Chương 83: Their Final Game

"This is your host, and welcome to ESPN's pregame coverage of the 2028 College Flying Aces National Championships. Kickoff is in two hours."

"I'm Jim Pasch."

"And I'm Dave Nantz. We are live at the Rose Bowl Flying Aces Stadium in Pasadena, California." The camera panned wide, capturing the massive crowd already filling the seats. A sea of Yale blue crashed against waves of Texas A&M maroon. Banners snapped in the California breeze. Formation barriers shimmered overhead, filtering the afternoon sun into soft golden light.

"Dave, we've had the privilege of covering this young man all year. We first knew him as the hero of Boston Catacombs. He entered the CFL scene in his rookie year with a splash, bringing NFL-style third person perspective gameplay to an unprepared field."

"And he's still in high school, Jim. Seventeen years old."

"That's right. And it's amazing to think how much he has grown since we first covered him week one against Florida."

"After his loss week three against Harvard, people were ready to write him off. But what a comeback. Now people are calling him the greatest collegiate flyer ever seen."

"Omnidirectional perspective, Dave. Can you imagine that? That's a rarity even in the NFL. Three hundred sixty degrees in every direction simultaneously."

"The boy scores touchdowns in seconds, Jim. Seconds. And he makes it look easy." Dave shuffled his notes.

"Speaking of the NFL, let's talk about the draft next month."

"Leo's teammates DeShawn Washington and Darnell Robinson are guaranteed first round picks in the NFL Defensive Player draft. But let's talk about Leo. After he advances to Foundation Establishment next year, he's going to be the first drafted flyer under the age of forty since the switch to third person perspective."

"I know, Jim. Takes me back to the good old days. When the draft board was full of young guns fresh out of college, hungry to prove themselves. Now you've got sixty year old formation masters clogging up the first round because they want a cheap way to boost their divine sense."

"Hey now, those formation masters ended up making it a pretty entertaining product, wouldn't you say Dave?"

"Ha! Yeah, no, absolutely." Dave's laugh came out a beat too loud. He changed the subject.

"But speaking of the draft, there's a lot of speculation about when Leo's going to declare and how the teams will jockey for that first round pick. I heard the Cleveland Browns, who have this year's number one draft pick, are going to try to get Leo to register for this year."

"Dave, I don't know if that's a good idea. They'll have to waste the first year of exclusivity waiting for him to finish high school. They won't have much time to play him before he leaves his rookie contract and becomes a free agent."

"But after his duel with Mateo, Jim? I can't imagine anyone doubting him. That performance at Harvard Stadium. His mastery of the Scholar's Finger technique." Dave paused for effect.

"Which, by the way, is perfectly legal under NFL rules." He winked at the camera.

"Just putting that out there in case any Harvard fans complain." They laughed.

"Speaking of which, let's turn to his duel with Mateo. I don't even need to play the clip. I'm sure you've all seen it before. In fact, let's welcome our special guest. Mateo Thandril." The audience behind the broadcast desk erupted. Three hundred thousand voices rose as one, a thunderous chant rolling through the stadium.

"MA-TE-O! MA-TE-O! MA-TE-O!" Mateo emerged from the tunnel in a tailored grey suit, his grey eyes catching the light. He turned and waved to the crowd, flashing that easy grin from the cover of last month's GQ magazine. The Divine Child of the Catacombs, grandson of a Void Refining cultivator, in the flesh. He found his seat between Jim and Dave, and adjusted his microphone.

"Thanks for having me."

"Mateo, the pleasure is ours. Now, the biggest question on everyone's mind. We know Leo is a great individual fighter. However, all the analysts projected that Texas A&M will be running pseudo Tier Four power with their Azure Dragon Formation. Leo can't make a scratch alone. He will need to work with his team. How good do you he will be at working together with his teammates?" Mateo leaned back in his chair.

"I think you should go back to their semifinal game with Ohio State." The broadcast cut to footage from last week's semifinal. Yale's five flyers moved through the air in perfect coordination, dismantling Ohio State's defense in under two minutes. Mateo pointed at the screen.

"Although they were trying to hide their capabilities, its clear that they have improved a lot. They are a cohesive unit, not a group of four and Leo alone." The footage shifted to an earlier game. Yale versus LSU. Leo toying with enemies alone while his teammates held the others at bay.

"See the difference?" Mateo said.

"Against LSU, his teammates were reacting to him. Against Ohio State, they all instinctively knew what Leo was going to do next. This tells me they have the same level of teamwork and trust with Leo as they did with Zhao."

"William Zhao-Huntington. Came out of retirement this year to help the team fight Harvard. Now that's a headline, Dave."

"That Harvard game, Jim. I'm going to say something controversial here. That might be the last beautiful Flying Aces game we ever see."

"Whoa, Dave. That's a take."

"I stand by it. When I talk to the the guys who grew up watching spell arts battles in the sky, they look at what the NFL has become and they don't recognize it. Everything's third person now. Lightning movement. Blink and you miss the whole exchange."

