Chapter 455 294: All Out
SoFi Stadium.
All 70,240 seats were filled, but that number didn't come close to representing the total number of people inside the stadium right now.
Including the staff on the sidelines, members of the media, VIPs, security, and logistics personnel, more than 80,000 people were crammed into this silver spaceship today.
Outside the stadium, hundreds of thousands of fans who couldn't get tickets gathered in the surrounding plazas and bars, their eyes glued to the massive outdoor screens.
Just then, a 10-second countdown suddenly appeared on the massive ring-shaped LED screen, reputed to be the largest of its kind in the world.
10.
9.
...
3.
2.
1.
Suddenly, a roar approached from a distance, thundering through the sky above the stadium.
Six fighter jets in an arrow formation screamed across the western skyline. The roar of their engines was like God tearing the heavens asunder. A tremendous vibration poured down into the stadium from above, colliding and merging with the screams of 70,000 people to create a colossal soundscape.
Immediately after, the pyrotechnic launchers at the four corners of the stadium ignited simultaneously. Red, blue, and gold fireworks exploded in mid-air, showering down sparks like a meteor shower.
Dry ice billowed out from both sides of the players' tunnel. The rolling white fog washed over the entire sideline like lake water, transforming the emerald turf into a paradise above a sea of clouds.
The in-stadium announcer's voice, like rolling thunder, boomed through the stadium's wraparound sound system: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Super Bowl!!"
The tunnel on the west side of the stadium lit up first.
"First to enter—the San Francisco 49ers!"
A torrent of gold and red poured out of the tunnel.
The stands on the west and south sides erupted instantly, a tide of gold and red flags and towels waving frantically.
One player's name was announced after another, each entrance met with a fresh wave of cheers.
The 49ers players finished lining up on the west side of the field, their gold and red helmets gleaming sharply under the lights.
The announcer's voice boomed again: "And now—"
The lights suddenly went out.
The ring screen lit up. The video began on a narrow Brooklyn street as a drumbeat echoed from the speakers.
The scene shifted—to the field at Franklin K. Lane High School, to live footage from the Public School Athletic League championship game, to the confetti at the All-American Bowl.
The fans were already cheering, and the drumbeat began to accelerate.
The image of him walking out of the tunnel for the first game of the regular season, touchdown after touchdown, victory after victory.
The drumbeat grew faster and faster.
A shot of Li Wei leaping over a defensive player for the game-winning score in the conference championship was slowed down ten times. Li Wei's body, stretched out in mid-air, seemed to hang suspended on the screen.
The drumbeat stopped. The screen cut to black. The entire stadium fell silent.
A line of large, bold, white text appeared in the center of the screen:
[THE KING HAS ARRIVED]
At the end of the east players' tunnel, a single white spotlight shone.
"Please welcome your—New York—Giants!!"
The players charged onto the field one by one, but every camera, every gaze, and every voice was waiting for the same person.
He walked at the back of the line, his number 1 helmet tucked under his arm.
The moment he appeared, the roar in SoFi Stadium had built into a tsunami of sound, wave after wave.
"King! King! King! King!"
On the Fox broadcast, Joe Buck's voice was practically a shout.
"An unbelievable scene! Even after calling the Super Bowl for over 20 years, every time I stand in this spot, I'm still blown away by this atmosphere!"
On screen, Li Wei stood among the ranks of the Giants. He put on his helmet, his eyes behind the facemask scanning the 49ers' formation across the field.
"Troy, before the game begins," Joe Buck slowed his pace slightly, "there's something I want to talk about. Today's storyline doesn't just belong to Li Wei and the Giants."
"That's right," Troy Aikman said with emotion. "The 49ers on the other side are carrying a heavy burden as well, because today is likely—no, it's almost certainly—the final game of Marcus Anderson's career."
The camera cut to the 49ers' sideline, where a Quarterback in a number 12 jersey was speaking quietly with his teammates.
The wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes were clearly visible in high definition.
For an NFL Quarterback, the age of 35 is practically ancient.
"Let's take a look back at his career," Joe Buck's tone turned serious. "He entered the league as the 3rd overall pick in the draft, played for the San Francisco 49ers for 14 seasons, reached the conference championship five times, and made it to the Super Bowl three times."
"But he's never won one," Troy said. "Joe, do you know what the most painful part of the Super Bowl is?"
"What's that?" Unlike Troy, who was a Hall of Fame NFL player, Joe Buck couldn't relate from personal experience.
"It's not losing the game, it's what comes after," Troy said. "After you lose, for the entire offseason, the entire summer, the entire fall... every night when you close your eyes, you'll replay that touchdown you couldn't complete, that pass you shouldn't have thrown. Then, when you finally emerge from that nightmare, the new season starts. You tell yourself, 'I'm going to get back there,' but then you discover you might never make it back to that field again in your life."
"Miss it once, and you might miss it for a lifetime," Joe Buck lamented.
