Chapter 300 - Rise Again

[Chapter +14,000 words]

...

Andrew brought a hand to his chest. He immediately thought he was having a heart attack.

He knew that feeling far too well.

When he died in his first life, it had happened in the middle of the absolute chaos of a high school state championship game. Lights, screams, adrenaline, pain, and then that horrible pressure in his chest.

This felt the same.

Or close enough that his mind went there instantly.

'How pathetic would it be to die after my first loss in this life?' Andrew thought, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to react.

He reached for his keys and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life immediately.

Then he started driving.

His chest still felt tight, his heart was beating far too fast, and his breathing felt wrong, but he forced himself to focus on one thing only: not losing control of the car.

The last thing he wanted was to die in a crash while trying to get to the hospital.

Rationally, he kept trying to calm himself down. It couldn't be a heart attack.

He was young, healthy, and his medical history was spotless. His current body seemed practically built for elite athletic competition.

But, in theory, so had his first one. He had been sixteen, an athlete, and he had died anyway.

That was why logic alone wasn't enough to reassure him.

Eventually, he arrived at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.

Fortunately, he hadn't driven very far during the late-night outing he had taken specifically to relax. The irony stung. He had gone out to clear his head, and now he was driving straight to a hospital convinced he might be having a heart attack.

The massive illuminated building stood out against the night sky in the middle of UCLA's campus.

In theory, it was one of the best hospitals in the country.

There was one part of the situation that still bothered him, even in the middle of all this.

If he ended up in the emergency room, there was a chance the team's medical department would eventually find out.

And if that happened, sooner or later the trainers and coaches would hear about it.

Andrew was already far too recognizable.

He wasn't just another student walking into a university hospital on a Sunday night.

But honestly, he couldn't worry too much about that if he was actually having a heart problem.

He parked, got out quickly, and pulled a cap low over his face before heading toward the hospital entrance.

The moment he told the receptionist that he was experiencing chest pain and shortness of breath, the middle-aged woman immediately set aside the paperwork she had been organizing.

The professional, automatic expression on her face shifted slightly.

"I need triage over here," she called toward the back without wasting a second.

A nurse appeared moments later and began the evaluation almost immediately.

The triage nurse was the healthcare professional responsible for the initial assessment in the emergency department.

Everything happened quickly.

They checked his blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, and oxygen saturation using the familiar clip placed on his finger.

After that, he was taken directly for priority testing.

The whole process lasted less than fifteen minutes.

At some point, he inevitably had to remove his cap and noticed the attending physician recognize him instantly.

The surprise was obvious.

The man remained completely professional and didn't say a word about it.

First came an electrocardiogram, with cold adhesive patches placed across his chest and limbs to record his heart's electrical activity.

Then came blood work.

Finally, a chest X-ray.

Now Andrew sat alone in a small private observation room.

Everything had those pale, muted hospital colors. Beige walls, faded curtains, and the faint smell of disinfectant.

The place was quiet.

Only distant footsteps, the occasional rattle of metal wheels moving through the hallway, and the periodic beep of a monitor somewhere far away broke the silence.

He waited exactly sixty-five minutes.

The doctor had explained that the blood tests took longer because they had to be processed through the emergency department's central laboratory.

Finally, the door opened again.

The physician walked in carrying a folder and wearing a noticeably calmer expression than before. Dressed in the standard white coat, he seemed determined to project reassurance from the moment he entered.

"Your heart is fine," the doctor said, accompanied by a small comforting smile.

Andrew looked at him in confusion, "Are you sure?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. "Because it doesn't feel fine."

The doctor gave him a particular look.

Not exactly alarmed.

More like someone trying to understand why an eighteen-year-old kid seemed so convinced that he had just brushed against death.

"Your heart rate is elevated," the doctor explained while reviewing the paperwork. "But there are no signs of a heart attack. Your ECG came back normal. Your cardiac enzymes are negative, which is a very good sign. And the chest X-ray shows your lungs are perfectly healthy."

Then he looked up at Andrew. "Your heart is fine," repeat.

Andrew sat silently for a few seconds, processing that.

"Then what is it?" he finally asked. "My brain? Some kind of poison or something?"

The doctor's expression shifted slightly, caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity at how seriously Andrew was searching for extreme explanations.

"You're out of danger. My diagnosis is that you experienced a severe panic attack," the doctor replied.

Andrew stared at him in silence, blinked slowly, and finally said, "Excuse me?"

"Sometimes anxiety and panic attacks can look a lot like a heart attack," the doctor explained. "Chest pain, shortness of breath, a racing heart... it's actually quite common."

Andrew began shaking his head slightly, clearly not buying the explanation.

The doctor watched him for another second before asking, "Are you under a lot of stress?"

Andrew thought about it for a few moments, "I guess."

Then he immediately added, "Nothing I can't handle."

"Well, high levels of stress and anxiety can produce very real physical symptoms. The body isn't particularly good at distinguishing between a physical threat and a psychological one."

"Anxiety?" Andrew repeated, making a small incredulous expression, almost offended by the word. "Please..."

The doctor looked at him for a moment before saying calmly, "Trust me, even the greatest high school football player in history can suffer from it."

Andrew stopped shaking his head after hearing that.

The doctor clearly knew exactly who he was, even if he had avoided saying it outright until now.

"Especially," the man continued, "if that player is carrying more pressure than any eighteen-year-old should probably have to carry."

Andrew didn't say anything after that.

The doctor eventually administered a mild fast-acting medication to calm his nervous system. Nothing strong, just enough to reduce the anxiety and help stabilize him a little.

Thirty minutes later, he was cleared to leave.

Thanks to his health insurance, Andrew only had to pay around one hundred and fifty dollars. Without coverage, the visit probably would have cost several thousand.

Before leaving, Andrew asked the doctor something that had been bothering him ever since he arrived.

Whether the coaches or the university would find out about this.

The doctor immediately shook his head.

Legally, he could not disclose medical information to coaches, professors, or anyone else. The only way they would learn about it was if Andrew chose to tell them, or if someone recognized him and the rumor spread far enough.

'Better that way,' Andrew thought as he left the hospital.

By the time he returned to the apartment, it was already past ten at night.

The medication had helped somewhat. He was still mentally exhausted, but at least the pressure in his chest was gone.

Just as he stepped into the elevator and rode up to his floor, the doors opened and he found Rachel and Monica walking out of the apartment.

Both looked a little surprised to see him.

They hadn't spoken much since the game.

And at the moment, Andrew definitely wasn't looking his best, cap pulled low and a kind of heavy exhaustion hanging over him.

"Hey..." Monica said in an unusually timid tone.

Rachel reacted more quickly, "Hey, you okay?" she asked, taking a small step forward.

Andrew nodded automatically.

"Yeah. I just went out for a drive to clear my head a little. Where are you two going?" he asked, more out of habit than genuine curiosity.

"We're going to get ice cream," Rachel replied with a small smile. "Want us to bring you some?"

"No, thanks," Andrew answered almost immediately.

Without adding much else, he walked toward the door of his apartment.

The fact that Haley wasn't there didn't surprise him too much.

As far as he remembered, she'd gone to spend the night at her parents' house because of some family-related thing.

Andrew opened the door, "Good night," he murmured before stepping inside.

Rachel and Monica stood there staring at the closed door for a few moments in silence.

Eventually, they walked toward the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Monica slowly let out a breath.

"Why did you suddenly get shy?" Rachel asked, glancing at her.

At this point, they could practically consider themselves friends with Andrew. Not close friends, but certainly not strangers anymore.

Monica made a small face and shook her head, "I don't know... it's weird seeing him after a loss."

Rachel looked at her for a few seconds without saying anything.

And she understood exactly what Monica meant.

Because for a lot of people, including them, Andrew was starting to feel almost invincible.

So seeing him lose all of a sudden, and then seeing him this subdued afterward, made approaching him feel strangely uncomfortable.

As if they had suddenly remembered that beneath all the hype, the records, the fame, and the football he was still human.

It didn't take them long to buy the ice cream and return to the apartment.

Once inside, Monica settled directly onto the couch with the tub resting on her lap while she turned on the television.

Rachel, meanwhile, remained standing in the living room with her arms crossed and a thoughtful expression on her face.

"What?" Monica asked when she noticed.

Rachel turned slightly toward her, "Aren't we going to do anything?"

Monica frowned, "About what?"

"Andrew," Rachel replied as if it were obvious. "Steve isn't here, Haley isn't here, and he clearly seems a little depressed."

Monica sighed as she opened the ice cream, "He doesn't seem like he wants company. Or ice cream."

If Andrew had really wanted to be around people, he could have been with his family, who obviously cared about him a lot.

"Psychology doesn't work that simply," Rachel commented.

That made Monica slowly raise her eyes toward her with a confused expression.

Rachel immediately noticed the look, "Yeah... I've read a few books," she added.

Monica's expression became even stranger, "You talking about psychology. Now that's something I didn't expect."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "Come on. Come with me."