"But Dave, you can't argue with the results. The speeds, the power levels, the precision. The modern game is objectively superior."

"Superior? Sure. But is it beautiful?" Dave shook his head.

"What Yale did against Harvard. Five guys who've been flying together for years. They took apart a roster full of five-star recruits like it was an exam."

"Good preparation beats talent."

"Speaking of preparation," Mateo cut in, "notice how the flak gunners stayed quiet during the Ohio State game? Darnell fired maybe six shots total. That's nothing for a gunner of his caliber."

"What does that mean?"

"That means the defenders have a plan and are drilling to prepare for Texas A&M. They're saving something. Knowing Leo, he would use every single person on the team, whether it's the flyers, the defenders, or the Bulldog Army." At the mention of the Bulldog Army, a massive cheer rose from the Yale section. Blue flags waved. Fists pumped. The chant shifted.

"BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS!" Jim laughed.

"That was an amazing analysis, Mateo. What do you think about joining us next year? We could use someone like you in the booth."

"Sorry, Jim." Mateo spread his hands apologetically.

"The government wants me to serve as some chaperone for a formation team next year. And who knows." He grinned.

"I might want to give it another go as a flyer. Seems fun." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"So, Mateo. Who do you think is going to win the National Championships?" Mateo's grin sharpened.

"I can tell you who are the real winners, win or lose. And that's the Lockheed and Martin families." The camera caught Dave's confused expression.

"How so?"

"I was looking forward to crushing them and embarrassing their so-called Azure Dragon divine domain breaking formation. Now they get to leave it untested and pretend it works." Mateo leaned forward.

"My biggest regret in losing to Leo was missing the chance to humiliate the Lockheed and Martin families on a national stage." The Yale fans roared their approval. The chant shifted again.

"MA-TE-O! MA-TE-O! MA-TE-O!" Mateo smirked and waved.

"Strong words from the Divine Child himself," Jim said.

"When we come back, we'll have exclusive footage from the Texas A&M locker room as the Aggies prepare for kickoff. Stay with us."

Harry clicked off the TV. The pregame broadcast vanished, taking Mateo's smirking face with it, and the locker room fell into a strange quiet. He turned to Leo.

"Have you thought about it? This is probably the last time we'll all be together for a while." Leo blinked.

"What?"

"The past few weeks have been so hectic, we never got a chance to hold a proper senior sendoff." Harry sat down on the bench across from him, elbows on his knees.

"After today, Ellie, Jimbo, Vicky, and I are heading to the Boston Catacombs. Important diplomatic mission."

"And as you heard," Dee added from across the room, "Shawn and I are going to be busy preparing for the NFL combine. Gotta improve that draft stock." Shawn grinned.

"Can't let these legacy kids outshine us."

"And you," Harry continued, "are going back to high school. Make sure you don't miss homecoming. There will be important people you need to welcome back this year." Leo's chest tightened.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. This is too fast." Ellie walked over and dropped onto the bench beside him, bumping his shoulder with hers.

"It's okay. We'll see you again." Her voice softened.

"Hopefully we'll all be Gold Core by the time you're ready to explore the Catacombs." Vicky fiddled with her spear.

"Don't worry about us. We'll make sure we're strong enough that you won't be embarrassed to be seen with us."

"I'm really not ready for this," Leo said. The words came out smaller than he intended.

"I feel like I've just started getting to know you guys." Jimbo looked over from his locker, still adjusting his armored uniform.

"Well, you're probably going to be banned from collegiate CFL after this. But soon enough we'll be cheering you on as you play in the NFL."

"Who knows," Dee said.

"We might even be on the same team." Shawn grinned.

"Just don't beat us up too bad when we're your opponents."

"Hey," Leo defended himself, raising his hands.

"I heard from my old teammates that they were having trouble fitting in with their fellow freshman flyers. After all, we injured a lot of people at the high school championships last year. I just wanted to let them feel like they belonged." The locker room erupted. The laughter faded, and Leo let his gaze drift across the room. The other defenders sat together on the far bench, already in full armor. They caught him looking and raised their fists in unison. Leo raised his fist back. Then Dr. Reyes appeared.

She walked over without a word, pulled Leo up by the arm, and gave him in a hug. Leo's chin barely cleared her shoulder.

"This will probably be the last day I see you," she said. Leo pulled back, confused.

"Hey, I was hoping you'd help me with my Foundation Establishment body refining." Reyes shook her head.

"Sorry, Leo. Lord Ross will be handling that for you. You'll have better things to do than spend time with me at Yale." Lord Ross? Leo searched his memory. He had never heard that name. He racked his brain, trying to figure out who Lord Ross was.

"Where's my hug?" Jimbo called out, arms spread wide. Dr. Reyes turned and fixed him with a glare that could have frozen a spirit vein. She gave Leo one last pat on the head and walked out without another word. Jimbo lowered his arms.

"Worth a shot." Afterwards Coach Williams came inside the locker room and walked towards Leo.

