The bus ride to Odessa was three hours of silence.
Usually, the back of the bus is a party. Kids throwing paper balls, cracking jokes, talking about girls. Today? It felt like a hearse driving to a graveyard.
I looked out the window. The West Texas landscape rolled by—flat, brown, and filled with oil pumps bobbing up and down like drinking birds.
[System Status]
[Health: 100%]
[Fatigue: 0%]
[Status: Peak Condition]
My ribs were fine. The System's recovery rate, combined with being twelve years old, meant I had bounced back fast. I felt light. I felt dangerous.
But looking around the bus, I was the only one.
Tiny was staring at his knees, shaking his leg nervously. Kyle Benson looked green, like he was about to throw up his pre-game meal.
"Hey," I whispered to Kyle. "You good?"
"My stomach hurts," Kyle mumbled. "I heard their defensive line averages 180 pounds."
"They're just kids, Kyle."
"They're monsters," Kyle corrected.
***
We arrived at the stadium.
And okay... I understood the fear.
This wasn't a Junior High field. This was a *complex*. The grass was manicured. The goalposts looked brand new. And the opposing team...
They were warming up in the end zone. They wore black jerseys. They looked huge. They had neck rolls and visors. They looked like a SWAT team.
Our team walked into the locker room like we were marching to the gallows.
The locker room was cold. Concrete walls painted black. It smelled like bleach and intimidation.
Coach Wilkins walked in. He looked stressed. He started drawing plays on the whiteboard, but his hand was shaking just a little bit.
"Alright," Wilkins said, his voice echoing. "Listen up. They're big. We know that. We have to stick to the game plan. Run the ball, control the clock, keep the score low."
He was coaching scared. He was already playing not to lose.
The team could feel it. Tiny had his head in his hands. The receivers were looking at the floor. The fear was thick, choking the air out of the room.
I couldn't let this happen.
If we went out there scared, we would lose by forty points. We needed swagger. We needed arrogance.
I closed my eyes. I accessed the memories of my old life. I thought about the most confident, trash-talking, psychopathic winner I knew.
*Conor McGregor.*
I needed that energy. The "King" energy.
I stood up.
The sound of my cleats on the concrete was loud.
"Cooper, sit down," Coach Wilkins said. "I'm not done."
"With all due respect, Coach," I said, my voice calm but loud. "I think we're done listening to how big they are."
The room went dead silent. Tiny looked up. Kyle's jaw dropped.
I walked to the center of the room. I didn't look like a scared kid. I rolled my shoulders, loose and fluid.
"Look at you guys," I said, scanning the room. "You look stiff. You look terrified."
"They're huge, Georgie," a receiver whined.
"So what?" I snapped.
I started pacing. The "McGregor Strut"—just a subtle version of it. Shoulders back. Chin up.
"You think size matters?" I laughed. A cold, mocking laugh. "History is full of giants who got slept by little guys."
I pointed at the door.
"They have power. Sure. They have big muscles. They lift heavy weights."
I tapped my own temple.
"But precision beats power."
I tapped my chest.
"And timing beats speed."
I looked at Tiny.
"They're slow, Tiny. They're heavy. They think they can just lean on you and you'll fold. But you're faster than them. You're smarter than them."
I turned to the whole team.
"They think we're just some hick town team coming here to get beat up. They think we're just 'taking part' in their little victory parade."
I paused. I let the silence hang there for a second.
"We're not here to take part," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "We're here to take over."
I saw a spark in Tiny's eyes. I saw Kyle sit up straighter.
"I have a vision," I said, channeling 'Mystic Mac'. "First drive. They're gonna blitz. They're gonna try to take my head off. And I'm gonna slip it. And I'm gonna hit Miller for a fifty-yard touchdown."
I looked at Miller. "You gonna catch it?"
Miller swallowed hard. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I'll catch it."
"Good," I said.
I grabbed my helmet.
"They're stiff. They're stuck in the mud. We're fluid. We're water." I looked at Coach Wilkins. "Let's go shock the world."
Coach Wilkins stared at me. He looked like he was seeing a ghost. Or a madman.
But then, he smiled.
"You heard the Quarterback!" Wilkins yelled, slamming his hand on a locker. "Precision beats power! Let's go!"
"YEAH!" Tiny roared, jumping up.
"Let's go!" Kyle screamed, the color returning to his face.
The team flooded out of the locker room. The fear was gone. Replaced by something crazier. Belief.
[System Alert]
[Skill Activated: The Notorious]
[Team Morale: Maximum]
[Fear Effect: Nullified]
I walked out last.
The Odessa crowd was screaming. The black jerseys were chanting.
I put my mouthpiece in. I felt the "Mahomes Template" humming in my veins.
*Precision beats power.*
Let's work.