Monica shook her head almost immediately, "I can't."

"Why?"

Monica made a small face as she searched for a way to explain it, "I don't know... it's weird."

Rachel kept staring at her, waiting for a better explanation.

"It's like seeing..." Monica hesitated for a few seconds. "I don't know, your father or Superman in a situation where they suddenly seem human."

Rachel stared at her, unable to believe the analogy, "You're a coward."

"I know!" Monica admitted.

In that particular regard, she absolutely was.

Rachel huffed, "Then I'll go by myself."

She grabbed her tub of ice cream from the table and walked toward the door.

When she stepped into the hallway and found herself standing in front of Andrew's apartment, her confidence dropped much more than she had expected.

Because deciding to help him from the comfort of her own apartment was one thing.

Standing directly in front of his door knowing he could reject her, tell her he wanted to be alone, or simply look at her like she was being weird that was something entirely different.

For someone like Rachel, who had practically never dealt with rejection, it was far more intimidating than she wanted to admit.

'Be brave, Rachel,' she thought automatically, talking to herself in the third person the way she sometimes did when she needed encouragement.

She took a deep breath and finally knocked softly.

Knock. Knock.

It took a few seconds for the door to open.

"Rachel?"

She raised her free hand slightly, "Hey... again."

Andrew looked at her with some confusion, "What's up?"

Rachel lifted the tub of ice cream a little, "I was wondering if you'd like some ice cream. It's chocolate and vanilla."

Then she quickly added, "I know you said you didn't want any, I know..." she continued, speaking faster and faster. "But I don't know, you looked kind of down, and when I'm sad, I eat ice cream."

After that, she simply held out the container and tried to smile as though the entire situation wasn't slightly awkward.

Andrew stared at her in silence for a few seconds.

His eyes dropped to the ice cream, and honestly, now that he looked at it, something sweet sounded pretty good.

Besides, he hadn't eaten anything in hours. His diet was normally impeccable.

He could afford a snack like this.

"Yeah, thanks," Andrew finally said, taking the tub with one hand.

Rachel smiled faintly, relieved.

But then Andrew took a small step backward as if that was it and he was about to close the door.

Rachel froze completely. On one hand, it had worked.

On the other, she definitely hadn't expected him to simply take the ice cream and then shut the door in her face.

Andrew paused. Then he opened the door a little wider.

"I'm joking," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Come on, get in."

Rachel let out a small automatic laugh, "Oh... right."

She hadn't expected him to be in the mood to joke.

She stepped into the apartment while Andrew closed the door behind her.

"Should we tell Monica?" he asked before shutting it completely.

After what had happened at the hospital, part of Andrew knew it probably wasn't a good idea to spend the entire night isolated.

But he didn't want to call his family this late, worry them, and then have to explain the panic attack.

So, even if he didn't want to admit it too much, the fact that Rachel had shown up was actually helping more than he expected.

"No," Rachel replied, waving a hand dismissively. "She's watching her soap opera. Let's leave her alone."

Andrew nodded slightly.

He walked into the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with a spoon.

Then he practically dropped onto the couch, opened the ice cream, and started eating directly from the container.

'No spoon for me?' Rachel thought as she watched him.

But she didn't say anything.

Instead, she walked into the kitchen, opened one of the drawers, grabbed another spoon, and returned to the living room.

The atmosphere was still strange.

Andrew kept staring ahead while eating ice cream as if he were too mentally exhausted to hold a conversation.

Rachel, who was already beginning to feel the awkwardness of simply sitting next to him in silence, finally spoke.

"Want to watch a movie?"

She wasn't exactly great at starting conversations, especially not with the guy she liked.

Sitting there eating ice cream in silence with all that depressing energy hanging around them would probably only make everything more uncomfortable.

Watching a movie was the best idea she could come up with.

Andrew shrugged slightly without even looking at her, "Whatever you want..." he muttered before taking another spoonful.

"Good. Then we're watching one."

Rachel walked over to the TV cabinet.

There was a perfectly organized stack of Blu-rays.

Too many options.

She began going through them one by one while Andrew remained sunk into the couch behind her.

"Do you want something happy or sad?" Rachel asked without turning around.

At that moment, she was holding Hachi: A Dog's Tale.

She remembered that movie perfectly.

The dog waiting for years for his deceased owner, never understanding that he was never coming back.

The first time she'd seen it, she had cried her eyes out.

"Sad," Andrew answered without hesitation.

Still looking at the Blu-ray case, Rachel slowly lifted her head and closed her eyes for a second.

'You're an idiot...' she thought.

Why had she even asked that question?

Fortunately, she immediately found something else that caught her attention.

"Star Wars..." she murmured while looking through the collection.

There were six movies lined up perfectly.

She instantly remembered that Andrew, Leonard, and Howard were completely obsessed with the franchise.

Sometimes they talked about theories, characters, and lightsaber duels with so much passion and seriousness that it sounded as if the universe actually existed.

Rachel picked up all six Blu-rays and walked back toward the couch.

"Let's watch Star Wars," she said as she sat down beside Andrew. "Which one do I start with? Episode I?"

That was the logical choice, wasn't it?

Starting with the movie that literally said Episode I.

Andrew glanced at her, "I've already seen them," he replied. "A lot of times."

Rachel didn't even react, "You didn't seem very enthusiastic about choosing a movie," she said as she settled more comfortably into the couch. "So I'm going to watch Star Wars, and it won't kill you to watch it again."

Andrew fell silent for a second, recalculating that logic. Then he slowly nodded.

"How much do you actually know about Star Wars?" he asked. "Have you seen any of them?"

Rachel shook her head, "I've always caught them halfway through on TV and never finished them. I've seen bits and pieces."

Her knowledge was extremely superficial.

Mostly because it was impossible not to know certain things about something that was such a massive cultural phenomenon.

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, "Do you know about—"

"'I am your father'?" Rachel interrupted with a faint smile.

Andrew let out a small exhale.

Yes.

It was probably the worst-kept spoiler in the history of cinema.

Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while Andrew seemed to genuinely think about the best order to show her the movies.

Finally, he picked up one of the Blu-rays.

"Start with Episode IV," he said, handing it to her. "Then Episode V if you like it and want to continue."

Rachel looked down at the case, 'Not Episode I...?' she thought, confused.

Still, she nodded.

She stood up from the couch, inserted the disc, and turned off the living room lights.

A few seconds later, the familiar words appeared: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

And then the Star Wars logo illuminated the apartment with a faint glow as the iconic music began to play.

Rachel paid attention to the screen. Though not completely.

Because every now and then, she glanced sideways at the ice cream container Andrew was still holding. She gripped her spoon a little tighter than necessary.

She wanted ice cream.

It was her ice cream.

And Andrew clearly didn't seem to have any intention of actively sharing it.

So she didn't really have a choice except to move a little closer.

She did it as casually as possible and eventually slipped her spoon into the container, scooping out some ice cream before bringing it to her mouth.

Being that close to him didn't exactly help her peace of mind.

Their shoulders were practically touching.

The living room was dark except for the bluish light from the television, and the silence between them made Rachel far too aware of absolutely everything.

But little by little, she stopped thinking about it so much.

Because she ended up genuinely getting absorbed in the movie.

Star Wars had never interested her all that much.

But after seeing how much Andrew, Leonard, and Howard loved it, she wanted to understand what made it so special.

Meanwhile, Andrew, although he had agreed to watch it with very little enthusiasm at first, found himself getting drawn back in almost without noticing.

He was a fan, after all.

He had watched the movie countless times with Leonard and Howard, but he still found little details, lines of dialogue, scenes, and specific moments that he loved every single time.

It also helped that, for the first time all day, his mind was focused on something that wasn't Nebraska, the loss, the panic attack, or football in general.

By the time more than forty minutes had passed, neither of them had said much of anything.

Rachel, still watching the screen, automatically dipped her spoon into the container again.

But this time it hit the empty bottom.

She blinked in confusion and looked down at the container. Then she slowly turned her head toward Andrew.

"Wow..." Rachel murmured. "You really were hungry."

"Well, when you think you're having a heart attack, it tends to make you hungry," Andrew said in a self-deprecating tone.

Rachel blinked again. More slowly this time. She wasn't entirely sure whether he was being serious or making some weird joke.

She grabbed the remote and immediately paused the movie.

"Are you serious?" Rachel asked.

Andrew looked at her silently for a few seconds before nodding.

He briefly explained that it hadn't actually been a heart attack, that he was fine now, and that it had only been a panic attack.

Rachel felt concern immediately spread across her face, "Are you okay?" she asked, genuinely worried.

"Yeah. I'm not going to die," Andrew replied, gently taking the remote from her.

Then he pointed toward the screen, "Let's keep watching. This is one of the best parts. Pay attention."

And he pressed play.

Rachel kept looking at him for a few more seconds. She was still worried.

But she also understood fairly quickly that Andrew clearly didn't want to dwell on the subject.