"Win or lose," Coach Williams said, "I can say this is the best season of Flying Aces I've ever been a part of."

"Aww, don't jinx us like that," Ellie complained. Coach Williams ignored her.

"We all know you're going to do great things, Leo. And I'm proud to have been a part of the start of your Flying Aces career." Around the room, heads nodded.

"The team wanted to give you something special," Coach Williams said. He pulled out a thin envelope. Leo took it. The weight surprised him. He lifted the flap. Inside was a Flyer 7 jersey, the white trim was covered in signatures. Leo recognized Harry's bold scrawl. Vicky's elegant cursive. Dee's precise lettering. Shawn's cramped handwriting. Ellie's looping script with a small heart dotting the i. Jimbo's signature was barely legible. He'd probably make a good doctor someday. The coaching staff had signed too.

Assistants. Practice partners. Equipment managers. Leo had never learned their names, but they had still shown up every day and did their part for the team. Leo ran his fingers over the fabric. Something felt different about it.

"It's made out of T4 cotton," Coach Williams explained.

"We all saw what happened to your jersey after the duel with Mateo. We didn't want to take any chances." The locker room laughed. Leo remembered the shredded remains of that uniform.

"Thanks, Coach." His voice came out rough.

"I'll treasure it." Leo reached for the hem of his current jersey, ready to swap it out. Coach Williams held up a hand.

"Let's be careful, Leo. Let's not ruin this one too." The room roared with laughter. Leo grinned despite himself. He folded the jersey carefully back into the box and set it beside him on the bench. A knock echoed through the locker room. Coach Williams straightened.

"That's our cue. Yale declined the coin toss so we could walk out together." He grabbed the door handle.

"Now let's go show them what Bulldogs are made of." The door swung open. Camera flashes erupted. Production staff lined both sides of the tunnel, clapping and cheering. The tunnel stretched ahead, concrete walls lined with ESPN cables and equipment cases.

"BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS!" The chant reached them as soon as they stepped out of the locker room. Cameramen walked backward in front of them, lenses trained on their faces. Security personnel in yellow vests stood at intervals, holding back production assistants and sideline reporters who shouted questions. And then they were out. The Rose Bowl opened before them. Tier upon tier of seats rose toward the California sky. Blue on one side. Maroon on the other.

The VIP boxes glittered like jewels, packed with cultivation dynasty heirs, military generals, and at least two sitting senators. Leo spotted the private box the team had reserved for his family. His mother sat beside his father, both waving small Yale flags.

"BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS! BULL-DOGS!" The Yale section exploded. Giant flags whipped in the wind. Banners descended from the upper decks. The student section raised colored cards in perfect unison, forming a massive bulldog head that shifted into the words "FINISH IT" before dissolving back into a sea of waving blue. The Texas A&M team emerged from the opposite tunnel. Twelve players in maroon and white, moving in lockstep. They walked like they'd already won. Then the Texas A&M side answered.

"GIG 'EM AGGIES! GIG 'EM AGGIES!" The maroon half of the stadium surged to their feet. Air horns blared. Drums pounded. Someone had brought an actual cannon, firing blanks into the barrier-protected sky before security wrestled it away. The Aggie War Hymn thundered from over a hundred thousand voices, the sawing hand gestures rippling through the crowd like a maroon wave.

"BULL-DOGS!"

"GIG 'EM!"

"BULL-DOGS!"

"GIG 'EM!" The Bulldogs stopped outside their fort and gathered in for one last huddle. Shoulders pressed together. Heads bowed.

"One last time," Shawn said.

"We trust each other. We move as one. Whatever happens up there or down here, we finish this together." Dee adjusted his glasses.

"And Leo. Make us look good for the scouts, yeah?" Hands stacked in the center. Twelve pairs.

"Bulldogs on three," Harry called.

"One. Two. Three."

"BULLDOGS!" The circle broke. The defenders filed through the fortified doorway. Shawn and Dee were the last to go, throwing one final look back at the flyers before disappearing inside. The five flyers stood alone on the field. Harry took a breath.

"No point in waiting." He reached into his dantian. His flying sword emerged point-first from his chest, gravity formations flickering to life. Vicky followed. Then Jimbo. Then Ellie, her blade wreathed in heat haze. Leo closed his eyes. He felt Moonrider waiting. He called, and the sword answered.

"Formation," Leo called. The five of them leaped. Their flying swords carried them upward in a spiral of light. The arena floor shrank. The crowd became a blur of color. They climbed until they cleared the barrier ceiling, then banked hard and began their circuit. The stadium roared. Yale's five flyers traced a perfect arc around the Rose Bowl. Leo led at the point. Harry flew on his left as the Shield. Jimbo and Vicky held the right flank. Ellie anchored the center as the Heart.

On the opposite side, the Texas A&M flyers rose to meet them.

"GIG 'EM AGGIES!"

"BULL-DOGS!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2028 College Flying Aces National Championship!"