Lance had left.
From his office window, Saban watched Lance's retreating figure as Clark, full of enthusiasm, came to greet him. It seemed they had planned to train together, with Clark serving as Lance's training partner. Lance was already hard at work preparing for the draft.
Once players enter the professional league, their fate is no longer under the coach's control. The NFL is ultimately a world run by capital, and individual strength pales against the vast power of capital—just like the challenges faced by running backs from the NFL to the NCAA.
Last year, Saban had worried about Derrick Henry, and as expected, Henry had hit the rookie wall with a quiet first season. This year, it was Lance who was on his mind.
But this time, Saban had a feeling Lance's journey in the NFL might be different. As an observer of football and not just a coach, Saban looked forward to watching this new chapter unfold, grateful for the chance to witness history so closely.
The second act of this battle was only beginning.
On the training field, the dull thuds of impact and labored breathing filled the air. Finally, with another set done, Clark dropped to the ground.
Looking up at Lance, who was casually stretching his legs, Clark shook his head, "We're both human—so why does it feel like you're on a completely different level?"
He paused.
"Oh, sorry, my mistake. You're not human; you're a beast. A total beast."
Lance turned to him, smirking, "Well, well, Master, you finally learned to crack a joke?"
His tone playfully hinted that Clark's humor was…a bit lacking.
Clark scratched his head, chuckling sheepishly as he caught his breath. "Speaking of which, I wonder how Josh's checkup is going."
Jacobs was at the hospital today for a follow-up.
In sports, knee injuries were among the most complex and troublesome. Across sports, countless athletes had seen their careers crumble due to knee injuries, and football was no exception. Jacobs' situation was genuinely concerning.
Lance's mood sobered too, but he took a deep breath, "The results in Tampa Bay were positive. The doctors said he'd need three to six months of recovery. Today's follow-up is for a more detailed check. We need to keep the faith."
Turning to Clark, Lance continued, "He won't give up easily, Master. He's been fighting this whole time. He's stronger than us all, and no matter what, he'll push forward. His career is just beginning."
Clark took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. "He has his fight, and you have yours. We're all pushing forward."
"I am too."
He paused. Clark thought his own decision had been easy. He'd already made up his mind, but now, his heart pounded, an inexplicable bitterness lodging in his throat.
But he didn't waver.
Lifting his head, letting the sun warm his face, he looked at Lance.
"At the end of next season, I'm leaving football for good."
He'd finally said it. The heavy weight on his chest lifted, and he let out a long breath.
"Although, I guess it's not really retirement, since I never truly had a career to retire from." Clark tried to brush it off with a smile.
Lance was surprised but sensed the complex emotions hidden in Clark's nonchalant tone—
The brutal realities of sports were there in Jacob's injury, in Clark's resignation, and in the challenges that Lance himself was about to face.
Lance smiled slightly, "Master, if you put it that way, you'd be denying the careers of countless NCAA players. After all, not everyone gets to be a national champion or score the game-winning touchdown."
Clark blinked, then laughed softly. "True. So, officially, after next season, I'll be retiring."
Lance wanted to tell Clark to give it another try, but he knew Clark would feel the weight of this decision more than anyone else, with all the regrets and reluctance hidden beneath his smile.
The word "graduation" suddenly hit them hard, without warning.
Graduation would mark the end of their time sheltered in the ivory tower of college, sending them in different directions as they embarked on new journeys.
Lance turned to Clark, "What's next after retirement? Any ideas?"
Sitting cross-legged, Clark relaxed slightly. "Not really. I'm considering things. Maybe I'll become a real estate agent, or I could learn a trade, like fixing cars or plumbing."
Lance raised an eyebrow, "Master, what's your college major again?"
Clark chuckled, "Oh, right. I'm still a college student, huh? Guess I do have a diploma. Maybe I should rethink my plans."
Lance shook his head, "Since we're at Alabama, I doubt your classmates would appreciate that attitude."
Clark laughed, "Sorry, sorry!"
"There's still another year to think about it, though. And the team could use you next season, Master. The Crimson Tide will be counting on you."
"One year later, here we are again, facing the same challenge, huh? Only this time, there won't be another Lance. Unless…hey, maybe you could skip the draft?" Clark joked, then quickly shook his head. "No, no, forget I said that. You should definitely go for it."
"Oh? And why's that?"
"Last year we had Derrick Henry; this year, we have you. With stars like you guys, more top players will want to join our school. It's a winning cycle."
"Right. Last year was Henry, this year it's me, and next year, it'll be you. Three-peat."
"Ha! Even in my wildest dreams, that's a stretch."
"Come on, you're afraid to dream? You've got to have dreams; you never know when they'll come true."
"Of course, I still believe in dreams, Lance. I believe they exist and can come true, and I'll always cheer for you and Henry. But for me, the dream ends with football. I've stuck with it long enough and achieved what I could. As for what I haven't accomplished, I'll just hold onto it as a keepsake. I'm content."
The sunlight fell softly over Clark, warming him as the sadness and bitterness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a calm smile.
Then Clark found his confidence again.
They might be taking different paths in life, but they'd continue forward in their own ways.
Clark turned to Lance, "Even if I'm on a different track, I'll keep moving forward, remember? I'm part of the Crimson Tide too."
Clenching his fist with a grin, he declared, "Roll Tide."
They were young, with no regrets.
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Powerstones?
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