Chapter 433 Zero-Second Offense

The slow-motion replay showed that at the very moment Ted Ginn Jr. made the catch, Kiwanuka slammed hard into him. The impact prevented Ginn from securing the football smoothly. It juggled in his arms for a moment as he struggled to gain complete control.

At the same time, Kiwanuka hoisted Ginn onto his shoulder like he was carrying a sack of rice, lowered his head, and charged forward, driving Ginn straight out of the back of the end zone.

By the time Ginn gained full control of the football and both his feet touched the ground, one of them was already out of bounds.

Thus, it was a successful defensive stop, an incomplete pass. By that ruling, the San Francisco 49ers would have lost the game. Their offense had failed, and with no time left on the clock, the outcome would have been sealed. But… there was a “but.”

However, the referee signaled that Kiwanuka had committed a penalty on the play. After losing his position, he had resorted to holding—an illegal tackle—to impede Ginn. Even so, Ginn had still managed to break free and get into the end zone.

Following the rules of offensive advantage, the referee didn’t blow the whistle immediately. Unfortunately, since Ginn failed to secure the ball in the end zone and missed the touchdown, the referee then announced the penalty. A foul on the Defense Team, a five-yard penalty, and the offense would get another chance to run a play.

The game would continue.

The offensive players huddled up again. Peering through their helmet visors, they saw Lu Ke grinning from ear to ear. Everyone froze, confused. Finally, Logan was the first to let out a chuckle. Soon, the rest of the team joined in, and the tense, frustrated atmosphere was suddenly tinged with a sense of the absurd.

It was absurd—the sheer absurdity of the game clock hitting zero while their offense was still on the field.

After they settled down, still no words were spoken. But this time, Lu Ke’s gaze landed firmly on each and every player. They had to focus. They had to rally their spirits once more. After so many unexpected twists, they couldn’t afford to be distracted or, even worse, to doubt themselves. Victory could only be won by forging straight ahead.

The battle for the one-yard line.

After all that back and forth, the San Francisco 49ers offense was back on the one-yard line, just one yard away from a comeback victory. So, would they run the ball?

This time, the New York Giants Defense Team seemed to have finally come to their senses and made an adjustment.

Kiwanuka, who had just cost his team the victory with that penalty, wasn’t taken off the field. Instead, he adjusted his position. He was one of four heavyweight players now stacked opposite the Offense Line. Clearly, they could no longer afford to ignore the run, not when the 49ers had sent in Kendall Hunter, their heavyweight Fullback.

Even if it was a trap—even if Kendall was only there to draw their attention—the Giant Team had to walk right into it. If Lu Ke actually handed the ball to Kendall, it would be an absolute disaster. With Hunter’s sheer size, and his teammates clearing a path, he could easily plow his way into the end zone.

And so, the New York Giants Defense Team was forced to adjust.

Meanwhile, in the broadcast booth, Kirk was laughing heartily. “Other than in the middle of the field, the New York Giants’ man-to-man coverage hasn’t changed much at all! For Lu Ke, this is like a wide-open playground. Every player has a matchup with its own advantages and disadvantages. He can throw to anyone—literally *anyone*! The initiative is no longer with the Giant Team. Everything is in Lu Ke’s hands now!”

…

The entire Candlestick Park fell silent, utterly and completely still. It wasn’t a dead silence, but one thick with surging emotion. The sound of rapid breaths, racing hearts, and pounding blood created an irrepressible current. Though no one spoke, a restless energy filled the air, so thick it was almost suffocating.

Ryan Baldwin sat in his wheelchair, head tilted up at the entire stadium of 49ers fans who were on their feet. That vast, churning sea of red had fallen quiet, but the fierce undercurrent beneath the calm surface was electrifying. In this moment, how he wished he could stand up and join them—to be so nervous he could cry, to hold his breath, to tremble alongside every other 49ers fan.

But he couldn’t.

‘Damn this amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.’ He hadn’t stood on his own two feet in a long, long time. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done it. The feeling was so distant it had become unfamiliar. Now, he couldn’t even manage the simplest, most basic act of standing up.

In his line of sight, Ryan could see his brother Jonathan’s expression.

Fearless. Unwavering. Even in the face of the game’s dramatic highs and lows, even with all its shocking twists and turns, his brother’s thin, weathered face showed no fear, no hesitation. It was as if… as if he held an unshakable belief that victory would ultimately be theirs.

