Chapter 368 365: The Signature Move Reappears

Chilo Rachal and Anthony Davis were gradually losing their blocks, the entire passing pocket collapsing. But neither of them gave up. They stubbornly held off their opponents, creating a barrier between them and Lu Ke, forcing the rushers to take a wider angle instead of attacking him directly. They were buying a little more time, just a little more time.

The play was on a knife's edge, hanging by a thread.

Though he was a pocket quarterback, Lu Ke didn't hesitate for a second, quickly scrambling out of the pocket. It was precisely that brief delay from Davis and Rachal—maybe half a second, maybe only a quarter of a second—that successfully created a narrow gap. Lu Ke's feet were light and nimble as he slipped through the space between players, darting laterally toward his right.

There were no defenders on the right side. This meant no tackles, no blocks, no hits—just a pure run with the ball. His ball-carrying skill, rated at seventy-one, was still far from top-tier. But with no one to challenge him, Lu Ke's strides were steady and powerful. He moved laterally with a methodical rhythm, as if he were in the middle of a footwork drill.

He didn't look particularly fast, but compared to the clumsy, heavy-set defensive linemen, Lu Ke's agility gave him an unimaginable advantage at that moment.

After he ran out of the pocket, both the offensive and defensive linemen quickly gave chase, each trying to fulfill their roles. The defense aimed to stop Lu Ke from completing a pass, while the offense needed him to make one. A swarm of players surged forward, following Lu Ke's path.

But Lu Ke's footwork gradually created more and more lateral distance between himself and the other players. To the linebackers, cornerbacks, and safeties, his steps might have seemed slow and clumsy, but they easily left the defensive linemen in the dust. While running parallel to the line of scrimmage, Lu Ke never let his guard down. His eyes, like a hawk's, were locked onto the backfield, searching for a target.

In his field of vision, every player was scrambling for position. Whether they were San Francisco 49ers or Detroit Lions, everyone realized this down was far from over. As he ran, Lu Ke's mind raced, processing the position of every player and judging every opening.

After running laterally for about seven or eight yards, Lu Ke planted his feet. In his peripheral vision, he could see a cornerback rapidly closing in, while a linebacker had abandoned the short-pass zone, sprinting with all his might to contain him. Both defenders were at top speed, about to converge for a sack.

Lu Ke didn't adjust his footing. He took a step forward, his right arm swinging in a semi-circle. The muscles in his bicep exploded with power, and with a powerful flick of his wrist, the football began to climb into the blue sky—higher and higher. It traced a magnificent arc, like a rainbow streaking across the heavens—a breathtaking sight, yet filled with deadly intent.

The magic was back!

...

Logan and Gene ran a crossing route, each heading in a different direction. But against the Detroit Lions' zone defense, neither of them had a good opening to receive the ball.

Lifting his head to look back toward the line of scrimmage, Logan saw the collapsing pocket and Lu Ke, who looked like a small boat tossed about in a violent storm. The situation was perilous; even the slimmest chance of survival seemed to flicker in and out of existence.

In that critical moment, Logan made his decision. He came to a sudden stop, forcefully shaking the defender in man coverage. The player couldn't brake in time and stumbled past him. Immediately after, Logan spun around and started running toward Gene's position. He kept looking back and waving his arms, his body turned at a forty-five-degree angle as he continuously adjusted his steps, making the gesture to receive a pass.

In an instant, Logan became the target. The two defenders in that zone slightly shifted their weight. If Lu Ke threw to Logan, they would immediately converge on him.

Meanwhile, after entering the intermediate passing zone, Gene began to slow his pace.

According to the play design, this was a short-pass play. His and Logan's roles were to confuse the defense and wait for an opportunity. The primary receivers were Crabtree and Vernon. Therefore, they needed to stay in the area between the short and intermediate zones to draw defenders and prepare to block—clearing a path for Crabtree or Vernon to advance after the catch.

Turning around, almost at the same time as Logan, Gene also noticed the panic on the offensive line. He then saw Logan change his route, drawing the attention of the zone defenders.

Gene froze for a moment, not understanding the change in the play—his chemistry with Lu Ke was still a notch below Logan's. But the hesitation lasted only an instant. The moment he saw Lu Ke scrambling out of the pocket, alarm bells went off in his head. Before his mind could even begin to process it, his feet were already sprinting forward.

It was pure instinct.

He had only taken a few steps when he caught a zone defender out of the corner of his eye, closing in fast for tight coverage. It was Chris Harris.

