Chương 198: 49ers @ Giants

November 3rd 2030, MetLife Flying Aces Stadium It was easy to tell Harbach he was ready to show the world the Struggle formation. Now Leo sat in the home team locker room at MetLife Stadium, thirty minutes from kickoff, and the reality of what he was about to attempt sunk in. He had spent the last twenty minutes thinking about how he would do it. First, he would trap McCaffrey's sword with his chain hook. Then he would draw the Struggle formation on the blade while McCaffrey tried to break free.

Then the sword would fly off to the heavens and McCaffrey would be out for the rest of the season. The problem was the middle part. Drawing the formation took time. His fastest attempt in training was forty-five seconds, and that was in ideal conditions. When he added flak and enemy flyers to the holographic simulators, it took twice as long. Harbach thought he could do it within sixty seconds in a real game.

Sixty seconds of holding McCaffrey's sword steady while dodging flak, evading attacks, and keeping his brush strokes clean. Sixty seconds was a long time. The locker room door swung open. Vince walked in first, already talking.

"I'm telling you, the margins on spiritual ink are criminal. Criminal." Kowalski followed behind him, nodding along.

"That's what they want you to pay."

"That's what I'm saying!" Niki came in next, laughing at something on her phone. She showed the screen to Vince as she passed. He squinted at it, then burst out laughing loud enough to echo off the lockers. Damari drifted in last. He didn't say anything. He never said anything before a game. The locker room filled with the familiar sounds of pregame preparation. Armor straps tightened. Shoulder plates snapped into place. The crowd noise filtered down from above, a low rumble that vibrated through the ceiling.

Damari pulled his chestplate from his locker. Then he stopped. He looked at Leo. Leo looked away, but it was too late. Damari crossed the room in four steps. He dropped onto the bench next to Leo, close enough that their shoulder plates bumped.

"Aye. You nervous?" Leo shrugged.

"Little bit."

"That's fair. McCaffrey's been doing this forever." Damari paused.

"But he ain't played you yet." Leo looked at him.

"I'm serious." Damari leaned back.

"You the one getting better every week. He just trying to hold on to what he got." He stood, slapped Leo's shoulder plate once.

"Don't let it make you slow." Leo smiled. Damari was right. What he was doing was new. McCaffrey had no idea what was coming. No one on Earth had ever seen the Struggle formation before. No one knew what Leo was planning except Harbach. Leo didn't need to figure out how to draw a formation on someone desperately trying to rip his sword away. He just needed McCaffrey to underestimate his formation brush until it was too late. If McCaffrey thought Leo was just trying to slow him down, he wouldn't struggle that hard.

He'd focus on the other Giants, the flyers who might actually eliminate him. And by the time he realized what was actually happening, his sword would already be seeking enlightenment. Leo looked up at Damari.

"Thanks, man."

"Just calling it how I see it." Damari shrugged and headed back to his gear. The door banged open. Harbach strode in, clipboard tucked under one arm. The room went quiet.

"Gather round." Everyone moved. The defenders paused their equipment checks. The flyers put down their gear. Leo stood between Niki and Vince. Both of them looked bored.

"We're going to do something different today," Harbach said. Vince's eyebrows climbed half an inch. Niki tilted her head.

"First quarter, we're keying on McCaffrey." Harbach pulled up a tactical overlay on his clipboard and projected it into the air between them. McCaffrey's flight patterns from his last six games traced golden lines through the hologram.

"Chen goes one-on-one. The goal is to grab McCaffrey's sword with the chain hook and control it for as long as possible." Niki's eyes lit up.

"Iso and sac? I got this, Coach." She cracked her knuckles.

"Leo locks him down, isolates him, and I take him out while he's hindered. Clean elimination." Harbach shook his head.

"Isolation, yes. Sacrifice, no." Blank stares.

"I don't want anyone sacrificing themselves to take McCaffrey out. First quarter, Leo hooks McCaffrey's sword and holds it for as long as he can manage. That's the only objective. Everyone else plays defensive, no going for points, no burning T4, because I want every drop of T4 qi saved for the second quarter." Vince frowned.

"So what's the plan here, Coach? We run iso and sac without the sac? Just let Leo get a good look at McCaffrey's sword so he can... what, admire the craftsmanship?"

"If Leo can control McCaffrey's sword for sixty seconds in the first quarter, the second quarter is going to look very different." Harbach's voice left no room for questions.