It was already unusual enough that he had told her about it at all. So she simply settled back into the couch and continued watching the movie beside him.

Watching Star Wars helped Andrew.

It pulled him away from the feeling he'd had in the car and the weight he had been carrying all Sunday.

Maybe the medication the doctor had given him was helping too. The feeling wasn't completely gone. But it was definitely better.

By the time the movie ended, it was already past twelve-thirty in the morning.

The credits began rolling across the screen.

Andrew rested his head against the back of the couch and glanced over at Rachel.

"So, what did you think?" he asked.

He was genuinely curious whether the movie had managed to hook someone who had never seen the saga before.

Rachel smiled slightly, "I liked it."

Andrew raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"At first it felt kind of clunky," Rachel admitted. "The pacing and the effects. You can definitely tell it's old."

Andrew made a mildly offended face.

"But..." she continued with a small laugh when she noticed, "I ended up liking it because of that. It has this really retro... I don't know... charming quality."

Andrew nodded slowly, "The magic of the original films," he said in an absurdly wise tone, like an old man lecturing about classic cinema.

Rachel laughed softly, "And R2-D2 was adorable," she added.

"Don't get attached to him. He dies."

Andrew said it with a completely serious expression.

Rachel's eyes widened instantly, "What?! No way!"

Then she pointed at him, both offended and outraged, "And don't just spoil things out of nowhere!"

Andrew couldn't hold it anymore and finally smiled, "I'm kidding. He doesn't die. Relax."

Rachel stared at him with absolute indignation for a few seconds before immediately beginning to repeatedly hit his shoulder.

"You can't do that!"

The punches did practically nothing to him, but Andrew still found himself laughing.

For the first time since Saturday.

Rachel ended up laughing too as she continued "attacking" him for a few moments longer.

Eventually she stopped and picked up the next Blu-ray.

"Should we watch Episode V?" she asked, holding it up slightly.

But the moment the words left her mouth, she remembered something.

Andrew actually had responsibilities the next day. He had football practice with UCLA early in the morning.

Meanwhile, she was still practically on vacation since she hadn't even found a job yet, and her classes wouldn't begin until late September.

So she immediately lowered the disc a little.

"Actually, no," Rachel added. "You have to get up early."

Andrew glanced at the clock. He had about six hours before he needed to wake up.

But honestly, he wasn't tired.

Or rather, he knew that even if he went to bed, he probably wouldn't fall asleep right away.

He had slept terribly from Saturday into Sunday, and all the tension from the game was still swirling around in his head. So honestly, he'd rather keep watching Star Wars.

"Let's watch it," Andrew said.

Rachel raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"

"Yeah. Why not?" Andrew replied with a small shrug.

Then he stood up, "I just want something to eat."

If they were going to watch another movie, they needed popcorn.

Making it was easy. Three or four minutes in the microwave and it was done.

A few minutes later, they were both back on the couch with a large bowl of popcorn between them while Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back began.

Rachel reached into the popcorn bowl while still thinking about the viewing order.

"So after this comes Episode VI?" she asked.

"No."

Rachel turned toward him, confused.

"The best way is to go to Episodes II and III after this," Andrew explained as he settled back into the couch. "Like a flashback. Then you come back to VI for the ending."

"That sounds complicated..." Rachel muttered, considering they were just movies.

Andrew smiled faintly, "You'll understand later."

And so they continued watching.

When they finally reached the scene: "I am your father..."

Rachel's eyes widened automatically. For the first time, she truly understood why that scene was so famous.

Seeing it in context, after nearly two full movies and following the story from the beginning, made the moment hit so much harder.

When the credits finally began to roll, Rachel turned her head slightly toward Andrew.

She found him completely asleep.

"Andrew?" Rachel called softly.

No response.

She waited another second.

Nothing.

She was about to tap his shoulder to wake him up a little, but stopped halfway. He looked exhausted. Not just physically tired.

Genuinely exhausted.

After losing the game and ending up in the hospital because of a panic attack, waking him up now felt cruel.

But it also didn't seem very responsible to simply leave and let him sleep alone on the couch after everything that had happened.

So, in Rachel's mind, there was only one completely logical solution.

She looked toward the Blu-ray collection and grabbed the next disc.

"Episode II..." she murmured to herself as she inserted it into the player.

The movie began.

When it ended, Andrew was still completely asleep on the couch.

So Rachel continued with Episode III.

Now she understood why Andrew had suggested that viewing order. To understand how Anakin eventually became Vader.

At first, when the story had jumped backward in the timeline, she had her doubts.

But now, more than ever, she wanted to see Episode VI and experience the complete ending of the story.

Eventually, she watched Vader's redemption, Luke's conclusion, and the final resolution of everything.

When the credits appeared, Rachel sat there for a few seconds staring at the screen, a strange mixture of emotions lingering in her chest.

At no point had she planned to spend the entire night on a Star Wars marathon.

'Although I'm still missing Episode I...' she thought.

She still didn't fully understand why Andrew had chosen to skip it.

But she didn't have much time to think about it, because at six-thirty in the morning Andrew's phone alarm started ringing.

Rachel slowly stood up from the couch and stretched her back.

After five movies in a row, a headache was beginning to make itself known.

She turned toward Andrew. He was still deeply asleep.

So she first silenced the alarm before it could keep ringing and then gently touched his shoulder.

"Andrew..." Rachel called, a little more firmly this time.

He stirred slightly and slowly woke up.

"Did I fall asleep?" Andrew asked, his voice hoarse and still half-confused.

Rachel nodded, "Yeah. It's after six."

Andrew rubbed a hand over his eyes and slowly sat up. Then he checked the time on his phone.

It was true. He looked back at her.

"What did you do?" he asked, confused.

He felt a little guilty realizing that he had probably left her alone all night while he slept like the dead on the couch.

"I watched the entire Star Wars saga," Rachel replied. "Well, technically I'm still missing Episode I."

Andrew's eyes widened in surprise, which made Rachel smile at his reaction.

"Aren't you tired?" Andrew asked.

"Not really," Rachel replied. "My sleep schedule is already completely ruined, and besides, I like movie marathons."

Andrew quickly got ready to head to UCLA. After a loss, showing up late would have looked especially bad.

Fortunately, Rachel had woken him up, because he hadn't heard the alarm at all.

And even though he had slept sprawled across a couch in a terrible position, the rest had ended up being surprisingly restorative.

When they finally stepped out of the apartment, Rachel yawned as she slowly walked toward the door of her own place, directly across the hall.

Andrew was already heading toward the elevator when he stopped, "Hey."

Rachel turned her head, "What?"

Andrew looked at her for a few seconds, "Thank you," he said finally. "For the ice cream and everything else."

Rachel stood still for a brief moment before smiling, "It was nothing," she replied, downplaying it.

Then, trying to sound encouraging, she added, "Good luck at practice. Give it everything you've got."

Andrew nodded, "See you."

He stepped into the elevator and officially began a new week.

Now all of his attention was focused on one thing: Defeating the Oregon State Beavers.

The rankings were updated again on Monday.

The UCLA Bruins, who had started the season ranked #17 and climbed as high as #13 after crushing Rice, dropped back to #17 following the loss in Lincoln.

It wasn't an especially harsh fall.

In college football, losing on the road to a ranked opponent in a competitive game that comes down to the final drive usually doesn't destroy your position in the rankings.

Nebraska, on the other hand, made a significant jump. The media narrative surrounding the Cornhuskers exploded.

Many shows talked about them as the team that had stopped the phenomenon, the first program to defeat Andrew, and the team that had withstood the pressure of the final drive.

At 2–0, the Nebraska Cornhuskers climbed to #11 in the nation. But what really began attracting attention was UCLA's next opponent.

The Oregon State Beavers.

Without question, the dark horse of the early season. Before the year began, almost nobody was talking about them.

They were coming off a disappointing season.

The coaching staff was unchanged.

Recruiting had been mediocre.

National expectations were extremely low. Yet in just two weeks, they had completely changed the conversation.

First, they demolished a mid-tier opponent 77–3.

Even if the opponent wasn't particularly notable, a score like that attracted attention.

Then came the real surprise.

They defeated the #12-ranked Wisconsin Badgers, one of the most respected programs in the Big Ten.

What made it impressive wasn't just the win.

It was the defense. Through two games, Oregon State had allowed only ten total points.

That immediately forced the country to take them seriously.

When they finally appeared in the AP Poll at #23, anticipation surrounding UCLA's next game skyrocketed even further.

Because the national storyline was perfect.

On one side, UCLA arrived wounded, needing to prove that Nebraska hadn't broken them mentally, with the entire country watching to see how Andrew would respond after the first football loss of his life.

On the other side, Oregon State arrived with momentum, a defense that was beginning to generate genuine fear, and the feeling that they were a much more dangerous team than anyone had expected.

Nobody knew yet exactly how real the Beavers were. But their defense looked completely legitimate.

That made the matchup even more uncomfortable for UCLA.

Because if the Bruins lost again, the narrative would change completely.

