Chapter 24 Project Quarterback

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The moment Everett secured the ball in the end zone, Jace felt the last remnants of his strength leave his body. His vision blurred, his lungs burned, and every muscle in his body refused to obey. The adrenaline that had kept him standing finally gave out.

As his back hit the turf, the roaring stadium faded into a dull hum. The blinding stadium lights above softened, flickering as if someone had dimmed reality itself. The cacophony of cheers, the flashing cameras, the booming voices of commentators—all of it dissolved into a deep, heavy silence.

Then, darkness. Jace didn't remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them again, he was standing. A lone football field stretched endlessly in every direction; an eerie, artificial glow cast by towering floodlights. There were no bleachers, no fans, just the pristine, untouched turf beneath his feet. The air was unnaturally still—no wind, no sound, no movement.

At midfield, a single football rested on the white-painted logo, its leather surface pristine, untouched, almost waiting for him. Jace took a cautious step forward, only to pause as a voice echoed behind him. "Well, damn, boy, you look like life chewed you up and spit you out."

Jace turned sharply, and his eyes widened in shock. Strutting toward him with the swagger of a Rapper was Coach Cash—or at least, someone who looked exactly like him. He was draped in a black and gold tracksuit, his long dreads tucked under a custom-made Crenshaw cap. A massive gold chain hung from his neck, the dollar sign pendant glinting under the artificial lights.

His sunglasses, despite the dim setting, remained firmly in place, and his trademark smirk was as sharp as ever. "Coach?" Jace's voice wavered. "You're… you're not real."

Coach Cash grinned, his teeth flashing. "Well, ain't that a sharp observation. Took you long enough, kid." He stretched his arms as if adjusting to his own presence. "Lemme make this simple. I ain't actually Coach Cash. I took this form 'cause it's what your brain associates with football. The person who pushed you, made you hustle, made you grind."

Jace swallowed, still trying to process everything. His limbs felt light, his body no longer aching. Was he dead? Was this some kind of afterlife? He was scratched when he hit the race, but he didn't feel like it was that severe to the point he would go to meet Jesus.

Before he could spiral into confusion, the figure held up a hand. "Relax, boy. You ain't dead. Just… in a different space."

Coach Cash—or whoever this was—tapped his temple causing the ground to rumble. The empty sidelines quickly shifted as a dome-like structure appeared around the field resembling a coliseum in olden times. It really gave him the feel of being a modern-day gladiator, although the stands remained empty the presence it gave off made onse skin crawl.

The guy's grin widened as he spread his arms wide in a grand gesture. "Welcome to Project Quarterback."

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Jace remained silent for a while as a frown appeared on his face. ""Project… what?"

Coach Cash smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Let me break it down, shorty. What you just went through back in the Super Bowl? That was an evaluation. A test. We needed to see where you were at—your strengths, your weaknesses, what separates you from the real dogs of this game."

Jace tensed. "Who's 'we'?"

"You, me, him, and her, does it really matter? What matters is what we can do for you, Jace Lyon." Coach Cash responded not giving a real answer to Jace's question as he gestured toward the field. "The point is we have been evaluating you for a while and waited until you met certain conditions before opening this space to you. Don't look at me like that why do you think your recovery process and healing were slightly faster than natural? Haha, don't tell me you thought you were some sort of chosen one in some B-rated Hollywood movie."

Jace's frown deepened, his mind racing to make sense of everything. His body had healed faster than normal. He had chalked it up to pure resilience, after all, Crenshaw men were simply built differently. But now, standing here, with this version of Coach Cash grinning at him like he knew the punchline to a joke Jace wasn't in on, things were beginning to click in a way he wasn't sure he liked.

"So, what, you're saying I've been part of some secret experiment?" Jace asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Coach Cash chuckled, shaking his head. "Experiment? Nah, boy. You ain't no lab rat. This?" He gestured broadly to the empty coliseum. "We saw potential in you and realised you would never live up to even a tenth of it naturally, so the big guy simply gave you a boost. What you made of it was entirely up to you and this dreamscape is your reward for persevering, an opportunity to raise your game to that special level only a few players ever achieve."

Jace exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His mind was still spinning, but if there was one thing he understood, it was the game that would save his family. Why else had he spent countless hours on the gridiron, studying tape and the gym if not for reaching the league one day? "…Show me," he said finally, his voice steady.

Coach Cash's grin widened like he'd been waiting for those words. "That's more like it," he said as different stations began appearing on the field. On one corner of the field, an area with targets that would sway in the wind appeared as they moved from side to side. Obstacles in the form of logs and plastic mannequins would occasionally pop up to obstruct the target.

In another end, tyres floated at different locations indicating that he had to throw the ball through the holes. There are also physical stations with ladder drills, cone drills, and different agility drills. However, Coach Cash didn't take him to any of these stations but instead took him to a space left empty.

"I call this place the proving ground," Coach Cash stated with his now signature wide grin as the field beneath them trembled like an earthquake had struck. The air thickened, the artificial glow intensifying as players—no, monsters wearing football uniforms—began materializing across the turf. Jace's breath caught as he recognized the crimson and white jerseys of the Kansas City Chiefs defence.

Only… they weren't normal.

These weren't the same men who had sacked him into the dirt a dozen times in the Super Bowl simulation. Their bodies were exaggerated, grotesque in their sheer power. The defensive linemen towered over him like ancient Titans, their bulging muscles straining against their jerseys. Their helmets gleamed like polished steel, the faceguards extending like snarling jaws.

The linebackers twitched, shifting their weight like caged predators ready to pounce. Their eyes glowed faintly, and the way they stared at Jace sent a primal shiver down his spine. Coach Cash leaned in casually, unfazed by the monstrous figures assembling before them. "This will be the place where you will implement all the things you learn as you try to survive the best defence possible."

Only upon hearing his words did he notice that the players who appeared like monsters in his eyes were some of the best defensive players to ever play the game. At the very front, anchoring the defensive line like an immovable wall, stood Reggie White, "The Minister of Defence." His green and gold Packer's jersey rippled as he flexed his massive arms. The man had recorded 198 career sacks—second most in NFL history. He was pure devastation incarnate, the kind of force that no O-line could ever fully contain.

Beside him, in a menacing three-point stance, was Aaron Donald, the modern era's most dominant interior lineman. His Rams jersey gleamed as his muscles coiled like compressed steel cables, ready to explode off the line. Jace had already felt the pain of being sacked by a modern Chiefs' defensive front—he couldn't imagine what a prime Aaron Donald would do to him.

Then there was Lawrence Taylor, easily the most feared linebacker in history. His presence alone sent a chill down Jace's spine. The way he crouched, eyes burning with intensity beneath his Giant's helmet, it was as if he could see straight into Jace's soul. LT revolutionized defence—he didn't just sack quarterbacks; he destroyed them. Joe Theismann's career had ended at his hands, and Jace wasn't sure if this was just a simulation or if he'd wake up feeling that same level of pain.

Ray Lewis, the heart and soul of the Baltimore Ravens, locked eyes with Jace from across the line. His mouth curled into a smirk, and his signature war dance was practically visible in his stance. "Hope you can handle this, young blood," he growled. The man was a walking highlight reel of destruction—a field general who could sniff out fear like a shark smells blood in the water.

Beside him was Dick Butkus, the Chicago Bears' legendary enforcer. The way he cracked his neck, flexing his fingers like he was preparing to tear through blockers, sent a primal chill down Jace's spine. Butkus played in an era where quarterbacks weren't protected, where hits weren't just meant to stop a play but to leave scars.

"Yeah, where is the opt-out button? Cause there is no way I'm doing this."

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To Be Continued...