"Whoa!"
A gasp swept through the crowd—
Kamara was visibly on the verge of losing his balance.
In his eagerness to prove himself, his hurried footwork threw him off rhythm. By the time he reached the inflatable bags, his timing was already off, and as he neared the sideline to catch the ball, centrifugal force nearly pulled him out of bounds.
But just in the nick of time, Kamara showcased his impressive catching skills, abruptly braking and twisting in mid-air. His upper body and lower body seemed to pull in opposite directions as he stretched to snag the football.
For a moment, it was as if gravity had ceased to exist.
Kamara extended his body with a breathtaking move, managing to catch the ball at the last second—though he had lost control of his balance and crashed heavily to the ground.
Another collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
One thought ran through Kamara's mind:
How humiliating. Truly, truly humiliating!
The harder he tried to shine, the more things seemed to go wrong. The more boastful and self-assured he had been, the more desperate and embarrassed he felt now. He wished he could disappear into a hole.
Though he'd managed to make the catch, his performance had still turned into a mess.
Damn.
Taking a deep breath, Kamara finally forced himself to stand up, casually tossed the ball back to the coach, and walked off toward the running backs—
As long as I act like I'm not embarrassed, no one will think I am.
Kamara couldn't even bring himself to glance at Lance's reaction. He simply looked straight ahead, head high, pretending as if nothing had happened.
"Uh, Alvin, you seem to have a nosebleed…"
"No. You're seeing things."
"But…"
"I said, you're seeing things!"
Silence fell over the field.
Everyone's eyes returned to the action on the field.
Fournette wasn't participating in this drill. As a traditional power back, catching passes wasn't his strong suit. His attempts to prove himself during the earlier drills had been forced, so he opted to skip the remaining tests to avoid further setbacks.
As for McCaffrey?
His movements were as smooth as chocolate.
While McCaffrey had primarily focused on ground plays in the NCAA, he had occasionally lined up as a receiver, showcasing his natural talent. His 2015 season, with 45 receptions for 645 yards, was undeniably impressive and one of the reasons he ranked above Watson in the Heisman vote.
Today, McCaffrey was in top form, performing flawlessly.
From his start to his turns and cuts, every move was fluid, like a butterfly in flight. He caught the football seamlessly and sprinted down the field with ease.
Beautiful!
McCaffrey's power might still have room for improvement, but his technical skills were so distinctive that they would undoubtedly shine in the right offensive system. His performance at the rookie camp had certainly boosted his draft stock.
Gradually, more eyes were drawn to McCaffrey.
McCaffrey, however, paid them no mind. Turning, he looked toward Lance, taking confident strides forward to high-five him and pat him on the back, his gaze filled with admiration and anticipation.
To McCaffrey, even if Lance hadn't tried this role during the season, this test was a way to gauge a player's abilities—
The most crucial skill was spatial awareness.
It wasn't just about agility, speed, decision-making, or even catching—it was about understanding one's position on the field in relation to offensive and defensive players, the ball's movement, and their own body.
In that regard, McCaffrey had no doubts about Lance.
In fact, he was excited, eager to see how Lance would handle it—he might even learn a thing or two.
The real show was about to begin.
In a way, this test was even more captivating than the earlier physical drills.
As every eye in the stadium watched, Lance stepped onto the field.
Lance thought he might feel nervous, but he didn't.
Instead, he felt a thrill, as if he was finally about to reveal the results of his intensive training, pushing his limits once again.
How could he not be excited?
With a calm exhale, Lance raised his hand to signal that he was ready—
"Go!" Tap, tap, tap.
Lance launched himself forward, his nimble footwork almost invisible, like he was gliding on air as he moved smoothly between the four quadrants, maintaining perfect balance.
Charge, adjust, charge, launch.
Whoosh—Lance shot forward, and before the crowd had even realized he'd cleared the first phase, his rapid footwork carried him past the second set of obstacles, his balance and light steps commanding everyone's attention.
Even Kamara, who had been trying to ignore the whole thing—
"Trip. Trip. Trip," Kamara muttered.
Kamara was startled by his own thoughts but found himself hoping, if only to make himself feel better, that Lance would stumble and level the playing field.
He wasn't alone.
Watson noticed Mahomes' intense gaze and stopped in his tracks, two thoughts popping into his mind: first, a swear word; second, "Trip."
Unfortunately for them, fate didn't grant their wish.
Lance shot forward like an arrow.
Ahead, he fixed his gaze on the three inflatable bags—
Left, middle, right.
His eyes narrowed.
Left bag, moving right.
Middle bag, moving left.
Right bag, moving right.
The right lane was clear.
Lance quickly read the coaches' movements, adjusted his footwork, kept his forward momentum, and angled his right leg just slightly to the right, propelling himself forward without losing any speed.
Like a gentle breeze.
Whoosh—he breezed through the right lane, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.
Ahead, a coach raised his right hand, indicating Lance should move to his left—
A subtle test.
During the season, Lance had favored breaking to the right side, and it seemed the rookie camp coaches, representing all 32 teams, had studied his game footage and wanted to test his ability on the left.
And this time, with a catch.
Pushing off with his right leg and leading with his left, Lance swiftly arced toward the sideline, a sleek parabola forming as he raced to the boundary.
Cut, explode.
Smooth and fluid, he reached the sideline before anyone had a chance to blink. The coach in charge of passing remained calm and threw a perfect rainbow pass.
Five yards!
Ten yards!
Fifteen yards!
Twenty yards!
It was a 25-yard throw, spiraling like a bullet toward Lance.
Clearly, this wasn't Lance's typical play—both his running and receiving positions were unfamiliar, which led to a slight miscalculation.
His timing was slightly off.
Lance slowed to wait for the pass, while the coach had expected him to maintain his speed, causing the pass to overshoot just a bit.
If they had been teammates, repeated practice would have ironed out these issues. But with two strangers, small misjudgments were inevitable.
Lance, however, remained calm.
In an instant, he assessed his position relative to the sideline, the end zone, and the ball's trajectory. His mind quickly constructed a 3D map, plotting everything as if they were points in a constellation.
Got it!
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates