The first quarter had ended like a nightmare. The Thunder led 21–0, and Hiroshi's team jogged back to the sideline, their spirits battered. The energy and determination that had fueled them before the game now seemed like a distant memory.
Hiroshi pulled his helmet off as the team huddled around him, their faces flushed with frustration and exhaustion. Ryota was shaking his head, staring at the ground, while Riku sat on the bench, catching his breath.
"We can't keep up," Ryota muttered, breaking the tense silence. "They're bigger, stronger, faster… everything."
"Focus up!" Hiroshi said, his voice sharper than usual. "This isn't over."
But even as he spoke, Hiroshi felt the weight of the scoreboard pressing down on him. 21–0. The Thunder's dominance in the first quarter had been undeniable. Their strength and experience overwhelmed every aspect of the game, from the trenches to the secondary. Hiroshi's mind raced, replaying each of the Thunder's big plays and trying to figure out where it had gone wrong.
As the second quarter began, Hiroshi trotted onto the field with his offense. The crowd buzzed with excitement, their cheers echoing in the crisp autumn air. The Thunder's defense lined up across from them, their players grinning with confidence.
"Let's show them what we're made of," Hiroshi said, his voice low but firm as he broke the huddle.
The first play was a handoff to Riku, designed to exploit the Thunder's aggressiveness with a counter run. Riku took the ball and darted to the left, but the Thunder's linebackers read the play perfectly, crashing into the backfield and stopping him for a loss.
The second play wasn't any better. Hiroshi called for a short slant to Ryota, hoping for a quick gain to rebuild their rhythm. But as Hiroshi released the ball, one of the Thunder's cornerbacks jumped the route, nearly intercepting the pass.
Hiroshi clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure. Third-and-long wasn't where he wanted to be, but they had no choice.
"Stay sharp," he said as they lined up for the next play.
The ball snapped, and Hiroshi dropped back, scanning the field. Ryota sprinted down the sideline while Riku leaked out of the backfield. But the Thunder's pass rush came fast and hard, forcing Hiroshi to scramble. He spun away from one defender, ducked another, and launched the ball toward Ryota just as a linebacker closed in.
The pass sailed over Ryota's head, landing out of bounds.
"Fourth down!" the referee called, and the team trudged back to the sideline.
As the Thunder's offense took the field again, Hiroshi paced the sideline, gripping his helmet tightly. His heart pounded in his chest, frustration gnawing at the edges of his focus.
"They're reading everything we do," Kenta said, slamming his helmet onto the bench. "It's like they know what we're going to do before we do it."
"They're playing our game," Coach Ryan said, stepping into the huddle. "You're letting them dictate the tempo, letting them force you into mistakes. This isn't what we practiced."
Hiroshi nodded, his mind racing. He remembered the hours they had spent working on adjustments, on finding ways to counter the Thunder's size and aggressiveness. But in the heat of the game, they had abandoned their plan and tried to match strength with strength—and it wasn't working.
"Coach is right," Hiroshi said, turning to his teammates. "We're not playing smart. We're trying to beat them at their game instead of sticking to our own."
"So what do we do?" Ryota asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
Hiroshi's gaze hardened. "We stop reacting and start attacking. Short passes, quick cuts, misdirection—everything we worked on. We can't beat them with size, but we can beat them with speed and precision."
The Thunder's next drive ended with another touchdown, pushing the score to 28–0. The crowd erupted, but Hiroshi blocked out the noise. As he jogged back onto the field with his offense, he felt a spark of determination reignite within him.
"Alright," he said in the huddle. "We're sticking to the plan. Quick passes, smart decisions. Let's move the ball and take back control."
The next play was a short out route to Kazuki, who caught the ball in stride and turned upfield for a solid eight-yard gain. The offense lined up quickly, snapping the ball before the Thunder's defense could reset. Hiroshi handed the ball to Riku on a sweep, and Riku picked up another five yards, earning their first first down of the game.
The small victories began to build momentum. Hiroshi called for a screen pass to Riku, who danced through defenders for another solid gain. Then a slant to Ryota, who held onto the ball despite taking a hard hit.
As the clock ticked down, Hiroshi led his team into the red zone. The Thunder's defense stiffened, forcing a critical third down. Hiroshi stepped back into the huddle, his teammates looking to him for direction.
"This is it," Hiroshi said, his voice steady. "We score here, and we're back in this game. Trust each other, and execute."
The ball snapped, and Hiroshi rolled to his right, faking a handoff to Riku before launching a pass toward Ryota in the back corner of the end zone. Ryota leapt into the air, snatching the ball over a defender and landing just inside the boundary.
The referee raised his arms, signaling a touchdown.
The crowd erupted, their cheers mixed with a renewed energy from Hiroshi's sideline. The scoreboard lit up: 28–7.
As Hiroshi jogged back to the sideline, he glanced at the stands, his eyes finding his parents. His mother was on her feet, clapping and cheering, while his father remained seated, his expression unreadable. But for a brief moment, Hiroshi thought he saw the faintest flicker of approval in Akio's eyes.
Hiroshi turned back to his team, his confidence growing. The second quarter wasn't over, and the deficit was still daunting, but they had found something they hadn't had before: momentum.
This game wasn't finished—not by a long shot.