unsure of what else to say.
That's when Willa stepped forward. She leaned toward him slightly, arms crossed, examining him.
"It's true," she said with an amused smile. "Look, there's the camera."
She pointed at a small lens discreetly attached to Andrew's helmet, right along the lower edge of the visor. Almost invisible, unless you had a sharp eye.
Andrew didn't move. He just watched her. Up close.
Brady let out a long sigh.
"Go back to your team," he finally said, calmly, handing back the school ID.
Andrew looked at him from beneath the visor, slightly surprised. He hadn't expected them to let him stay.
"You're still in the tournament. But don't take off the helmet. Keep that identity..." Brady added.
Andrew stared in silence. He wanted to ask why, but before he could, Brady continued.
"I know your name. Your channel. Your numbers. In this niche, you're already a name. Not just in high school football, but among college scouts too. There are rumors. Universities are interested. Programs that have been watching you for months," Brady said.
Andrew stood still, surprised by his words. Were colleges already interested in him? That was good... he still had three years before finishing high school, and it looked like he had already achieved part of his goal thanks to his freshman year at Palisades and what he'd done so far.
"Okay... thanks. By the way, can I upload the video, or will I get sued or something?" Andrew asked.
"If you want to upload it, go ahead," said Brady, shaking his head.
All he really wanted to avoid was having a team lose a player on tournament day because of the incompetence of his staff, or even his own lack of strictness.
"Great, thanks," said Andrew, not expecting such willingness from Brady. He didn't seem nearly as grumpy as the rumors had made him out to be.
"After the tournament, I want to talk to you. No helmet. Face to face," Brady said.
Andrew held his gaze for a moment and nodded. "Of course. It'll be an honor."
The tournament would end around 4:30 PM, plenty of time before Comic-Con, and he was genuinely excited to talk with someone like Brady.
After that, he returned to his team on the sideline.
The tournament went on. Andrew noticed another future star on the field: Derek. A top-tier quarterback in the future, with a multimillion-dollar contract, slightly better than Davante's.
Derek came from Bakersfield Christian High School, a modest Division V school that, like Andrew's team, had recently moved up to Division IV thanks to strong performances.
He was like a mirror... just a few years ahead. But Andrew's stats were better.
Even so, Andrew didn't let it get to his head. There were players who shined in high school, even in higher divisions, and never made it to the NFL. The road was long.
The tournament progressed.
Andrew quietly led the black team, never taking off his helmet or revealing his identity.
While Edward remained the official quarterback, as the games went on, it became clear who was truly carrying the weight.
The explosive plays, the key touchdowns, the impossible passes and line-breaking runs... all came from the hands, or legs, of number 21.
Without saying a word, he became the team's unofficial quarterback.
Then came the final.
And on the other side of the field stood Derek Carr and his team.
It was a close match. Technically flawless. Both teams kept scoring. Both quarterbacks shined.
But there was something different. Andrew was versatile.
He ran. He passed. He broke through lines and threw on the move. A perfect kind of wildcard, and in the end, that made all the difference.
The black team won the tournament.
Andrew never once removed his helmet, leaving everyone wondering who #21 was and what he looked like.
He could already tell: his next video was going to go viral.
They handed him the cash prize, and the place started to clear out.
He waited until the locker rooms were empty so he could change without revealing his identity, and after that, he met up with Brady.
After an hour-long conversation, he walked out of the stadium and found Leonard and Howard, ready to head to Comic-Con, which was about to open its doors in just a few minutes.
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