"Josh! Roll!"
"Josh! Roll!"
Even after Jacobs had left the field, Richmond-James Stadium continued to echo with the Crimson Tide's chants—
The game was far from over.
Clemson's defensive tackle, Watkins, had secured the ball, granting their offense a perfect starting position just thirty-five yards from Alabama's end zone. This was Watson's chance to put the game away.
And Watson didn't miss it.
With the poise of a seasoned assassin, he returned to the field and decisively slashed away at Alabama's last hopes with another passing touchdown.
After comfortably nailing the extra point, the lead widened further.
"51-37."
In the blink of an eye, the gap had ballooned to fourteen points. Worse yet, the dwindling game clock left the Crimson Tide teetering on the brink of disaster.
Four minutes and seven seconds.
That was all the time left for the defending champions.
"The goddess of victory is now waving from Clemson's end zone. As we approach the final minutes, Clemson has seized their opportunity and executed to perfection."
"In a narrow view, this was a single, fatal fumble. But from a broader perspective, it's the victory of Swinney's strategy. From the beginning, Clemson's war of attrition targeted Alabama's ground game, preserving their defense's stamina while draining the Crimson Tide's energy. By the late game, the cracks had finally begun to show."
"Swinney's defensive maneuvers worked to an unbelievable effect!"
"From executing this defensive strategy to maintaining near-flawless offensive performances, Clemson has truly proven they are the only team capable of defeating the Alabama Crimson Tide. They were well-prepared."
"Now, only four minutes and seven seconds separate Clemson from victory."
"The defending champions are on the brink!"
Watson allowed himself a wide smile as he jogged past Alabama's sideline. There was no gloating, no unnecessary gestures—just a casual wave and a grin, as if basking in the sight of the dejected losers.
Finally, his gaze locked onto Lance.
Confidently, Watson lifted his chin, staring directly at Lance before gracefully backing away. He even broke into a flamboyant dance, the joy and satisfaction in his chest swelling like cotton candy—
Victory doesn't belong to you anymore.
Richmond-James Stadium erupted in jubilation, the atmosphere hitting an explosive peak as the victory scales tipped heavily in Clemson's favor.
So, was the suspense over?
…
The wind roared.
The stadium reverberated with chants from Alabama's fans. They hadn't given up. They still believed in a Crimson Tide comeback, but the mood in the stadium was shifting. The louder the Tide's fans roared, the more their desperation and anxiety seemed to bleed through—a last burst of life before the inevitable fall.
In a game that had been a back-and-forth battle, the balance was suddenly shattered, and Clemson had quickly widened the gap, dealing a severe blow to Alabama's momentum and mindset. For a moment, their minds went blank.
"51-37."
The score glared like an insurmountable chasm—
Clemson had already reached the other side, while Alabama stood precariously at the edge of a deep abyss, their footing uncertain, on the verge of collapsing.
And then, the players returned to the field.
Swinney didn't take any risks. Clemson's special teams executed a secure kickoff, sending it straight out of bounds to prevent any chance of a return. This left Alabama starting their drive from their own twenty-five-yard line.
If Alabama's offense failed to score or took too long to do so, the game would be over.
The nightmare was back—
They couldn't forget the spring scrimmage, where Clemson had dominated Alabama for the entire first half.
Throughout the season, Alabama had been strong and smooth, but they'd forgotten this detail, until now, when those memories came flooding back.
Lance let out a long breath. He could sense the tension among his teammates:
They were in the dark about Jacobs' injury, they'd just seen the score gap widen drastically, and the grueling nature of the entire game had taken its toll on them all. In the midst of it all, their eyes showed a flicker of doubt and confusion.
Despite everything, they were still just college kids—young and vulnerable to the mental strain after enduring relentless pressure.
But Lance wasn't.
After experiencing something as miraculous as traveling through time, living with an absurd system, and transitioning from cross-country running to mixed martial arts and then to football, Lance had grown more mature and composed. The greater the challenge, the more focused he became. That was what he loved most about competitive sports:
Facing challenges. Pushing limits. Confronting adversity.
At this moment, they needed to face not only their opponents but also themselves. The only force capable of beating them now was themselves.
"The game isn't over."
As the offensive unit gathered in a tight circle, Lance scanned their faces and began to speak.
"The moment you decide to give up, whether you're ahead or behind, whether there's time left or not, the game is already over."
"But I'm not ready to give up."
"We are the Crimson Tide. We didn't fight through an entire season just to surrender here at Richmond-James Stadium."
"Yes, Clemson thinks the game is over. They've already started celebrating. They're getting cocky and letting their guard down. It's foolish, but I'm not going to remind them. I'll seize this opportunity and show them they shouldn't celebrate too early."
"And let's be clear: we're not even at the two-minute warning yet. We still have four minutes. They've played all their cards and are overjoyed by one little mistake because that's all they have left. They're relying on luck. Deep down, they're uncertain—they don't believe they can truly beat us."
"But we don't need luck."
"Do you remember how we got here? How we made every defensive squad in the NCAA tremble just at the sight of us?"
Each word was powerful and resolute.
It was hard to believe this was Lance's first football season.
But, from another perspective, perhaps it was precisely because this was his first season that he showed such fearlessness and audacity. He wasn't afraid to push forward even when standing at the edge of a cliff.
Still, in football, it couldn't just be Lance running headlong alone. He needed his teammates to stand with him and fight by his side.
The game wasn't over.
In fact, the real game was only just beginning.
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Powerstones?
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