The Lions' defense, which had been on fire in the second half, truly had sharp instincts, leaving no openings. Gene wasn't nervous at all. He charged forward, posturing for an all-out sprint, and locked horns with Harris like two bulls, neither giving an inch, both going at it with all their might.

In the powerful collision, Gene's speed began to decrease, but the force he drove off his feet didn't weaken in the slightest. In fact, it grew fiercer as they pushed against each other.

Suddenly, without warning, Gene dipped his right shoulder and sank his center of gravity. The stalemate was broken. He could feel Harris behind him toppling over like a falling pillar. Crouching low, Gene took a huge stride forward, easily shaking off the "sandbag" on his back. Then, he straightened up and pushed his speed to the absolute limit.

THUD. The sound of Harris losing his balance and hitting the turf echoed from behind. The rush of air billowed past, lapping at Gene's calves and ankles, which only made his feet move faster, and faster still.

The thirty-five-yard line, the thirty, the twenty-five, the twenty... In what felt like a single breath, Gene quickly looked up and saw the football plummeting from the sky. Just as he expected, it was a deep strike born from desperation. The same old magic, the same deadly result. Lu Ke had once again unsheathed the sword of his long pass!

A super long pass that crossed half the field, aimed straight for the red zone, brutally piercing through the steel-forest-like defense for a fatal blow!

Gene didn't get complacent. Instead, he became even calmer, quickly judging the ball's trajectory. 'Not enough, still not enough,' he thought. 'I need to push a little further.'

Turning his head, Gene spotted Louis Delmas standing near the five-yard line.

As the safety responsible for providing deep coverage, Delmas was completely focused, not letting his guard down for a moment. He had accurately read Lu Ke's long pass and had already judged the landing spot early, setting himself up in position to catch it. If Delmas made the catch, it would be an interception—an interception that could turn the tide of the game.

Because Delmas had moved so early and positioned himself perfectly under the ball, it almost looked as if Lu Ke had intended to throw it to him all along. The interception seemed like a sure thing. Against the Lions' tight defense, at such a critical moment in the game, Lu Ke's pass had been far too risky.

No worry, no fear, no anxiety. Gene's mind went blank. There was only one thought: 'How do I make this catch?'

In that split-second of thought, Gene had already sprinted to near the ten-yard line. The landing spot for Lu Ke's pass was diagonally ahead to his right, about six or seven yards away in a straight line. But by now, the football was already dropping fast. Delmas had raised his hands high, opening his arms, ready to receive it.

'It's too late.'

Relying on his running speed alone, he wouldn't make it in time.

So, using his powerful forward momentum, Gene took a huge stride, and then another. Pushing his body's sprinting force to its peak, he planted his right foot hard on the ground. The power in his calf muscles exploded like a bursting dam, first horizontally, then vertically. Like a high jumper arching his back, he broke free from the pull of gravity and soared high, high into the air.

But it seemed his leap still wasn't high enough. While hanging in the air, he mimicked a frog, powerfully contracting and kicking his legs. As if climbing an invisible ladder, he elegantly and forcefully extended his body, managing to push himself just a little bit higher. He then stretched out his arms, reaching as far as he could, looking like a newly launched rocket, roaring as it climbed ever higher.

In the nick of time, Delmas noticed Gene closing in fast. He leaped straight up from his spot, unleashing his explosive athleticism. He thrust his hands upward, trying to snatch the football a split second before Gene could.

And so, the two leaping figures overlapped in the air, one in front of the other, forming a barrier directly in the football's path.

Just when everyone thought Delmas would complete the interception, Gene's hands forcefully and authoritatively blocked Delmas's, clamping down firmly on the football. Delmas's hands were a quarter-beat too slow. They slapped against the ball, but he couldn't gain control. He could only watch helplessly as Gene's large hands wrapped tightly around the football.

"Caught it!"

Gene could clearly feel the texture of the ball in his hands. He forcefully controlled it with the strength of his palms, quickly pulling his arms back to cradle the football securely against his chest.

The next second, the call of gravity broke the spell. Their heavy bodies began to accelerate downward. THUD. Both Gene and Delmas crashed hard onto the ground.

Delmas's first instinct was to slap at the football in Gene's arms, praying that Gene hadn't fully secured it so he could still break up the catch. But Gene curled up like a shrimp, protecting the ball in his embrace with his life, not moving an inch.

Catch successful!