It would no longer be: "The young phenomenon who nearly won in Nebraska."

Instead, it would become real questions about whether the hype had been exaggerated, whether UCLA was truly ready, and, most importantly, whether the loss in Nebraska had left mental scars on an extremely young team.

Meanwhile, Oregon State entered the game in the exact opposite situation.

Confident, under virtually no pressure and carrying the feeling that they could deliver one more upset and leave UCLA almost knocked out.

The Week 2 Offensive Player of the Week award ultimately went to Marqise Lee. Very few people argued with the decision.

Although Matt Barkley threw six touchdown passes against Syracuse, much of the spotlight ended up shifting toward his star receiver.

Lee delivered a monstrous performance:

11 receptions

244 receiving yards

3 touchdowns

Even though Barkley remained the overwhelming Heisman favorite and had already accumulated 10 touchdown passes in just two games, he wasn't completely immune from criticism.

Which made the contrast with Andrew even more striking.

Because aside from a handful of internet haters, random accounts, and rival fanbases, virtually nobody important was criticizing Andrew after Nebraska.

Most analysts were saying the opposite.

He had gone into one of the toughest road environments in college football, against a ranked opponent, in prime time, and nearly pulled off the comeback anyway.

The loss hurt.

But as far as national perception was concerned, Andrew's reputation had emerged largely intact.

Meanwhile, Barkley was receiving far harsher scrutiny despite winning.

Because the expectations surrounding him were different.

He was a senior, the Heisman favorite, and the quarterback of a national title contender. As a result, his performances were examined under a completely different microscope.

In Week 2 against Syracuse, Barkley threw six touchdown passes but finished with only 187 passing yards.

A fairly unusual statistical anomaly for an elite quarterback.

The primary criticism was that USC wasn't really attacking downfield.

Most of Barkley's completions were short throws, screens, and quick passes near the line of scrimmage, after which his elite receivers did the heavy lifting, turning ordinary plays into spectacular touchdowns through athleticism and yards after the catch.

On top of that, Barkley threw a particularly ugly interception in the third quarter that allowed Syracuse to cut the lead to 21–16, adding tension to a game USC was theoretically supposed to have under control long before that point.

Something similar had already happened in Week 1.

In USC's 49–10 victory over Hawaii, Barkley threw for 372 yards and four touchdowns.

Excellent numbers.

Yet the media reaction was noticeably more restrained.

To analysts and reporters, that was simply the minimum expectation.

He was the nation's top senior quarterback playing at the Coliseum against a clearly inferior opponent.

It wasn't surprising.

And once again, Marqise Lee ended up stealing part of the spotlight.

On the very first play of the game, Barkley threw a short pass to the sideline, and Lee turned it into a seventy-five-yard touchdown after breaking tackles and accelerating at an absurd level.

Later, he added a one-hundred-yard kickoff return touchdown.

There was even some technical criticism aimed at Barkley's accuracy.

Completing 23 of 38 passes against Hawaii amounted to only a 60.5% completion rate.

For a senior quarterback projected as the No. 1 overall NFL Draft pick, missing fifteen passes against a defense like that was viewed as inconsistent.

That was where Andrew's debut had made such a massive impact.

Because as a true freshman, in his very first college game, he had:

-Surpassed 400 total yards

-Thrown 5 touchdowns

-Completed over 70% of his passes

-Operated within a significantly more complex pro-style offense than many simplified college systems

That was why he had practically swept every major offensive award during Week 1.

Not just because of the statistics.

But because what he had done simply didn't look normal for an eighteen-year-old playing his first NCAA game.

His second game, even though it ended in a loss, only elevated Andrew's national profile further.

Because once again, both the numbers and the context were extraordinary for a true freshman.

Against a physical Top-20 defense, he threw 3 touchdowns, committed only 1 interception, surpassed 300 total yards, and kept UCLA alive until the final possession.

The loss didn't destroy the hype. It practically cemented it.

But honestly, Andrew couldn't have cared less whether people praised him, avoided criticizing him, or compared him favorably to Barkley.

His standards for himself were far harsher than those of any analyst and he understood perfectly how sports narratives worked.

He knew all of those compliments could become brutal criticism within a week or two if UCLA lost again.

That was why he tried not to place too much importance on any of it.

He also knew the context surrounding Barkley's game that Saturday.

USC had played under awful conditions.

A lightning storm forced the game to be suspended for more than an hour shortly after the third quarter began.

The field became heavy, wet, and dangerous for deep passing.

That forced USC to play a far more conservative style of offense, which explained much of Barkley's unusually low passing yardage total.

Meanwhile, another story dominated the college football news cycle.

The Alabama Crimson Tide had officially climbed to the No. 1 ranking in the nation, pushing USC down to No. 2.

Even many Trojans fans found it difficult to argue against the move.

Nick Saban's team looked monstrous.

First, they dismantled the Michigan Wolverines, who had entered the season ranked No. 8, by a score of 41–14.

Then they crushed Western Kentucky 35–0 without showing even the slightest sign of weakness.

The national consensus was simple: Alabama was the most dominant team in the country.

But beyond Alabama's rise and the growing phenomenon that was Andrew, the other story that completely exploded over the weekend was the historic collapse of the Arkansas Razorbacks.

They faced the Louisiana–Monroe Warhawks and they lost.

Arkansas had been comfortably leading 28–7. The game looked over. But then Kolton Browning happened.

The ULM junior quarterback led a comeback that eventually forced overtime.

He ultimately won the game 34–31 with a rushing touchdown of his own on fourth down.

It was literally a David versus Goliath story.

Arkansas entered the season with enormous hype as a national championship contender.

Their senior quarterback, Tyler Wilson, was considered one of the best passers in the country and was constantly mentioned in Heisman conversations alongside Barkley.

The previous year, Arkansas had finished in the national top five.

Although they had begun the season somewhat unstable due to the scandal that led to their head coach being fired during the summer, the talent on the roster still inspired tremendous confidence.

That made the loss even more shocking. Because ULM belonged to the Sun Belt Conference.

A conference considered a lower-tier league, made up of programs that powerhouse schools typically scheduled early in the season to secure easy home victories.

They were basically viewed as the small programs that filled out schedules.

And yet they won.

Browning finished with:

-42 completions on 67 attempts

-412 passing yards

-3 touchdowns

-1 interception

-The game-winning rushing touchdown

It was the first victory over a ranked opponent in the history of the university.

The impact was so massive that, for the first three days of the week, Browning was arguably the most talked-about quarterback in the country alongside Andrew.

He won the Walter Camp National Offensive Player of the Week Award, the Sun Belt Offensive Player of the Week Award, and multiple other national honors.

Watching all of that unfold, Andrew couldn't help but think that his own loss didn't look so terrible by comparison.

That saying Jay always repeated, that there's always someone worse off, was true.

What happened to Arkansas was a national catastrophe.

They went from No. 8 in the country to disappearing from the rankings entirely.

Unranked.

No mercy.

The fall was so brutal that it became the second-largest drop in modern college football poll history, behind only the Michigan Wolverines football in 2007, when they lost to Appalachian State Mountaineers football and fell from No. 5 to unranked.

The only truly defensible part of Arkansas's performance had been its quarterback.

Tyler took several brutal hits during the first half. It was later confirmed that he had suffered a severe concussion.

When he left the game, Arkansas was still winning. After that, the team completely collapsed and allowed the comeback.

As a result, very little blame was directed at Tyler. Instead, most of the criticism fell on the defense and coaching staff.

To make matters worse, the situation was only getting uglier.

Tyler was considered highly unlikely to play the following week, and Arkansas had to face the No. 1 team in the nation: The Alabama Crimson Tide football led by Nick Saban.

The panic among Arkansas fans was absolute.

Many were already openly talking about the possibility of a nationally televised massacre.

'You can definitely be doing a lot worse,' Andrew thought.

Right now, he was settled into the couch in Sean's office.

It was Wednesday.

"How was the week?" Sean asked as he sat down in his usual chair.

"Terrible," Andrew answered honestly.

Sean let out a small smile at the brutal honesty of the response, "I was only asking out of professional obligation," he said in his defense.

He had watched the game, and given how everything had ended, it was fairly obvious Andrew wasn't going to show up in a particularly cheerful mood.

"You know," Sean said, "when I talked to you about the Stoic method and visualizing the worst-case scenario... I didn't imagine you'd end up losing literally a few days later."

"Neither did I," Andrew muttered.

A few seconds of silence passed before Andrew spoke again.

"For a moment, I blamed you."

Sean raised an amused eyebrow, "Oh, really?"

Andrew nodded, "I thought you'd put the idea of losing into my head."

"But then I realized that didn't make any sense," Andrew continued, "And I actually think it helped."

He went on to explain that before the game, he had genuinely tried to apply the method.

He had thought about what he would do if they lost, how he would react, how he should behave, and how he couldn't simply run from the media or lock himself away like a child after the game.

Many of the calm answers he had given on television after the loss had probably come from having already rehearsed those scenarios in his head beforehand.