"For now, trust the process." Vince stared at him. Then at Leo.

"Sixty seconds? That's an eternity in a game. What happens after sixty..." Kowalski slapped his thigh.

"I knew it." Everyone turned to look at him.

"I knew something was up." Dale Kowalski was already moving, circling behind Harbach, slapping him on the back hard enough to make the coach stumble.

"See? I told you guys. I told you Harbach and Leo were hiding something. But nooo." He pitched his voice into a mocking falsetto.

"Nobody believes you, Kowalski. There's no such thing as conspiracies, Kowalski. The government isn't putting brainwashing formations in the helmets, Kowalski."

"Dale." Vince glared at Kowalski.

"The helmet thing is still insane."

"Well I was right about the NSA and I'm right about this." Kowalski held out his hand, palm up.

"Pay up." Niki crossed her arms.

"Harbach didn't confirm anything. For all we know, his secret plan could just be a standard iso and sac to take McCaffrey out." She turned to Leo.

"Leo. Do you know what Harbach's talking about?" Everyone looked at him.

"I'm not confirming anything." Leo shrugged.

"But you should probably pay the man." A collective groan went around the room. Niki reached into her armor and pulled out a crisp hundred. Vince muttered something about broken trust and fished out three bills from his pocket. Even Damari walked over and slapped a hundred into Kowalski's palm without a word. Across the room, two Soldiers exchanged glances, then trudged over to add their own bills to the pile.

Kowalski counted the bills once, wrapped them in aluminum foil, and hid the bundle somewhere in his locker.

"But hey." He turned back to the room and smiled.

"I'm just a linebacker."

"Welcome to ESPN's Sunday Night Flying Aces. I'm Jim Pasch."

"And I'm Dave Nantz. We're ten minutes from kickoff here at MetLife Stadium. Jim, do you want to tell them the number, or should I?"

"Forty million, Dave. Forty million viewers for a regular season game."

"Jim, I've been calling games for decades. I have never seen a regular season matchup generate this kind of attention." The camera panned across MetLife Stadium. Giants blue filled every section, broken only by scattered pockets of 49ers red. Flyer Seven jerseys everywhere.

"Leo Chen." Dave leaned back.

"The story of the 2030 season. We talked about him in preseason. We wondered if he was ready. And then he stepped onto that field in Buffalo and showed us something nobody had ever seen before." The broadcast cut to highlights. Leo threading through overlapping flak bursts. His shield display unchanged. Footage that still didn't make sense no matter how many times you watched it. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"The micrododging," Jim said.

"Every team in the league spent weeks trying to crack it. Film sessions. Formation analysis. Computational modeling. And you know what they figured out?"

"Nothing."

"Almost nothing. The only countermeasure anyone developed? Put Mamones on him. The best duelist in the league, babysitting a rookie." Jim shook his head.

"That's not a solution, Dave. That's an admission of defeat."

"But what really sets Leo apart isn't the micrododging. It's his growth. Remember week five? The Saints game?" Jim laughed.

"I remember the takes that came after it."

"Everyone wrote him off. The Saints put their linebacker on him and Leo couldn't handle it. Forums were calling him a one-trick pony. Draft bust. Should have stayed in college."

"And then he won three straight." Jim held up three fingers.

"He adapted. He figured out how to operate against linebacker coverage. Every time the league figures him out, he figures them out right back." The screen showed Leo's kill against the Eagles' starting wing. A clean elimination in under ninety seconds.

"But here's the question, Dave. Is Leo Chen ready for Christian McCaffrey?" Dave was quiet for a moment.

"McCaffrey is one of the best wings in the league. Thirty-two years of professional experience. Two-time Super Bowl champion. The kind of veteran who's seen every trick, countered every innovation, survived every generational talent who thought they could take his spot."

"And we saw what happened when Leo faced an elite duelist in week three. Mamones tore him apart."

"That's the concern. Leo's been impressive against the Eagles, but Philadelphia isn't known for individual duelists. And against the Broncos, Leo contained Hilda Walton all game but never got the elimination. Impressive for a rookie. Not enough against McCaffrey." Jim nodded slowly.

"So that's what we're here to find out. Has Leo Chen actually improved? Or are we about to watch week three all over again?" A pause.

"But you know what I keep coming back to, Jim? Remember what all the critics said when Leo got drafted?"

"Wait till he faces real flak." Jim smiled.

