"I'll be counting on you later." The captain of the Winthrop team patted Celsi on the shoulder as he watched the Chelsea team clumsily take the field. Celsi had been in the parts business for years and couldn't afford to hire anyone, so he handled all the loading and unloading himself. Coupled with his natural physical strength and speed—traits common among Black athletes—he was exceptionally fast and strong.
He was easily one of the best running backs in the Massachusetts Town League. There weren't many amateurs better than him in the state. The only real competition came from the running back on the Boston team. Hearing the captain's words, Celsi chuckled in response.
Once both teams were on the field, the game was about to begin. Although Kelly and Delia still wanted to stay close to Jiang Hai, they couldn't leave once the game started—after all, they were cheerleaders.
"There'll be a barbecue after the game. Let's go together!" Kelly and Delia called out to Jiang Hai before leaving. In a game like this, win or lose, there was always a party. If they lost, they'd relax and unwind; if they won, they'd celebrate. The barbecue had been prepared early that morning.
A barbecue party right inside the Celsi factory—amidst the smell of motor oil—was, to say the least, a unique idea.
"Sure." Jiang Hai smiled. He had nothing else planned for the day.
Trying to fit in with the older folks in town wasn't really his style. Instead, it made more sense to bond with these young people, who seemed genuinely kind to him so far.
Delia and Kelly both laughed and exchanged glances when they heard Jiang Hai agree.
Out of Jiang Hai's sight, small sparks flickered in their eyes—an unreadable mix of curiosity and something else.
Whatever they were thinking, the game officially began as the two teams finished warming up. After the coin toss, Chelsea took the first possession. Winthrop's team kicked the ball directly to midfield.
The Chelsea receiver caught the ball instantly and sprinted toward Winthrop's side but barely got 20 yards before a linebacker from Winthrop slammed him to the ground.
With a loud thud, both players hit the turf. Jiang Hai felt a pang of sympathy.
Though everyone wore helmets and protective gear, this wasn't a professional league. The gear was loose and offered only basic protection—some looked like the kind kids wore when learning to roller skate, combined with armor reminiscent of Saiyan battle suits from Dragon Ball, designed to protect the torso.
Still, the impact was painful to witness. But to the players, it was just part of the game. Despite the tackle, the receiver held tightly to the ball.
The attack would continue from this spot, and the ball remained in Chelsea's possession.
At the referee's whistle, the teams lined up. A wall of powerful American players took their positions—the linebackers upfront, quarterbacks behind them, flanked by receivers and running backs. As the whistle blew, Chelsea's quarterback shouted, "Sai, Hart, Hart, Hart!"
At the third "Hart," the middle linebacker snapped the ball swiftly from his crotch and passed it to the quarterback, signaling the start of the play.
Winthrop's players charged immediately. Linebackers engaged, and two interceptors quickly broke through, targeting the quarterback. But the quarterback had already handed the ball off to their running back.
The running back shielded the ball with one hand and slammed the helmet of one rushing interceptor with the other, pushing him down before sprinting toward the goal.
"Hiss, oh!" Jiang Hai grinned watching the interceptor fall into the mud.
Though it seemed harsh, his eyes stayed glued to the field.
Now he understood why American football was only popular in the U.S. and Australia—it was brutal. He had heard of rugby before but never played or watched it. He only knew of flag football from China, which was less violent—players stopped opponents by grabbing flags on their waists.
But this sport had undeniable physical intensity, especially live.
Chelsea's running back didn't get far. After five or six yards, a large white man from Winthrop tackled him. Jiang Hai recognized him vaguely—a local fisherman who owned a fishing boat. Jiang Hai had seen him when picking boats for tourist trips.
The man stood 1.95 meters tall, was fast and strong—no surprise for someone who manually hauled in fishing nets. His physical power was impressive.
He charged at the running back with a flying shoulder tackle, knocking him back over a meter and causing the football to drop helplessly to the ground.
The ball hitting the ground meant the attack failed. Had the ball not touched the turf, it could have been recovered and the play continued, but as it stood, Chelsea lost possession. However, they still had four offensive downs.
"Damn, knock him down!" Jiang Hai couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement as the teams reset.
He had to admit—football was an adrenaline rush like no other.
Watching the game, Jiang Hai felt a surge of excitement, even shouting along with the crowd. He only vaguely understood the rules, mostly from cartoons—and those cartoons from island countries were often exaggerated.
When he first watched Slam Dunk, it was okay, but Kuroko's Basketball was pure fantasy: 100% three-point shots, absolute defense, perfect mimicry of opponents, impossible dunks, and players clearing the court just by moving through it. If that happened in real life, the NBA wouldn't be interesting anymore.
While this game wasn't quite so exaggerated, it was still intense.
Even with his limited knowledge, Jiang Hai realized the game was thrilling enough to make him want to watch the NFL.
But as for playing—he wasn't so sure. The skill gap was huge.
The first half ended with Winthrop leading 12–9. Celsi had scored two touchdowns; Chelsea had one touchdown, a penalty kick, and a field goal.
"Hey, Jiang, you're here! Watch us beat these Chelsea guys," Celsi said with a grin when he spotted Jiang Hai in the front row.
"I'm rooting for you. If you win, drinks are on me," Jiang Hai replied with a thumbs-up.
Upon hearing this, Celsi laughed heartily. When the others caught wind that Jiang Hai was buying drinks for the celebration, cheers erupted.
Until now, their drinks had been cheap beer or low-grade wine—after all, none of them were wealthy. But Jiang Hai's promise meant the wine later would be far better, which made everyone even more excited.
"What's all that noise?" Christian Edis, Chelsea's quarterback and team owner, asked, frowning at the growing uproar from the Winthrop side.
"I heard the richest man in Winthrop is here and said he'd buy them drinks," a teammate said.
Christian raised an eyebrow. "The richest man? That Huaxia Jiang, right?"
From afar, he spotted Jiang Hai's yellow-skinned figure in the crowd. Jiang Hai's reputation was well known—not just in Winthrop but across Boston. A billionaire making friends here could be advantageous for Christian, who ran a casino and relied on affluent clients.
The way Christian looked at Jiang Hai was like a wolf eyeing a fat sheep. But was Jiang Hai really a sheep?
The ten-minute break passed quickly, and the two teams returned to the field—the game resumed.
(To be continued.)