American Football: King of the Bay Area

Dead silent. Everyone stared at one another, utterly dejected.

The atmosphere inside Joe's Bar was heavy and somber. The bitterness of falling just short and the frustration of the last-second loss was a crushing weight on everyone's chest, making it hard to breathe. Failure always has the power to destroy everything.

"A bunch of idiots! A bunch of cowards! A bunch of losers!" A voice suddenly shattered the oppressive silence in the bar. Everyone's head snapped toward the sound. There, standing in the middle of the room, was Jonathan Baldwin, his slight frame somehow erupting with unbelievable energy.

"Are we cowards who can only accept victory and can't handle defeat? Losing is a part of competitive sports! If you only want to celebrate wins and refuse to accept losses, you'll never improve! You'll just be a bunch of Snow Whites living in an ivory tower!" Jonathan stood his ground, fearlessly meeting everyone's eyes. "We're 49ers fans! For the past eight years, we've gotten used to losing! But today... today was different!"

Jonathan pointed to the television on the wall. "With this team today, I didn't just see a glimmer of hope for victory, I saw them fight until the very last second! That stubborn, firm refusal to give up or admit defeat—how long has it been since we've seen that? Yes, we lost! But we can hold our heads high and tell the world that this is sports! We can take a loss, because we'll be back to win again!"

Turning, Jonathan strode over to Cliff Hart and hoisted up the large flag. "Guys, more importantly, we've found a leader, a true leader! Did you all see it? Did you see Bambi's performance on the field? Even when facing hit after hit, even when his teammates made mistake after mistake, he never gave up! He gritted his teeth and led the entire team in a fight to the very last second!"

"Can he become our next Joe Montana? I don't know. But I know this: he's a 49er, a 49er with red and gold running through his veins! I don't care that he was an undrafted rookie. I don't care that he's of Chinese descent. I don't even care that he never started a single game in college! All I know is that he's earned my respect, and he's earned my support!"

"For the first time in eight years, we have a real hope of making the playoffs! So I'm not going to be depressed, and I'm not going to be angry! I'm going to hold my head high, down my beer, and head to the airport to welcome our warriors home! I'm going to cheer for our team and tell that young man he has my support! I'm willing to follow him and take this risk!"

Jonathan Baldwin—the same Jonathan who had spent the last three weeks pouring cold water on everything, the same Jonathan who had been endlessly cynical, mocking, and sarcastic—was now the first to his feet, raising the "King of the Bay Area" flag high, his impassioned declaration of support and approval ringing out with unshakeable conviction.

Those simple words, unadorned by fancy adjectives, made Jeff Locke's blood surge. He remembered the last two games of their college careers, he remembered escaping from one impossible situation after another, and most of all, he remembered Lu Ke's commanding presence in those critical moments.

In just six games, in just ten short months, Jeff had truly witnessed Lu Ke's rise, each step forward so steady, yet so exhilarating. In that moment, Jeff felt a tremor deep in his soul, as if he could clearly see the brand of the 49ers being seared upon him—because of Lu Ke, and because of the San Francisco 49ers he led.

"Bambi!" Jeff leaped to his feet, his right hand shooting into the air. No more words were needed. That was enough.

Then, Danny Rice, Nate Chandler, Chris Wilson, and everyone else got to their feet, all shouting the same name. "Bambi!" The nickname, once a symbol of innocence and gentleness, was now a passionate roar, filled with hope and a sense of wonder, linking everyone together in a shared, heartfelt resonance.

Cliff carefully raised the flag. As if on cue, Noah came forward, took hold of the other side of the banner, and began waving it vigorously as they both yelled in unison, "Bambi! Bambi! Bambi!"

Gradually, the gloom in the bar began to dissipate, replaced by a bubbling passion that grew hotter by the second. Soon, everyone was on their feet, everyone had joined the cheer, and everyone was roaring manically. The deep, resonant shouts echoed powerfully throughout the entire bar.

Chris raised his beer mug. His voice was already hoarse, but he couldn't care less. He roared with all his might, "To Bambi!" Then he tilted his head back and chugged the entire mug, finally slamming it down on the bar with a heavy thud.

"To Bambi!" Everyone in the bar raised their glasses, Anthony included from behind the bar. In unison, they all tilted their heads back and drained their drinks. Mugs and glasses slammed down on tables one after another, the "THUD, THUD, THUD" rising and falling like the rumbling beat of war drums.

