Chapter 16 Tweaking (1)

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Jace didn't hesitate. His expression went from light-hearted to a neutral one as he looked at the recruiter. "There is only one answer to this, and that is war."

The recruiter raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Jace leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Every training session, every scrimmage and every rep I get, I'm making him sweat. I'll learn everything I can from him and turn them into my weapons by out-training him in every aspect to the point even he second guesses whether he deserves to be ahead of me on the depth chart."

The recruiter let out a low whistle, nodding slowly. "You ever been in a situation like that before? Riding the bench, waiting your turn?"

Jace thought for a second before responding. "Maybe for a week or two in my freshman year until coach Cash saw the truth and started teaching me the game from the ground up. When my time came, I stumbled a bit in my first game, but I made sure no one questioned who the real QB1 was."

The recruiter studied him for a long moment before finally breaking into a grin. "That's what I wanted to hear," he said, scribbling something onto his notepad. "We'll be in touch, Jace. You've got that edge we like." Jace nodded, standing to shake his hand before walking out. Another interview is down. Another door was left open.

~~~

[Michigan State, 17:50]

Jason "J-Street" adjusted his hoodie as he sat across from the Michigan State recruiter, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. The man rubbed his temples, clearly tired from a long day of interviews.

The Michigan State recruiter sighed as he flipped through his notes, then set them down on the table and laced his fingers together. He looked up at Jason with an almost lazy smirk. "Alright, Jason," he started, tapping his pen against the table. "You seem like a solid receiver with a mix of good and bad games and an above-average mastery of route running."

Jason leaned back slightly, already bracing for some nonsense, not believing that he was gonna like the guy's next words. Sure enough. "You've got two choices," the recruiter continued. "You either have to give up football forever—no playing, no coaching, nothing—or you have to be the backup wide receiver on a team that never throws the ball. What do you pick?"

Jason's jaw tightened slightly. He knew a trap when he saw one. He could already feel the heat rising in his chest at the idea of never playing again. But he wasn't about to let them see him sweat. "I'll take the backup spot," he answered smoothly.

The recruiter raised an eyebrow. "Even if you only see the field for ten snaps a season?"

J-Street smirked. "Ten's better than none. And trust me, I'll make those ten counts."

The recruiter didn't give an outright response as he simply nodded and proceeded to note something down in his notepad. "Looking at your game tape, we have seen an obvious improvement since you got to Crenshaw High, would you say that's you're doing or has more to do with your QB Jace Lyon?"

Jason let out a dry chuckle, trying to look composed, but the Michigan recruiter could already tell that his question struck the right nerve. "You really trying to start something here, huh?"

The recruiter nearly hummed. "It's a standard question, trust me."

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose. "Look, I ain't stupid. I know Jace made my life easier. Dude, put the ball where I needed it, where I could go get it, and not where a DB could take my head off. But at the end of the day, he ain't the one running my routes, breaking press coverage, or making defenders miss after the catch. He set the table, sure, but without me, he wouldn't be half as successful as he was this season."

The recruiter nodded, jotting something down, not bothering to have a verbal response. "Now, here's a question for you—say it's the fourth quarter, your team is down by four, and it's fourth and goal. Your QB calls a play you don't agree with. You think it's the wrong call. Do you speak up, or do you run the route and trust him?"

Jason didn't even blink. "I run the damn route and ma the play work even if it's wrong. If I second-guess him in the huddle, the whole offence second-guesses him. And if he's wrong? We take that L together."

The recruiter studied him for a moment before nodding. "Interesting answer. Most receivers would throw their QB under the bus." he grinned for a second before asking his next question. "Alright, one last question. Say you're up for the Biletnikoff Award—best wide receiver in college football—but your team needs you to block more than catch passes all season. That means no crazy stats and no highlight plays. Just grunt work. What do you do?"

Jason leaned back, arms folded. "We winning games?"

The recruiter shook his head. "More or less, let's say 50/50"

Jason exhaled sharply, cracking his knuckles as he considered the question. It was a lose-lose situation—if he went all-in on blocking, his personal accolades would vanish, but if he demanded the ball, he'd look selfish and put his team at risk.

"Man," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "Alright, let's be real. If I gotta block more than catch, I'll block. Ain't no receiver winning an award if their team ain't winning games. But I'll be in that coach's ear every damn day, making sure I still get my touches when it matters."

The recruiter smirked. "So, you'd sacrifice the individual award?"

Jason shrugged. "I don't play for trophies. I play for touchdowns. And if I prove I can do everything—block, run routes, catch contested balls—NFL teams gonna notice. I'd rather have a career than a statue collecting dust."

The recruiter let out a chuckle, nodding approvingly. "Not a bad answer, 'J-Street'. We'll be in touch."

~~~

[The University of Florida, 18:10]

Mike adjusted his hoodie, watching as the Florida recruiter, a fit, middle-aged man with a navy blue Gators polo, tapped his pen against a clipboard. Unlike some of the other recruiters, this guy had a laid-back energy—like he'd seen everything before, and nothing surprised him anymore.

"Alright, Mike," he started, flipping to a fresh page. "You're in the trenches of the national championships; the Gators haven't won one since 2008. Fourth quarter, down by three, third-and-one. The D-line shifts late, and you realize the play call ain't gonna work as designed. Do you stick with it, or do you make an adjustment? Keep in mind you got the decorated Billy Napier in your ear,"

Mike exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he stared at the recruiter. He could feel the weight of the question. It wasn't just about football—it was a question about trust, leadership and whether he had the guts to go against a coach's call in the heat of the moment. "I adjust," Mike said without hesitation.

The recruiter raised an eyebrow. "Even with Napier in your ear?"

Mike nodded. "Respectfully, yeah. If I see something the coach doesn't, and I know for a fact that the play is gonna get blown up, I call an audible on the line. Maybe it's a different blocking scheme, maybe I shift the protection, but I'm making sure we get that first down."

The recruiter tapped his pen against the clipboard. "You ever done that before?"

Mike smirked. "Twice. Both times, it worked. My coach cussed me out afterwards, but he also patted me on the back."

The recruiter chuckled. "Smart and stubborn. I like that. Alright, here's another one for you. Let's say you're playing in Death Valley against LSU, and the guy lined up across from you has been talking trash all game. He's Sacked you twice, and he's in your head what's your next move?"

Mike's jaw tightened. "I put him on his ass."

The recruiter laughed. "That simple?"

Mike nodded. "I take it personally. If a dude thinks he can push me around, that means I ain't been on top of my game. Next play, I'm designing it just for him to land in the crosshairs of my left tackle to bury him in the turf."

The recruiter nodded, clearly satisfied. "Alright, last one. You've got two options: You can start as a freshman but be on a team that goes 3-9 every year, or you can sit behind a veteran for two years but get a shot at a national championship when your time comes. What do you pick?"

Mike didn't hesitate. "The championship team. No one remembers dudes who put up numbers on losing teams. Rings last forever."

The recruiter grinned. "Good answer. We'll be in touch."

~~~

[Stanford, 18:30]

Jace was just about to step out for a breather when he was pulled into another interview room. This time, it was Stanford. The recruiter looked more like a professor than a football guy—glasses, a button-down shirt, and an analytical look in his eyes.

"Alright, Jace," the man said, adjusting his glasses. "I know you have a lot of options and are talented enough to thrive on the field, but my question to you is, what do you want to achieve outside of the game of football, and what are your educational aspirations?" 

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To Be Continued...