"Looking back on it now..." Andrew murmured, staring at the floor for a few seconds. "It helped."

He knew perfectly well how he had actually felt inside. Far worse than he had appeared publicly.

If he hadn't thought through that scenario beforehand, he probably would have reacted much worse in public.

Because losing had hit him harder than he ever expected.

Andrew had genuinely believed he would be able to handle it without too many problems.

After all, he had lost in his first life. He knew frustration.

He understood rationally that losing was inevitable. But there was a problem.

He hadn't lost a football game in more than twelve years. The feeling had become distant. Blurred. Almost abstract.

Even worse, a part of him had genuinely started to feel invincible. After that, he ended up telling Sean everything without hiding much.

The panic attack on Sunday.

The hospital visit and how he had felt over the past three days of practice.

He had been quieter.

Less social.

Sleeping worse.

Obsessing over film study, the next opponent, and every mistake he had made in that game.

And on top of that, there was the constant discomfort in his chest every time he thought about the loss.

Sean listened without interrupting. When Andrew finished, the office remained silent for a few moments.

Until Sean finally spoke, "Do you know what the problem is with your method of focusing one hundred percent on winning?"

Andrew gave a small nod.

But Sean continued anyway, "If defeat happens, and you've barely lived mentally alongside that possibility, the emotional impact becomes much worse."

"And do you know how you counteract that?" Sean asked.

Then he immediately clarified.

"Not by making the pain disappear. That doesn't exist. But by making it easier to carry."

Andrew looked up slightly, "How?"

"By sharing that pain with the people who care about you," Sean replied, slowly interlacing his fingers.

"When you go through a sports-related disappointment, you shouldn't do what you're doing."

Andrew didn't answer. Because he knew exactly what Sean meant. Ever since the loss, he hadn't really talked about it with anyone.

He avoided putting his feelings into words and he was swallowing all of the frustration completely alone.

As if it were solely his responsibility to solve it internally.

"Your automatic coping mechanism is absolute silence and emotional isolation," Sean continued. "You withdraw emotionally and try to regain control all by yourself."

Andrew remained quiet.

"But putting your frustration into words and sharing the weight of that pressure with other people doesn't make you weak," Sean said calmly, "And honestly, kid... you have a family that very clearly loves you."

The image of his worried family immediately came to Andrew's mind.

"Putting what you're feeling into words would help clear your head much faster," Sean continued. "And help you enjoy the game again much sooner."

Sean studied him for another second before concluding, "And you should also tell them things like the panic attack and the fact that you're coming here."

The session ended shortly after that conversation, and Andrew decided to follow Sean's advice.

After all, that was exactly why he went to therapy: to listen, understand, and try to improve.

So on Thursday, after practice, he called his father, Mitch, and asked him to go for a walk through one of the parks near home.

If he was going to tell someone first, it had to be him. Not because he trusted Cam any less.

Mitch was simply calmer, less dramatic, and probably the best possible first step.

They walked for quite a while, talking about things that didn't matter much.

Eventually, they ended up sitting on a bench, looking out over the perfectly trimmed grass and the blue sky scattered with a few clouds.

"You've been different these past few days," Mitch finally commented as he looked at his son.

Around his family, Andrew was normally warm, playful, and affectionate.

But after Nebraska, he had withdrawn considerably.

He had declined dinners, invitations, and didn't want to talk about the game for very long.

Obviously, Mitch knew the loss was the reason.

What truly worried him was the possibility that Andrew would disappear completely into his own head without seeking even a little support.

Andrew nodded while continuing to stare ahead, "I haven't been honest," he finally admitted.

Then he turned slightly toward Mitch and began telling him everything.

"I'm sorry for hiding it from you. I was just frustrated because of the loss," Andrew said.

Mitch listened in silence. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind: concern, surprise, and even guilt for not pushing harder and being there for him.

But there was relief too. Because Andrew was finally talking.

"You're strong and very mature, son," Mitch said after a few seconds, smiling faintly. "I'm pretty sure very few athletes your age would do something like this."

"Going to therapy voluntarily?" Mitch continued. "Recognizing that you have emotional weak points and wanting to work on them before they explode? That takes far more maturity than you realize."

Andrew lowered his gaze slightly.

"I've known you since you were five years old," Mitch continued with a small, sincere smile. "I tried to teach you everything I thought was important, and honestly, you turned into a much better man than I could ever hope to be."

Andrew smiled shyly at the praise, looking down.

"Thank you for telling me all this," Mitch said. "And I genuinely want to help make this easier for you. I'm sure Cam does too."

Then he placed a hand on Andrew's shoulder.

"We're your parents, Andrew. You can be sad or frustrated around us. That's exactly what we're here for."

Andrew nodded and looked at him, 'My parents. That's true,' he thought.

Then he hugged him. Mitch was slightly surprised. Even so, he hugged him back without hesitation.

They stayed like that for a few moments before pulling apart.

"I'm going to come over for dinner tonight and stay the night," Andrew said.

Mitch agreed immediately, "Your room is exactly the same," he replied with a smile. "Cam practically keeps it clean every day."

As they both stood up and resumed walking, Mitch became a little more serious.

"And I need you to promise me something. If you ever have another panic attack, or anything like it, you call me."

The tone was no longer just fatherly. It was practically an order.

Andrew eventually nodded, "Okay. And we should probably tell Dad too."

Mitch stroked his beard thoughtfully, "That will definitely be dramatic," he admitted with a sigh. "But we're pretty used to that by now."

Andrew smiled as they resumed their walk. Sure enough, they ended up telling Cam that night.

There were tears, excessively long hugs, and several "How could you not tell us?!" reactions from him.

Though, to Andrew's surprise, once the initial shock passed, Cam handled it much better than expected. More protective than dramatic.

After that, Andrew stayed the night there and Friday night as well.

At times, it made everything feel a lot like when he was still in high school.

It ended up helping him more than he expected, and he slept much better.

And so Saturday, September 15th, finally arrived. The Rose Bowl shone brightly beneath the night sky.

Once again, it was completely full.

For the second consecutive week, UCLA had sold every single ticket. More than ninety thousand people filled every section of the stadium.

National prime time.

ESPN this time.

All eyes were on UCLA Bruins #17 vs. Oregon State Beavers #23.

[We're just ten minutes away from kickoff!] exclaimed Brent, the well-known play-by-play announcer who was now calling his third consecutive UCLA game.

A fairly unusual occurrence.

Brent Musburger was normally reserved for the biggest games, national prime time broadcasts, historic stadiums, highly ranked teams, and massive television audiences.

The fact that UCLA's first three games had all been featured in prime time on ESPN and ABC was a complete anomaly.

The cameras showed the Rose Bowl glowing beneath the Pasadena night.

More than ninety thousand people filled every seat while the marching band played and stadium lights swept across the crowd.

[Another sold-out Rose Bowl! A modern attendance record for the Bruins! How do you see this matchup, Kirk? Who should we be watching tonight?] Brent added.

[All eyes are obviously on Pritchett,] Kirk replied as Andrew's statistics appeared on the screen. [His loss against Nebraska didn't cool the hype, it only fueled it further. His numbers are already among the best in all of college football. Nearly eight hundred total yards and eight touchdowns in just two games.]

He let the point sink in for a moment before continuing.

[And now, in addition to those numbers and the impact he's had, everyone wants to see how he responds after the first loss of his football life. And his opponent isn't making things easy. Oregon State has just entered the Top 25 at number twenty-three after their upset victory over Wisconsin.]

That was why UCLA hadn't lost any hype despite the defeat. In fact, it almost felt like the opposite.

There was more curiosity. More pressure and intrigue. The entire country wanted to find out whether Andrew was truly special or whether Nebraska had left mental scars.

[What are Oregon State's biggest weapons?] Brent asked.

[The defense,] Kirk answered immediately. [They're allowing just five points per game. That's a ridiculous average. Their two biggest defensive stars are Scott Crichton and Jordan Poyer.]

Scott Crichton's photo and statistics appeared on screen. The defensive end looked like a force of nature.

He stood nearly six-foot-three, weighed more than 260 pounds, and still moved with remarkable speed for someone his size.

[His mission tonight will be to make life miserable for Pritchett,] Kirk continued. [Crichton already has seven sacks in just two games.]

That was great numbers.

The average college quarterback was usually sacked once or twice per game.

Even the best offensive lines in the country eventually gave up pressure simply because of the physical reality of football.

But Crichton was practically destroying entire offenses by himself.

[If Crichton gets his hands on him, it's going to hurt,] Brent commented. [Pritchett is going to have to get rid of the ball quickly.]

Kirk nodded, [Their other major defensive player is Jordan Poyer at cornerback. He's putting up elite numbers: three interceptions in two games, including one against Danny O'Brien.]

Danny O'Brien was Wisconsin's starting quarterback.

He wasn't considered a generational prospect or a national superstar, but he was a highly respected passer with considerable talent and strong expectations within Wisconsin's offense.

