Dominate the Super Bowl-Chapter 803 - : A miss is as good as a mile

Chapter 803: A miss is as good as a mile

“Gronkowski?”

“No, Edelman!”

“Beautiful footwork, precise judgment! Edelman is in godlike form tonight, leaving the Kansas City Chiefs Defense flustered and overwhelmed.”

“Edelman…”

“Hah!”

Time paused in an instant. Every moment turned into still-frame animation, evolving scene by scene, frame by frame—

Edelman was in top form, carving out an opening in the dense defensive zone woven between the linemen, safety, and cornerback with his running.

Stop, catch, push forward.

Smooth as water.

But as he was just about to move, a flash of red flame darted toward him—it was so fast against the cold, wet rain that it almost scorched Edelman’s calf.

Edelman was startled, and his feet dug into the ground, accelerating quickly in an attempt to break free.

Houston wasn’t surprised. He knew Edelman’s speed and agility inside out. The moment he made his decision, there could be no hesitation—it had to be ruthless, straightforward, and decisive—

If his judgment was wrong and Brady’s target was Gronkowski, so be it. But if he was right, Houston had to seize the chance.

No second-guessing, no delay. With a single push-off, Houston threw his entire body forward, lunging to snatch that fleeting millisecond before it vanished.

It was impossible to measure the infinitesimal moment precisely, but Houston managed to buy himself an opportunity. Before Edelman could fully take off, Houston fearlessly tackled him to the ground.

Teeth clenched. Energy igniting. Murderous intent unleashed.

Then, a single decisive strike.

Bam.

Houston knew he had done it.

“Wait, Edelman gets stopped and brought down! Edelman is down!”

“Unbelievable!”

“Houston! Oh, God, Justin Houston has completely lost it tonight!”

“Three and out!”

“New England Patriots, three and out!”

“No one could have predicted this—a sudden, abrupt halt. The New England Patriots’ offensive drive looked incredibly strong, only to get slammed into a dead stop.”

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“Unbelievable!”

“Even Brady can’t believe his eyes. He’s looking at Belichick for confirmation, but even Belichick doesn’t have a better answer.”

“This wasn’t a case of a poor tactical setup or execution by the New England Patriots—it was the Kansas City Chiefs Defense Captain stepping up in the clutch.”

“With an unmatched performance, Justin Houston shut down Edelman, delivering a crucial three-and-out for the Kansas City Chiefs in the second half. They’ve marked their resurgence with utter dominance. The fate of this American League Championship game is now completely unpredictable.”

Ah!

Houston clenched his fist and closed his eyes, unleashing a surge of energy from deep within his dantian, letting it out in a skyward roar.

Ahhh!

His chest boiled with hot blood, his spirit ablaze.

After venting it all, Houston opened his eyes, turning his gaze toward Brady, piercing through the layers of rain. With unyielding resolve, he declared his belief—

The game had only just begun.

Brady could feel the menacing aura rushing toward him, an unstoppable tide of energy pouring out across Arrowhead Stadium, mixing with the rain and smacking wildly at his face.

“Damn it!”

Brady ultimately couldn’t suppress it and spat out an expletive.

“Now, all the pressure falls squarely on New England Patriots kicker Gostkowski.”

“In Week 6 of the regular season, it was Gostkowski’s game-winning field goal that allowed the Patriots to narrowly edge out the Kansas City Chiefs at home. This kicker has repeatedly proven his coolness and reliability in critical moments.”

“But today, the circumstances are slightly different. Rain interference has introduced an element of unpredictability. So far, neither team’s kicker has attempted a field goal, and the level of difficulty may exceed expectations. A hidden crisis looms.”

“Still, for the New England Patriots, this field goal leaves no room for error.”

“Coming out of halftime, the Kansas City Chiefs showcased remarkable strength on both offense and defense. First, their Offensive group scored an incredible touchdown with brilliant run plays. Then, their Defensive group struck with absolute force, forcing a three-and-out.”

“The New England Patriots have adjusted impressively in response to the aggressive Kansas City Chiefs, but they ultimately couldn’t achieve a touchdown—instead, it all came down to this field goal.”

“Right now, the Patriots should be feeling the weight of the pressure. If they fail to deliver here, this pressure will translate to the scoreboard, compounding even further. The Chiefs’ offensive momentum will undoubtedly surge.”

“In the first half, the Patriots had a commanding lead, but they weren’t able to control the game—it seemed they simply had a bit more luck than the Chiefs.”

“In the second half, the Goddess of Fortune has changed her mind. The Patriots’ advantage is fading fast. This American League Championship game has only just begun.”

Flying, thwack!

Flying, thwack!

Jenna watched Arrowhead Stadium’s roaring crowd in wide-eyed bewilderment. She joined in the cheers and clapped along. Even though she didn’t entirely understand what was happening, she could feel her heart pounding harder and faster.

The sea of restless eyes focused entirely on Gostkowski.

A 43-yard field goal.

An awkward position—not too hard, but not entirely easy either. Even a slight lapse in focus could spell failure.

Arrowhead Stadium exerted its full pressure on Gostkowski.

Gostkowski remained unmoved, laser-focused on the goalposts.

A deep breath. A few steps forward. A kick. The shot—

Swoosh.

The football arced through the air, full and round, but wavered unsteadily amidst the rain and fierce winds, like the last withered leaf clinging to a branch in late autumn, trembling and fragile.

Suddenly, Jenna held her breath, her heart lodged in her throat, her unblinking eyes locked onto the russet parabola traveling across half the field.

And then—

Clang.

The ball struck the left upright.

In that instant, the air was entirely sucked out of the stadium. Even Gostkowski’s heart seemed to explode.

A moment later, the football ricocheted inward, grazing the post and slipping through.

“Field goal, good!”

The referee raised both arms high to signal the score.

Jenna grabbed her head in disbelief. “Oh.” A mix of regret and frustration flooded her chest instantly.

On the field, Gostkowski fell to his knees, overwhelmed.

“Thrilling. Absolutely nerve-wracking.”

“Gostkowski’s kick veered slightly off course but managed to scrape through. The Patriots narrowly escaped disaster.”

“’17-7.’ The New England Patriots maintain a ten-point lead over the reigning champions. It’s not much, but Belichick’s team has managed to stabilize themselves—just barely.”

Jenna covered her face, unable to watch what might come next.

She hadn’t expected, however, a wave of shouting to ring in her ears, expanding into a whirlwind that spread like wildfire across Arrowhead Stadium—

“Offense! Thwack!”

“Offense! Thwack!”

Was it disappointment? Frustration?

The answer was obvious—yes. Arrowhead Stadium had hoped for the Patriots to miss that field goal, but unfortunately, reality didn’t align with their desires. That didn’t mean they’d wallow, though. One by one, fans stood straighter, heads held high.

Provo was the first to shout.

West turned to him in utter shock, not believing this was the same guy he knew.

Provo noticed West’s gaze and nudged him with his shoulder.

“Stop spacing out!”

Then, one shout after another. A full-throated roar erupted, his eyes blazing with light.