"Well, look at him now. He's the undisputed number one flyer in the league at handling flak."

"You know what his real weapon is, Jim? It's his youth."

"Exactly." Jim turned to face the camera.

"Leo Chen is nineteen years old. He's just getting started. Every week he's better than the week before, and nobody knows where it stops."

"This is what the league needs, Jim. Fresh blood. New talent. Young flyers who can capture the audience's imagination the way Leo has." The broadcast cut to a graphic showing viewership numbers. Giants games were up forty-three percent since Leo's debut. Merchandise sales had tripled. Season tickets were sold out.

"I couldn't agree more," Jim said.

"And I hope Commissioner Goodell is watching tonight. Because if the NFL wants to stay relevant, if they want to keep growing, they need to find a way to get more young talent onto these rosters." Dave nodded.

"The fans want it. The networks want it. The numbers prove it works. The question is whether the league has the courage to make it happen."

"Well, Dave, if tonight's game is any indication..." The screen went black. The barracks at McGuire Air Force Base erupted.

"Santiago!" Major Santiago stood in front of the television, remote in hand. She was not pleased.

"Turn it back on!" A lieutenant sat up on his cot.

"Major, the game starts in five minutes!"

"I can't stand this political garbage." Santiago glared at them.

"More young flyers in the league. Like any of them actually care about talent."

"Come on, Major." A captain, still in his flight suit, spread his hands.

"Wouldn't that be great? The NFL is full of hundred-year-olds who've been playing for decades. Fresh competition would shake things up."

"I heard the Europeans are pushing this idea," a sergeant added.

"Mixed-tier leagues. Gold Cores and Foundation Establishment competing together. They say it would make things more exciting." Santiago's jaw tightened.

"I know you're going to break through to Nascent Soul soon," the lieutenant continued.

"So you won't get the chance. But what about Odell? Or Smith? They're the best flyers I know. They would tear up the NFL if they were allowed to compete as Gold Cores." Santiago turned slowly. Everyone gulped.

"You really think," she said, "that if the NFL allowed Gold Cores to compete, Odell or Smith would get a chance?" The lieutenant opened his mouth. Santiago didn't let him speak.

"You know what happened last time they tried to apply for the Dao Discussion Tournament? The organizers denied them. Do you know why?" Silence.

"They said they weren't notable enough." Santiago's hand closed around the remote until the plastic creaked.

"Notable enough. Two of the most talented flyers in the Air Force. Denied entry because the organizers said they wouldn't sell tickets." She tossed the remote onto the lieutenant's cot.

"You want to listen to their lies, fine." Santiago was already walking toward the door.

"But remember. Cranesong practice starts right after the game ends. If anyone is late, they're going to be singing until midnight." The door slammed behind her. The barracks were quiet for a long moment. Then the lieutenant pointed the remote at the television and turned it back on.

Tom Wheeler felt like he was going to throw up. He stood in his seat at MetLife Stadium, hands gripping the railing, staring at the home team's launching platform two hundred feet below. Any moment now the jumbotron would flicker on and he would see Leo Chen start the tunnel walk. His stomach churned.

"What's wrong with you two?" Uncle Ray slapped him on the back. Tom turned. His uncle was holding a foam finger in one hand and a hot dog in the other, looking between Tom and Matt with genuine confusion.

"You look like you're about to wet your pants." Ray took a bite of his hot dog.

"It's just a game. Didn't you boys risk your lives in the Catacombs? I remember the stories. Three hundred Nascent Soul Lords. Qi Refiners against cultivators who could level cities." Ray was right. During his junior year of high school, Tom had served in the Boston Catacombs alongside Matt and Leo. The two of them had watched Leo thread the hollow of a Nascent Soul's domain. They had seen classmates die. They had looked death in the eye. For some reason, this felt worse. Matt hadn't said a word all day.

He stood on the other side of Uncle Ray, looking pale and rigid.

"It's different," Matt finally managed.

"Back then we had the entire US Army behind us. Countless flak cannons. Nascent Soul support. The plan was airtight."

"Over eleven thousand people still died at the Battle of Fort Cambridge," Ray said.

"Here, if the Giants lose, they'll still have a good shot at the playoffs." Matt shook his head.

"You don't understand." Back then, they had been certain they would win. Now Tom was afraid Leo would lose. That McCaffrey would shut Leo down on national television. That Flyer Seven, the golden rookie, would become the golden flop, and Tom would have to watch it happen from two hundred feet away. He began regretting coming to the game. Tom stared at the dark tunnel entrance. That was where Leo would emerge. Where the jumbotron would catch his face and broadcast it to millions.