"Anderson made it back three times," Troy continued, "but each time, fate told him: no."
"But his name will be etched into the history of the NFL," Joe Buck said. "He's the uncrowned king."
"Sounds grand," Troy shook his head, "but an uncrowned king is still uncrowned."
The camera cut back to the center of the field.
The team captains walked to the 50-yard line for the opening coin toss.
When Li Wei and Anderson stood facing each other, the contrast between them was like a mirror image:
One was 19, in his first season, with an undefeated record.
The other was 35, in his final season, laden with countless honors but missing just one championship ring.
As the referee tossed the coin into the air, Anderson took the opportunity to glance at Li Wei.
He had been playing for so long, long enough to forget the excitement he felt when he first joined the league. His gaze toward Li Wei held no hostility, but rather a hint of gratitude and admiration—the kind of grace only a veteran possesses.
The coin landed.
The 49ers won the toss and elected to receive.
"The 49ers elect to receive!" Joe Buck said. "Marcus Anderson can't wait to get his hands on the ball."
Kickoff!
The 35-year-old veteran Quarterback stood 75 yards from the end zone, bent over, and placed his hands under the center, ready to take the snap.
He had performed this action tens of thousands of times, but today would be the last.
The ball was snapped. Anderson took a quick three-step drop, and the pocket formed around him.
He didn't rush the throw; he wasn't a scrambling quarterback like Li Wei. He first glanced at the Giants' defensive formation—a 4-3, a standard setup he had seen countless times.
He keenly observed the Giants' middle linebacker shift half a step to the left as the pocket formed—a window of less than half a second.
An average Quarterback might have hesitated, but Anderson didn't. His arm, as if calibrated for 14 years, unleashed a textbook spiral the moment he released the ball.
"Caught!" Joe Buck's voice rose a notch. "George Kittle! He catches the pass near the 25-yard line for a 12-yard gain!"
On the second play, Anderson once again read the Giants' defense perfectly, gaining another nine yards.
On the third play, the 49ers' running back broke through on the left, bursting through a gap opened by the offensive line for a five-yard run.
"Troy, the 49ers have already driven to around the Giants' 45-yard line on their opening drive," Joe Buck said. "What do you think of the Giants' defense's performance today—"
"It's not an issue of performance, Joe," Troy interrupted. "Anderson's read speed is incredibly fast today. He's releasing the ball 1.7 seconds after the pocket forms, which gives the Giants almost no time to react."
Fortunately, on third down, Dexter Lawrence broke through the 49ers' pocket protecting Anderson, directly disrupting his offensive rhythm.
The 49ers opted to kick the football through the uprights for a field goal, earning three points. Although not as good as a touchdown, it was a solid start.
3-0, 49ers score first.
Possession changed, and the Giants' offense took the field.
The moment Li Wei's figure appeared on the field, the east stands erupted in cheers once again.
But the 49ers' defense had come prepared.
They learned from the Kansas City Chiefs' failure in the conference championship, abandoning the six-man blitz formation. Instead, they built upon their 4-3 base by adding an extra rusher at the linebacker level.
This meant the rusher could adjust the formation at any time based on the situation on the field. He could press forward to create a 5-2 front or drop back to maintain a 4-3.
It didn't make much difference to Li Wei himself, but it put immense pressure on the pocket protecting him.
They were already facing one of the top defenses in the entire league, and now the 49ers had even designed a brand-new tactical formation specifically for Li Wei.
The pocket protecting Li Wei collapsed in under two seconds.
But Li Wei's read was even faster than Anderson's. While sidestepping twice to his left, he flung the ball out from a completely unorthodox and unergonomic posture. It was a throw almost no one would attempt.
But it worked. The football, as if guided by Magic, sailed precisely two inches above the outstretched fingertips of the cornerback.
"Caught!" Joe Buck yelled. "Near the 45-yard line! An 18-yard gain! First down!"
"Li Wei is an incredible miracle!" Troy stood up. "Joe, did you see the angle of his body when he threw that? I've never seen a pass like that in my entire career!"
But that was just one first down. On the next few plays, the Giants' offense stalled again, halting Li Wei's advance.
The Giants were unable to score a touchdown and were forced to kick a field goal from around the 49ers' 35-yard line.
3-3, tied game.
Both teams played with restraint in the first quarter. The 49ers' Anderson used his 14 years of accumulated experience to repeatedly find the weak spots in the Giants' defense. While he didn't possess Li Wei's ridiculously long and accurate passing, he was like a seasoned boxer, his offensive rhythm as precise as a metronome.
Li Wei, on the other hand, relied on sheer, overwhelming power. His long, accurate passes were like a wild flurry of punches overwhelming a seasoned master, often gaining ground with precise bombs of over 40 yards.
At the end of the first quarter, the Giants held a slim 6-3 lead.
The look in Marcus Anderson's eyes as he watched Li Wei had changed.