The scoreboard read 42–42 as the clock ticked down to the final minute of the fourth quarter. The crowd was on their feet, the deafening roar of cheers blending with anxious murmurs. Hiroshi stood on the sideline, gripping his helmet, his mind racing as he watched the Thunder's kicker line up for a long field goal.
The snap was clean, and the kick sailed through the air—but it veered wide right, missing the goalposts by inches. The crowd erupted, half in relief, half in dismay. The ball now belonged to Hiroshi's team, with only 38 seconds remaining.
Coach Ryan grabbed Hiroshi's shoulder as he jogged toward the huddle. "This is it. You've got the timeouts, and the field position isn't bad. Play smart, and don't force anything. Got it?"
Hiroshi nodded, his heart pounding. "Got it, Coach."
As he joined his team on the field, Hiroshi could see the nervous energy in their eyes. Ryota wiped sweat from his brow, Kenta adjusted his gloves, and Riku crouched low, ready to explode into action.
"Alright, listen up," Hiroshi said, his voice cutting through the noise. "We've got 38 seconds to win this game. We've practiced for this moment. Stay focused, trust the plan, and let's bring it home."
The first play was simple: a quick out route to Ryota. The Thunder's defense played soft coverage, giving him just enough space to make the catch and step out of bounds, stopping the clock.
"Good start," Hiroshi said as they regrouped. "Keep moving the chains."
On the next play, Hiroshi faked a handoff to Riku and hit Kazuki on a slant across the middle. Kazuki sprinted forward, dodging a defender before diving out of bounds to stop the clock again.
The crowd roared as Hiroshi's team crossed midfield. 24 seconds remained.
The Thunder adjusted, tightening their coverage and bringing more pressure. Hiroshi felt the heat immediately on the next snap, dodging a blitzing linebacker and scrambling to his right. He kept his eyes downfield, spotting Ryota breaking free near the sideline.
Hiroshi fired the ball, and Ryota made a leaping catch before stepping out of bounds at the Thunder's 30-yard line. The crowd erupted as the clock stopped with 15 seconds remaining.
In the huddle, Hiroshi glanced at the clock, then at his teammates. "We're close. One more big play, and we're in field goal range. But if the shot's there, we take it."
Kenta grinned. "What's the call, Captain?"
Hiroshi paused, his mind racing. Then it hit him—a trick play they had practiced sparingly, a move inspired by one of his favorite chess maneuvers: the decoy sacrifice.
He took a deep breath and drew the play in the dirt. "We're running the reverse pass. Riku, you're the key. Sell the run hard, then pitch it to Kazuki. Ryota, you fake the deep route, but cut back toward the middle. I'll be open on the release."
The team nodded, their faces lighting up with determination.
They lined up, the tension in the air palpable. Hiroshi barked out the cadence, watching the Thunder's defense shift aggressively toward the line.
"Set… hut!"
The ball snapped, and Hiroshi handed it to Riku, who sprinted left, drawing the defense with him. Just as the Thunder's linebackers closed in, Riku pitched the ball to Kazuki, who reversed direction, cutting back to the right.
Kazuki tucked the ball and looked downfield, where Ryota ran a deep route before breaking sharply back toward the middle. The Thunder's safeties bit on Ryota's movement, leaving the backside of the field wide open.
Kazuki planted his feet and lofted the ball back to Hiroshi, who had slipped unnoticed into the flat.
The ball sailed perfectly into Hiroshi's hands. He turned upfield, sprinting toward the end zone with the crowd screaming in unison.
A Thunder cornerback lunged at Hiroshi near the 10-yard line, but Hiroshi juked to the side, diving into the end zone as the clock hit zero.
The referee's arms shot into the air. "Touchdown!"
The crowd exploded, the roar shaking the stands as Hiroshi's teammates mobbed him in the end zone. Ryota tackled him in a hug, followed by Kenta, Riku, and the rest of the team.
"We did it!" Ryota shouted, his voice barely audible over the noise. "We actually did it!"
Hiroshi sat up, his chest heaving as he grinned at his teammates. "We're not just a team—we're a family."
As they lined up for the handshake with the Thunder, Hiroshi spotted Daichi, their captain, approaching.
"You got us this time, Tanaka," Daichi said, extending his hand. "That last play… genius."
"Thanks," Hiroshi replied, shaking his hand. "You guys pushed us to be better. Great game."
Later, as the team celebrated on the field, Hiroshi looked up into the stands. His mother was clapping and cheering, her smile wide and proud. Beside her, his father sat with his arms crossed, but Hiroshi could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
For the first time, Hiroshi felt like he had truly earned his father's respect.
As the team carried him off the field, chanting his name, Hiroshi thought about everything it had taken to reach this moment—the sacrifices, the doubts, the setbacks.
This wasn't just a win. It was proof that with heart, strategy, and determination, anything was possible.
And for Hiroshi Tanaka, this was only the beginning.