Which was precisely why intercepting him carried real weight.

Wisconsin wasn't some improvised offense.

Taking the ball away from them wasn't easy for any cornerback.

[Even so, it won't be easy for Oregon State,] Brent added. [Pritchett has only been sacked twice through two games, has thrown just one interception, and is still completing nearly seventy percent of his passes.]

That was exactly what had so many analysts obsessed with Andrew's immediate impact.

It wasn't just the numbers.

It was the context.

He was operating in Norm Chow's pro-style offense.

Norm Chow wasn't just any offensive coordinator. He was practically a college football offensive legend.

The man who had developed Heisman-winning quarterbacks such as Ty Detmer, Carson Palmer, and Matt Leinart.

That was why what Andrew was doing felt even more unusual.

The mental complexity of the system was dramatically higher for a freshman.

[They definitely won't have an easy night,] Kirk agreed.

Andrew wasn't arriving as a rookie barely surviving under pressure.

Sure, the entire country wanted to see how he would respond after the first loss of his career.

But the comments he made after Nebraska had left a very positive impression.

He didn't avoid the media.

He didn't disappear.

He didn't blame the referees or make excuses.

He faced the cameras and said the team needed to stay united, that the fans should keep believing, and that now was the time to show what kind of group they really were.

That had only increased the respect surrounding him.

[And that's enough talking because it's finally time for the teams to take the field!] Brent exclaimed, now practically shouting over the deafening noise of the Rose Bowl.

...

POV Scott Crichton

At the signal, I led my team out of the tunnel.

The noise hit me immediately.

More than ninety thousand people screaming beneath those massive lights that made the entire stadium look like it was broad daylight. Whistles, boos, and the sound of the marching band blending together in the air.

But I didn't slow down.

Around me, the guys were shouting, trying to crank the intensity even higher. Some were pounding their helmets against their chests, others clapping, jumping, or bumping shoulders before stepping onto the field.

I have to admit it. Seeing the Rose Bowl like this had an impact.

I'd always thought of this stadium more as a mythical college football venue than UCLA's actual home field. A historic stadium, almost neutral territory, since UCLA hadn't really filled it in years.

But now it was different.

The stands were completely packed, and thousands of people were booing us the moment we appeared.

Yeah, it was intimidating. But I wasn't nervous. Neither were any of the guys.

Last week we'd gone into Camp Randall Stadium against Wisconsin.

That was insanity.

Big Ten fans completely out of their minds. Much louder, more aggressive, and more intense than this LA crowd.

You could feel the difference immediately.

Here, you've got celebrities, Hollywood, and attractive college students taking pictures while they watch the phenomenon.

In Wisconsin, it felt like the entire stadium wanted to rip your head off.

They lived football at a different level.

So as I jogged across the Rose Bowl, I could only think one thing: If we survived there, this should be even easier.

Yes, UCLA was ranked higher.

Yes, they had the wonder-kid quarterback everyone in the country was talking about.

But Wisconsin was supposed to be better than us too and we still hit them in the mouth.

Besides, UCLA's offensive line was loaded with freshmen. Especially the left side protecting the quarterback's blind side.

It's Andrus Peat, sure. A five-star recruit, whatever. But he's still a true freshman. Very little experience. Only two college games.

I'm in my third year.

I spent an entire season redshirting.

That thought made a small smile form beneath my helmet as I looked toward the opposite end of the field.

I'm going to sack him.

I'm going to show the "Jesus Christ of football" what college football really feels like when an actual defensive lineman hits him.

We stayed on our sideline while the stadium volume somehow climbed even higher as the Bruins emerged from the tunnel.

Their entrance was far more dramatic than ours.

The team burst through a massive blue-and-gold banner while confetti exploded around them. The band started playing even louder, cheerleaders sprinted down the sideline with their arms raised, and the entire Rose Bowl roared.

My eyes immediately found number 19.

Pritchett-Tucker.

He came out first.

Chin up.

Helmet on.

Focused expression.

I wanted to see what someone like that looked like after losing for the first time.

Obviously, he wasn't going to show visible fear, or anything that obvious, in front of ninety thousand people and a national television audience.

On the surface, he looked calm.

Too calm.

But that didn't mean anything. The real answer always comes once the game starts.

That's when you find out whether a loss actually affected someone or not.

'We'll see what he looks like after I hit him,' I thought.

"There were ten thousand fewer people in Wisconsin and they still made way more noise," one of my teammates commented as we got set.

Several guys laughed in agreement.

I smiled slightly.

Yeah, this felt more like a show than the kind of genuine football atmosphere you get in the SEC, Texas, and places like that.

Finally, kickoff arrived.

The ball sailed through the air beneath the lights of the Rose Bowl, and UCLA began its opening drive.

Seventy-two yards to the end zone.

I settled into my stance, completely focused as I watched Andrew behind the offensive line.

The first few minutes were good overall.

UCLA managed to move the chains, but much more slowly than they had against Rice and Nebraska.

Our defense was doing a great job. Every yard seemed to cost them real effort.

Three minutes later, the drive was still alive, but they still needed more than forty yards for a touchdown.

Second down.

I saw the snap and exploded forward.

Andrus Peat tried to stop me, but he opened his body too much.

I slipped past him, my eyes locked on Andrew as he dropped back looking for a throw.

Then I got there.

I hit him hard around the waist and dragged him down before he could escape.

The Rose Bowl released a strange sound somewhere between tension and frustration as I landed on top of him.

Sack.

I was back on my feet immediately, adrenaline surging through my body.

Yeah.

That felt good.

My teammates rushed over instantly, yelling, smacking my helmet, and celebrating while UCLA's offense began regrouping.

I turned my head slightly toward Andrew. He got up slowly. It looked like he grimaced a little as he stood.

I hadn't been gentle with the hit at all.

'Welcome to college football, freshman,' I thought as I jogged back to my spot.

Around me, several of the guys started talking loudly on purpose, trying to get a little deeper into their heads.

"That's real football!"

"You're not in high school anymore!"

"We're going to hit him all night, freshmen!"

Nothing out of the ordinary. Especially when you can smell the possibility of imposing physical fear.

Now UCLA was in trouble.

Andrew had taken the snap several yards behind the line of scrimmage, dropped back even farther looking for time to throw, and ended up getting dragged down deep in the backfield.

Third down.

Now they needed fourteen full yards just to move the chains.

Way too far to even think about field-goal range.

Perfect.

I got set again while watching Andrew behind the offensive line. The stadium roared, trying to help the offense.

But the atmosphere no longer had the same explosive energy from the opening minutes.

Now there was tension.

I saw the snap.

I attacked off the edge again immediately.

This time Andrus dropped back better, trying to contain me, but I still managed to drive him backward and collapse part of the pocket.

Andrew felt it. He had to throw, otherwise I would've sacked him again.

He released the ball. But the pass came out rushed and awkward. My head immediately turned, tracking the football through the air.

Then I saw it.

Jordan, our cornerback, jumped in front of the receiver and caught the ball cleanly.

Interception, I thought.

The Rose Bowl went silent for a fraction of a second.

The only thing you could hear was the explosive roar of our visiting section and our entire defense erupting at once.

I smiled to myself as I pointed downfield.

Poyer immediately took off with the return, slipping past a UCLA player while the rest of us started running with him, trying to set up blocks and protect him.

For a moment, I thought he might take it all the way to the end zone.

But he was finally brought down around the thirty-five-yard line.

Still, it was perfect.

We had just taken the ball away from the freshman phenomenon, and now our offense would start practically in opposing territory.

I came off the field as our offense ran on and took the opportunity to look around.

That's when I convinced myself of something. Pritchett was mentally rattled.

One sack and one interception in less than five minutes.

Exactly the kind of start that could shake someone who had spent virtually his entire life winning.

Would've done him some good to lose once or twice in high school, I thought with some amusement.

Besides, our offense was much better than people seemed to think. Everyone focused on our defense.

But we still had a physical, efficient offense.

There was a reason we'd scored more than seventy points in our first game, even if it had come against a weaker opponent.

Now we were starting from UCLA's thirty-five-yard line.

The drive moved methodically. Runs and short passes. Three minutes later, we were celebrating in the end zone.

Touchdown.

"YES!" I shouted from the sideline, jumping and pumping a fist into the air while our offensive players embraced.

"COME ON, UCLA!" one of our linebackers yelled with a huge grin. "I thought this was the Rose Bowl!"

Several guys laughed.

I did too.

"That's it! Great job!" one of our assistants shouted while high-fiving our head coach.

We'd hit the star quarterback, forced a mistake, and immediately turned that opportunity into seven points.

Those kinds of blows usually feel twice as painful to an offense.

Not only do you make a mistake, you watch the other team punish you for it just minutes later.

The kicker came onto the field. A few seconds later, the ball sailed cleanly through the uprights.

7–0.

You could feel the difference in the stadium. It wasn't silent, not even close. The band was still playing. The cheerleaders were still moving.