That conviction was so firm, so powerful, that the ice encasing Ryan’s heart slowly began to thaw and burn hot.

Ryan missed this version of his brother. He missed games like this. He missed moments like this—the feeling of his heart hammering so hard it might just rip through his chest. It was what truly made him feel alive.

His eyes returned to the field, and Ryan couldn’t help the tension that seized him. His hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. He didn’t know if the rookie quarterback could handle the pressure. He didn’t know if this brand-new team could truly turn the tide. But he desperately wanted to be a part of it.

THUMP, THUMP. He could hear the heartbeat of Candlestick Park, and his own heart fell into the same rhythm. It was as if he, too, had become a part of the stadium itself.

…

It was too quiet. The stadium was just too quiet. Once the silence reached its absolute peak, the tension began to spread like a virus.

Even though Lu Ke wasn’t nervous, his thoughts were inevitably affected. A moment like this, a situation like this… forget a rookie like Lu Ke, even the most seasoned veterans had likely never experienced anything quite like it.

Now, the only thing Lu Ke could do was read the defense, read the defense, and read the defense.

Multiple receiving routes. Pistol Formation.

This was undoubtedly one of the San Francisco 49ers’ most successful offensive formations of the season. To the right, Logan Newman was in single coverage—a favorable matchup.

To the left, Vernon Davis was back in for Kyle Williams, forming a three-pronged attack with Ted Ginn Jr. and Michael Crabtree.

As for Marcus Lynch, he had been rotated out. With Kendall Hunter taking his place, the threat of a run increased, but that naturally meant sacrificing a potential receiving target.

The New York Giants Defense Team definitely had a numerical advantage. Four players on their Defense Line were plugging the running lanes, and a linebacker stood at the goal line, ready to provide secondary run support. The other six defenders were all spread out in the End Zone.

One defender was covering Logan, leaving five to cover the three receivers on the left.

‘Does this mean Logan has a bigger window? Or is it a trap? Are the New York Giants trying to bait me into throwing his way?’ In that same split second, Lu Ke noticed another subtle shift in the coverage.

He glanced at the play clock out of the corner of his eye. Five seconds left. There was no more time to think. Making a split-second decision, Lu Ke bent into his stance and, without hesitation, yelled out the call.

“ATTACK!”

The deep, powerful voice exploded across the field like a clap of thunder. In an instant, the entire San Francisco 49ers line surged forward like a bulldozer. Kendall Hunter didn’t even fake a handoff; he just slammed straight into the mass of his own linemen, driving the pile forward.

It was a pass!

Lu Ke’s eyes flicked to Logan’s position. ‘A trap. It really was a trap.’ A linebacker had immediately shifted over to double-team Logan. Now bracketed by two defenders, Logan was still fighting to get open. Instantly, Lu Ke’s gaze snapped to the left—not to Ginn, not to Vernon. His eyes locked onto Crabtree.

To be precise, his eyes locked onto the matchup between Crabtree and the defender covering him, Aaron Ross—a new face in the coverage scheme.

The more dangerous threats, Ginn and Vernon, had drawn the attention of three defenders. Another defender was watching Lu Ke’s every move, ready to break toward wherever the ball went.

Now, Crabtree and Ross were isolated in a one-on-one battle. Lu Ke’s Pocket Footwork was solid and nimble as he shuffled quickly to his left. One step, two, three. In just two seconds—perhaps even less—Lu Ke raised his right arm with thunderous force and, with a swift, decisive motion, fired the football out in a straight line. A rocket.

A bullet pass!

The football ripped through the air with a whistling sound, and before anyone could react, it found Crabtree in the end zone near the left pylon!

…

With just two large strides, Crabtree charged into the end zone. There was no time to see, only to react. Relying on pure animal instinct, he assessed the situation and instantly realized he was in a one-on-one matchup against Ross.

A shoulder crashed down on him, feeling as heavy as a mountain. Crabtree gave everything he had to push forward, but Ross didn’t budge an inch. He met the impact head-on, completely stonewalling Crabtree’s momentum. The two were locked together, a stalemate. Crabtree couldn’t shift, couldn’t advance, couldn’t even break away. It was suffocating defense, with absolutely no give.

But Crabtree had never been afraid of a physical battle.

A surge, a collision, a shove—he avoided any excess hand-fighting. ‘Don’t commit a penalty! Don’t commit a penalty! Don’t commit a penalty!’ It was the only thought in Crabtree’s mind.