"Let's go!" Danny was the first to step forward. "We're going to the airport right now!"

With that, Danny made to leave the bar, and the others began to follow suit. But Anthony, the voice of reason, called out, "Wait!" He stopped everyone in their tracks. "It's a six-hour flight back from Philadelphia. Plus, the team still needs to do interviews and get their post-game recovery. By the time they land in San Francisco, it'll be the middle of the night."

"So... so what do we do?" Danny was dumbfounded. He'd completely forgotten about that.

Anthony considered this for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the familiar faces in the bar. It reminded him of the days when his father ran the place. "Alright, here's the plan. Everyone go home for now, give your families a heads-up, and then call every fan you know. Once we confirm the team's landing time, we'll all head to the airport together and welcome our heroes home!"

"The team needs to be united, and so do the fans! Tonight, let's let the flame of the 49ers reignite this city!" Anthony's simple words set everyone's blood on fire. Danny was the first to let out a roar, "AHHHHH!" The other fans followed with wild howls of their own. The surging passion seemed to reawaken the sweltering heat of summer.

In a way it never had before, San Francisco once again echoed with the same cry. The city's football scene, dormant for eight long years, had paradoxically reawakened after a loss, bursting forth with a fiery spirit that hadn't been seen in ages.

...

After leaving Lincoln Financial Field, but before he reached the reporters, Lu Ke spotted Lech first.

Lech stood at the entrance to the players' tunnel, leaning on a cane. He looked like he had been waiting for a while. Logan, Marcus, and the others saw him, offered their greetings, and kept walking, leaving some space for Lu Ke and his agent.

"Are you okay?" That was Lech's first question. "The hits from those two sacks today were brutal—even harder than last week's."

Lu Ke couldn't help but smile.

'Honestly, Lu Ke still wasn't used to suddenly having an agent who worried about him around the clock.' But after their talk last week, Lu Ke knew Lech's concern was genuine. So, he let his smile fade, nodded seriously, and met Lech's gaze. "Yeah, I'm good. I'll have the therapist work on me in a bit to loosen up. I'll probably need some recovery work tomorrow, too."

Lech didn't speak right away, instead studying Lu Ke's eyes intently. Finally, seemingly reassured, he nodded. "Remember to call home. Your mother's worried sick."

During the game, after getting the latest update from the team doctor, Lech had immediately called Jiang Youning. He had called her again after the game to confirm Lu Ke's condition. Still, he wasn't family, and he knew Jiang Youning would want to hear from Lu Ke himself.

Without another word, Lech turned and walked away.

Lu Ke, left standing there, let out a surprised chuckle. "That's it? Nothing else?"

"We can talk about everything else on the plane ride back. You should go do your interviews now." Lech's pace never faltered as he continued unhurriedly down the tunnel.

Lu Ke chuckled and started walking. He could now see a bustling crowd of reporters scattered throughout the area, interviewing all the San Francisco 49ers' key players. Nearly every player was surrounded by three or four reporters, and the whole area was packed with two or three hundred people. The scene was pure chaos.

The moment they noticed Lu Ke, the reporters mobbed him. A crowd of ten or twenty swarmed him like a tidal wave, instantly swallowing him whole. A forest of recorders and microphones was thrust in his face, some nearly smacking him in the head. The frenzied, relentless crush was like something out of a depiction of Asura's hell.

"Quiet, quiet! One at a time, or I can't hear anything." 'This is ridiculous,' Lu Ke thought, letting out a small laugh. After he called for order a few times, the commotion finally subsided. From a short distance away, Patrick Willis called out teasingly, "Yo, Bambi, you're hot stuff! Real hot stuff!"

It wasn't a taunt, but the familiar banter of friends, and it prompted the other players to join in the fun. Someone shouted from a corner, "I've only got two reporters over here, Bambi! Can you spare a few?"

"Jealous of Bambi's good looks now? That's a natural advantage, man. Just accept your fate. You're stuck with that face for life," Logan's comeback immediately followed, and everyone burst out laughing.

"Hey, Patrick, if you want them so bad, how about you come over here and we switch places? I could go for an ice bath," Lu Ke yelled back. He then saw Patrick make a face like he was trying to escape a disaster and beat a hasty retreat.