Plenty of people were still cheering. But it wasn't the same atmosphere as five minutes earlier.

Now there was worry.

Nervousness.

The kind of murmur that appears when a fanbase starts wondering whether things might go wrong.

I'm sure tens of thousands of people were asking themselves the exact same question.

What if Nebraska wasn't a fluke?

To make matters worse, UCLA followed it up with a terrible kickoff return.

The returner fielded the ball and was practically dropped immediately around the five-yard line.

The reaction on our sideline was instant.

"They're screwed!" one of the backups shouted, practically bouncing with excitement.

Several coaches smiled while I clapped hard.

Ninety-five yards.

That's what UCLA had to travel to reach our end zone.

As I walked back onto the field leading the defense, I could feel the tension in the stadium increasing even more.

UCLA's offense left the sideline and started lining up. Pritchett didn't line up under center.

Instead, he set up in the shotgun, several yards behind the line. A smile appeared beneath my helmet all by itself.

He was practically standing on the white line of his own end zone. Literally one step away from a safety.

If he drifted backward too far, hesitated for even a second, and I managed to break through the protection I'd tackle him.

Two points for us and the ball would be ours again.

The image immediately reminded me of something I had seen months earlier.

The Texas All-Star Game.

Pritchett had started a play there dangerously close to his own end zone too. He had been inches away from taking a safety.

But instead, he launched a bomb of more than seventy yards that ended in a touchdown.

I remembered watching that replay several times since it was everywhere on sports shows and the internet.

Not in your wildest dreams are you pulling that off against me, I thought as I settled into my stance.

I bent my knees, dug my cleats into the turf, and focused all my attention on him.

If he threw short, I was going to chase down the ball carrier.

If he tried to escape, I was going to cut him off.

And if he hesitated for even a second, I was going to bury him in his own end zone.

All the noise of the Rose Bowl disappeared for me. The ninety thousand people, the band, the coaches yelling from the sideline... everything faded into the background. The only things I could see were the ball, the center, and number 19 waiting for the snap.

The ball shot backward and then something happened that nobody expected.

Not me, not our coaches, not the entire Rose Bowl.

The ball reached Pritchett's hands and simply slipped away. It bounced off his fingers and flew backward directly into the end zone.

For a fraction of a second I froze. Then a smile appeared beneath my helmet.

He's finished, I thought instantly.

The entire stadium let out a collective gasp of surprise.

Even from my position I could hear the shift in tone. The roar of support turned into absolute panic.

Because this was a nightmare. First down. Your own five-yard line and now the ball was loose inside your own end zone.

I immediately thought Nebraska had actually broken him.

That all the confidence the media had been talking about was smoke. He was finally feeling the weight of losing.

I started running toward him with every intention of crushing him.

I could already picture the safety. Two points, possession back to us, and the Rose Bowl completely dead.

Then I saw Pritchett spin around and reach for the ball.

When he picked it up off the ground, I thought it was stupid.

The logical decision was to fall on it, cover the ball, and accept the disaster.

Lose the down and keep playing.

But picking it up and trying to continue the play was even worse. Or at least that's what I thought.

Because by the time I processed what he was doing, I was already launching myself at him with all my weight.

I had him. I was completely sure of it.

Then he made a move. A tiny one.

A lightning-fast fake to one side and I flew right past him.

I felt my hands close around empty air as I crashed into the turf.

"What?!" I heard one of my teammates yell. He had thought the same thing I did, that Pritchett was about to be tackled.

I planted my hands immediately to get back up, and when I looked up, chaos had already broken loose.

Pritchett was still alive. Still inside the end zone.

Running laterally. Escaping another defender by inches after he almost grabbed him from behind.

Then he made another guy miss. After that he found a lane, accelerated, and finally got out of the end zone.

The Rose Bowl exploded. Not with joy yet.

With disbelief.

The play had gone from certain death to something completely unpredictable.

I ran after him with everything I had.

I watched several UCLA players react to the miracle and start desperately throwing blocks to help him.

It wasn't a designed play anymore. It was pure survival. Instinct and chaos.

"Run, man, run!" UCLA's number 80 shouted as he ran alongside him, frantically looking in every direction for someone to block.

I gritted my teeth and accelerated.

I could still catch him, but then he came into view. Andrus Peat. The freshman.

Up to that point I had beaten him several times throughout the night, but on that play he looked like a different person.

He planted himself exactly where he needed to be. He took up every inch of available space.

The guy took up every inch of available space. I couldn't get around him. By the time I managed to break free and look back upfield, it was already too late.

I watched as Pritchett found open field and accelerated even more.

Thirty yards.

Forty.

Fifty.

The pursuers started falling behind one after another as the roar of the stadium grew louder with every step.

Then I realized we weren't going to catch him.

My sprint began to slow as I watched something that had seemed impossible just seconds earlier.

Number 19 kept going, the ball secured firmly against his chest, crossed the final white line, and almost instantly disappeared beneath an avalanche of teammates.

Touchdown.

Ninety-five yards.

On a play that should have ended in absolute disaster and that, for a moment, had looked like the beginning of UCLA's complete collapse.

The Rose Bowl exploded in a way I had never heard before.

I stood motionless for several seconds, breathing hard as I watched the celebration.

I could barely see Pritchett among all the blue and gold helmets surrounding him.

"What the hell was that?" I heard one of our linebackers say.

Nobody answered.

"No way..." I muttered, feeling sweat running down my forehead.

I had just witnessed the most absurd play I had ever seen in my entire college career.

...

[General POV]

[Andrew Pritchett-Tucker has turned a graveyard into a gold mine! A ninety-five-yard symphony of absolute chaos! We are witnessing a miracle in Pasadena!] Brent shouted from the booth, rising from his seat as he pointed toward the replay screens.

[Brent, I am completely speechless! This violates every rule of football analytics! Every coach in America is screaming at their television right now because you never pick that ball up! You fall on it, accept the loss, and live to fight another day!] Kirk replied, just as stunned as the rest of the stadium.

The replay once again showed the ball slipping through Andrew's hands.

Then the spin.

Picking it up off the turf.

And the impossible escape that somehow became possible.

Kirk let out a disbelieving laugh before continuing.

[But Pritchett seems allergic to surrender! Look at that move inside his own end zone! That's pure instinct and athleticism! He didn't just escape Oregon State's pressure, Brent... he ripped their souls right out of their helmets! Look at this stadium! This is absolute madness!]

The Rose Bowl seemed to be shaking.

The band was playing so loudly that it was difficult to distinguish individual instruments. The cheerleaders ran up and down the sidelines waving their pom-poms while the student section jumped as if the game had just been decided.

[The blue-and-gold faithful cannot believe what they're seeing! Ninety-five yards of pure survival instinct. They came here to watch a football game, Kirk, and Andrew Pritchett-Tucker just painted a masterpiece on this field. Oregon State thought they had him beaten, trapped, and broken. Instead, all they did was give the magician a bigger stage!]

The reaction in the stands was just as chaotic.

"UCLA, BABY!" Howard and Leonard shouted at the top of their lungs from their section as they jumped around while hugging complete strangers dressed in blue and gold.

Alex was on her feet celebrating too, something extremely rare for her.

Haley was jumping beside her with a huge smile, as though all the tension that had built up since Nebraska had suddenly exploded out of her.

Farther down, Monica and Rachel were screaming so loudly they could barely hear each other.

Cam had both hands on his head while bouncing up and down with happiness.

Even Jay had ended up hugging Gloria while raising a fist into the air.

[I think you've got tears in your eyes, Kirk,] Brent joked through a laugh, already knowing this would be one of the highlights of the day and probably one of the best plays of the entire season.

Kirk completely ignored the comment.

[Pritchett just reminded the entire country that he's not only a passer,] he said as another replay showed the run from a high angle.

[That's his second rushing touchdown of the season. And the way he gets it is magnificent. In a situation where he has to solve an impossible equation in the blink of an eye, he still finds a way to do something extraordinary.]

He took a breath and added more calmly,

[Look at the reactions of his teammates. They're putting their hands together in disbelief at what they just witnessed.]

The camera cut to UCLA's sideline.

Several players still had their hands on top of their heads.

Others were laughing because they simply couldn't believe it. Some were just pointing at the giant stadium screen, watching the replay over and over again.

Finally, the kicker stepped onto the field.

The stadium was still roaring as they placed the ball. The extra point was good.

When the scoreboard changed to 7–7, the noise surged once again.

Because just a few minutes earlier, UCLA had seemed on the verge of disaster.

Now the game had started all over again.

UCLA's morale jumped several levels after that play.

The defense took the field completely revitalized and shut down Oregon State's next possession. What had looked moments earlier like a night destined for disaster suddenly became an open fight once again.

Andrew didn't take long to settle in either.

Before the first quarter ended, he moved the chains enough to put the team into field goal range. The drive had come close to ending in a punt, but a third-down conversion to Steve kept the series alive long enough to turn it into three points.

The kicker did the rest.

UCLA 10 – Oregon State 7.