The crazy thing was how much Leo had been through. The Catacombs. Collegiate Flying Aces. The national championship against Texas A&M. Through all of it, rooting for Leo had been easy. He was so far above everyone else that victory felt inevitable. When Leo played for the Bulldogs, the only question was how badly he would embarrass the other team. Today was different. Leo had faced his first real losses. The Saints game in week five had been brutal. Leo had looked human for the first time in years.

Everyone had written him off for the year. But then something had shifted. Three consecutive wins. Each one more dominant than the last. Leo was improving at a rate that no one had ever seen before. Suddenly the conversation had changed. Leo had gone from "a kid with great potential" to "is he going to be the greatest flyer of all time?" Tom thought about Uncle Ray's pregame tailgate earlier that afternoon. The only thing anyone wanted to talk about was whether this was finally the year.

Whether the Giants were in the running for the playoffs. Whether Leo Chen could take them to the Super Bowl. Every single person at that tailgate had wanted to talk to Tom. They knew he was Leo's former roommate. They knew they had served together. They cornered him between the brisket station and the wet bar, asking what Leo was really like. Asking if Leo could really do it. Asking if it was okay to believe. Tom hadn't known what to say. He still didn't. The entire fan base was holding its breath.

Eighteen years without a Super Bowl. Eighteen years of disappointment. And now a nineteen year old rookie was supposed to end the drought. Five years ago, Tom had taken a quiet Asian kid to his first Flying Aces game. Leo had asked questions about everything. Now that kid was Flyer Seven, and Tom was the one gripping the railing. Somewhere along the way, Leo had stopped being his friend and started being something else. An idol. A symbol. Someone whose success meant something beyond the game.

If Leo could do the impossible, maybe the rest of them could too. When had that happened? The jumbotron blazed to life. The crowd roared. Leo Chen walked out of the locker room behind Vince, but the camera ignored the captain entirely. It stayed locked on Leo. Dread settled in Tom's chest and grew with every step Leo took. McCaffrey was the best of the best. After their loss to the Saints, Tom had almost skipped this game. Everyone thought the Giants had no chance.

No point watching Leo get embarrassed twice in a month. And what had really changed since then? Leo had gotten a little better. Four weeks of improvement. Could four weeks really close the gap between a rookie and an allstar like McCaffrey? The crowd kept cheering. Two hundred thousand people had turned up, expecting Flyer Seven to beat McCaffrey. They had completely forgotten about week five. Three consecutive victories had erased the memory of the loss to the Saints. But Tom hadn't forgotten.

He watched Leo walk closer to the tunnel exit. The cheering grew louder. Vince glanced back at Leo once, then faced forward. Even the captain knew who the crowd was here for. Tom started to despair. This was going to be a massacre. The 49ers were going to expose every weakness Leo had. McCaffrey was going to tear him apart the way Mamones had in week three, and the narrative would flip overnight. All those expectations, all that hope, all of it would come crashing down on Leo's head.

And Tom couldn't do anything about it. Leo emerged from the tunnel. The stadium erupted. Tom saw his face. Leo was grinning. That grin. Tom recognized it instantly. It was the same look Leo had given before the Ivy League championship. The same look he had worn in the Boston Catacombs, right before he dove into a Nascent Soul's domain. The "I have something up my sleeve" grin. Tom turned to Matt. Matt was already looking at him.

"Did you..." they both started at the same time. Their voices were lost in the crowd. It didn't matter. They had both seen it. Leo Chen was facing the hardest challenge of his professional career. Unrealistic expectations weighed on him. The fans were asking him to do the impossible. And Leo wasn't nervous. No. He was excited. Relief. Pure relief. Leo had a plan. Leo always had a plan. Matt sat down hard. His legs had simply stopped working.

Five years of friendship, a tour in the Catacombs, and a stupid grin from across a stadium had nearly made them both cry. Tom had no idea what Leo was planning. He had no idea how Leo intended to handle McCaffrey. But who was he kidding? This was Leo. The kid who had killed Nascent Souls as a Qi Refiner. The kid who had won a collegiate national championship as a high schooler. Leo always had something. Tom started cheering. He didn't know what he was about to witness.

But for the first time since he started watching the Giants as a kid, he believed they could actually win it all.