The second quarter was even more intense.

The Beavers had taken a massive psychological hit from the ninety-five-yard touchdown, but they weren't the kind of team that would collapse because of a single play.

They had beaten Wisconsin.

They weren't mentally weak enough to give up on a game with so much time left to play.

The game became a constant exchange of blows.

Drive after drive.

Andrew led an offense on a seventy-plus-yard march that ended with a touchdown pass to tight end Joseph Fauria.

Oregon State answered with a long drive of its own that ended in a touchdown.

Later, they added a field goal.

When both teams finally headed to the locker room, the scoreboard perfectly reflected what the first half had been.

17–17.

Nobody was dominating.

Neither team could pull away.

The third quarter began by showing exactly why Oregon State had earned national respect.

Their defense remained physical, disciplined, and patient.

Meanwhile, the Beavers' offense began finding more and more room on the ground.

UCLA's defense struggled to stop the running game.

Little by little, Oregon State started controlling more of the time of possession.

Andrew responded the way he knew best.

Midway through the quarter, he threw what was probably his best pass of the night.

A forty-four-yard strike that found Shaq Evans between two defenders for a touchdown.

The Rose Bowl exploded. But once again, Oregon State responded. A long drive ended with a twenty-yard touchdown run by their star running back.

Later, they added another field goal and regained the lead.

UCLA 24 – Oregon State 27.

The fourth quarter began under a completely different kind of tension.

Every possession felt more important than the last.

Every third down brought all ninety thousand people in attendance to their feet.

Even so, the Rose Bowl never stopped pushing.

The crowd understood perfectly what was at stake.

After the miraculous run in the first quarter, after all the narrative surrounding Andrew's first loss, and after an entire week of questions about how he would respond, losing this game would be devastating.

Oregon State found a way to add three more points.

When the ball sailed through the uprights, the scoreboard showed a six-point difference.

UCLA 24 – Oregon State 30.

A little more than four minutes remained. No time for panic.

No margin for error.

'Sixty-eight yards,' Andrew thought as he jogged onto the field with the rest of the offense.

It wasn't an impossible distance.

Not even close.

In fact, they had already put together longer drives earlier in the night.

If they scored a touchdown, the game would be tied. And if the kicker converted the extra point, UCLA would take a one-point lead.

They also had time.

Four minutes was an eternity compared to many college football comebacks.

There was no need to panic.

[This could be UCLA's final offensive possession of the night, Kirk,] Brent commented from the booth as the cameras followed Andrew into the huddle.

Kirk nodded seriously, [It reminds me a lot of Nebraska.]

[But there's one important difference,] Kirk continued. [Against Nebraska he had less than three minutes. Here he has almost four. That might not sound like much to someone who doesn't follow football, but for an offense, it's enormous.]

But Oregon State's defense understood perfectly well what was at stake too.

Every yard was fought for as if it were the last. The Bruins managed to cross into opposing territory, but it wasn't easy.

Especially for Andrew.

Deep passes and intermediate throws had been difficult all night because of the constant pressure from Oregon State's defensive line.

Scott Crichton had already sacked him twice. Although, to be fair, the matchup was no longer as one-sided as it had been early on.

Andrew had found ways to respond. The forty-plus-yard touchdown pass to Shaq.

The impossible escape in the first quarter. And several plays where he had punished the exact aggressiveness Oregon State was using to chase him.

Even so, ironically, the parallels with Nebraska were beginning to appear again.

"Set hut!" Andrew called.

The ball reached his hands, and he got rid of it in less than two seconds.

Incomplete pass.

The clock stopped.

The entire Rose Bowl looked up at the giant scoreboard.

18 seconds.

[Eighteen seconds left in the game!] Brent exclaimed. [And they still need fourteen yards to reach the end zone!]

Kirk's expression remained far more analytical. He was still calculating possibilities.

[They still have time...] he finally said. [At least for two more downs.]

The camera showed Andrew quickly gathering his teammates while the clock remained stopped.

Between the snap, the quarterback making his reads, and the play ending, a typical play consumes five to seven seconds.

In theory, if everything went perfectly, UCLA could even run three more plays.

But theory and reality were not always the same thing.

"What do we do? It's not working!" Shaq shouted, raising his voice above the roar of the Rose Bowl.

The frustration was understandable. They had started the drive with almost four full minutes.

It felt like they had moved down the field at the pace of a turtle.

Now there were less than twenty seconds remaining, and they still needed a touchdown.

With only seconds left, it was reminding Shaq, and everyone else, far too much of Nebraska.

Andrew remained silent inside the huddle. Everyone was looking at him.

Waiting for an answer.

Waiting for a way out where nobody else could see one.

"Andrew!" Shaq insisted.

This time Andrew looked up. His expression was so serious that for a moment it almost seemed cold, "I'm thinking, Shaq."

"I think so you don't have to... so let me think."

The veteran receiver immediately closed his mouth.

For a brief moment, the noise of the stadium seemed to disappear for the players gathered around him.

It was a strange scene if you stopped to analyze it.

An eighteen-year-old true freshman speaking to a senior who had spent years in the program like that.

But neither Shaq nor anyone else protested. Nobody said a word.

They simply let him think.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do..." Andrew finally said as he relayed the play.

The players nodded one after another.

Then the huddle broke, and everyone sprinted to their positions.

Second down and fourteen.

"Set... hut!" Andrew shouted, and the ball arrived cleanly in his hands.

He dropped back slightly. His first read was Shaq. The defense bit exactly as he expected.

The cornerback followed him deep, and the safety immediately shifted toward that side of the field to prevent any shot near the end zone.

Perfect.

His eyes moved to the middle. Amari and Fauria were covered. For a fraction of a second, the pocket began to collapse.

Running wasn't an option.

Scott Crichton had been having a great game all night.

More importantly, if Andrew went down inbounds, the clock would continue running.

There would be no time to reorganize an entire offense.

Then it happened. Steve broke off his route. Not because the play called for it.

'Catch it, you son of a bitch, or I'll kill you,' Andrew thought, a faint smile appearing for the first time during the entire drive, and he threw.

The ball left his hand before Steve had even finished turning his head.

That was the extraordinary part. Not the distance. Not the arm strength.

The timing.

Because for a fraction of a second, Steve looked completely covered, and yet Andrew was already throwing.

The ball traveled only about eleven yards.

Steve turned, and the ball practically arrived in his hands at the exact same moment.

[COMPLETE TO RICE!] Brent exploded, jumping to his feet in the booth.

Steve secured the catch. A defender arrived immediately to bring him down.

Too late.

Steve absorbed the contact, twisted his body, and broke the tackle attempt.

The entire Rose Bowl rose to its feet.

[HE'S STILL ON HIS FEET!] Brent shouted.

Steve took two more steps.

Then three.

Finally, he launched himself forward with his entire body while a defender desperately hung onto him.

[TOUCHDOWN UCLA BRUINS!]

The explosion of noise was instantaneous. Ninety thousand people jumped at the same time.

The band began playing. UCLA players flooded into the end zone to celebrate.

Andrew threw both arms into the air.

Steve disappeared beneath an avalanche of blue and gold helmets.

[What timing!] Kirk exclaimed as the replay began rolling on screen. [Look at this! Andrew throws before Rice even finishes breaking off the route! This isn't a designed play, Brent! This is absolute trust between quarterback and receiver!]

30–30.

The clock stopped immediately when the touchdown was scored and the referee raised his arms.

13 seconds.

Even so, the extra point doesn't consume any time.

And it was good.

31–30.

[UCLA TAKES THE LEAD!]

The camera showed Andrew and Steve slapping hands. But the game wasn't over yet.

Thirteen seconds remained. Oregon State received the kickoff. The clock began running the moment the returner secured the football.

UCLA's coverage unit arrived like a stampede. The seconds kept slipping away.

Then the final play of the game amounted to nothing.

The stadium horn sounded. That long, sharp tone signaling that regulation time had expired.

It was immediately followed by thousands of voices erupting into a collective roar that seemed to shake the entire stadium.

[FINAL!] Brent shouted, jumping to his feet for what felt like the tenth time. [THE UCLA BRUINS HAVE DEFEATED THE TWENTY-THIRD-RANKED TEAM IN THE COUNTRY!]

Brent watched the celebration for a few moments before speaking again, this time in a calmer tone. Almost admiring.

[Seven days ago, this same young man walked off a football field defeated for the first time in his life. Everyone wondered how he would respond. Whether the loss to Nebraska was the beginning of doubt. Whether the phenomenon was finally human. Well, there's your answer, folks. He has risen.]

As he spoke, Andrew's statistics appeared on the screen:

Andrew vs. Oregon State (#23):

28/40 passing

70.0% completion percentage

326 passing yards

3 passing touchdowns

1 rushing touchdown

1 interception

2 sacks taken

112 rushing yards

438 total yards of offense

-------------------------------------------------

You can read 15 chapters in advance on my patreon.

Link: https://[email protected]/Nathe07