The hotel dining room was buzzing with energy as the Flight Boys grabbed breakfast. After yesterday's viral performance, everything felt different—they were the center of attention, and they were loving every minute of it.
"Yo, somebody needs to film this shit," Deshawn said, setting up his phone as Marcus tried to balance three pancakes on his fork. "TikTok's about to eat this up."
"Bet, but make me look good though," Marcus replied, somehow managing to get all three pancakes in his mouth at once.
"Bro, you look big as hell," Jaylen laughed, nearly spitting out his orange juice.
Terrell was already filming everything. "Y'all are about to make me famous by association. Keep going."
Tristain was sitting back, watching his teammates act up for the camera while scrolling through his phone. The notifications were still coming in non-stop—his followers had jumped to near 200k overnight.
"T, get in this video," Elijah called out. "They want to see the golden boy."
"I'm good," Tristain said, but he was smiling. "Y'all are entertaining enough."
"Come on, man. Do that thing where you flip the bottle and catch it without looking," Deshawn suggested.
"That's not even hard," Tristain said, but he grabbed an empty water bottle anyway. He tossed it up behind his back, caught it without turning around, and immediately went back to his phone like nothing happened.
"Bro think he nonchalant." Marcus said, making everyone in the dining room turn around.
"Post that immediately," Terrell said, already editing the clip. "That's going to get a million views easy."
Carlos was looking at all the comments on their posts from yesterday. "Bro, look at this. Someone made a compilation of all our touchdowns set to music. It's got 800K views."
"What song?" Deshawn asked.
"Some Travis Scott beat. It actually goes hard."
"We need to make more content," Jaylen said. "Strike while the iron's hot and all that."
"Facts," Marcus agreed. "But first, we gotta cook Detroit Storm. Then we can worry about being influencers."
---
About an hour before the game, as the team was getting ready in their makeshift locker room, Tristain's phone rang. The caller ID showed a number he'd been hoping to see.
"Yo, I gotta take this," he told Marcus, stepping outside into the hallway.
"Tristain! How you feeling, kid?" Coach Cignetti's voice came through the speaker, warm and enthusiastic.
"Coach Cignetti! I'm doing good, man. Ready for this championship game."
"I bet you are. Listen, I watched that comeback yesterday, and I'll be honest with you—I haven't seen anything like that from a high school quarterback in years. The poise, the accuracy, the way you stepped up when your team needed you most... that's what we're looking for at Indiana."
Tristain felt his chest tighten with emotion. Of all the coaches who'd reached out since yesterday, Cignetti was the first one who'd believed in him before the viral moment.
"Coach, I can't even tell you what that means coming from you," Tristain said. "You were the first major coach to reach out to me. When everyone else was sleeping on me, you saw something."
"Kid, I've been coaching for a long time, and I know talent when I see it. Yeah, you don't have a lot of varsity film, but what you showed me in those junior varsity highlights, combined with what I'm seeing now... that's not something you can teach."
Cignetti paused, and Tristain could hear the excitement building in his voice.
"Look, I'm gonna cut to the chase. We want to offer you a full scholarship to Indiana University. I know you're probably going to have every major program in the country calling you after this tournament, but I want you to know—we believed in you first."
Tristain's heart was racing. His first major offer, from the coach who'd taken a chance on him.
"That... that's incredible, Coach. I don't even know what to say."
"Don't say anything yet. Just think about it. But I want to get you down to Bloomington for an official visit as soon as possible. I want you to see what we're building here, meet the team, see the facilities. Can we make that happen?"
"Absolutely. I'd love to come down."
"Perfect. I'll have my assistant reach out to set something up. But Tristain, I want you to know—I'm betting my program on quarterbacks like you. You've got that 'it' factor that can't be coached. Now go out there and show the world what I already know."
"Yes sir. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't. Go win that championship, kid."
After hanging up, Tristain stood in the hallway for a moment, processing what had just happened. His first major offer. From Indiana. From the coach who'd believed in him before anyone else.
Coach Cignetti took a chance on me when I was nobody. Now I gotta prove he was right.
---
Reactions from Texas 3,000 Miles Away - Southfield High School
Coach Peterson was in his office, supposed to be reviewing game film for their upcoming season, but instead he was glued to his computer watching ESPN highlights of Tristain's performance.
"I'll be damned," he muttered to himself, watching Tristain thread a perfect pass between two defenders. "Kid's really doing it."
His assistant coach, Mike Williams, poked his head in the door. "You see your boy Tristain's game yesterday?"
"Just watching it now," Peterson replied, shaking his head. "You know, I always knew he had the arm. But this... this is different level shit."
"You think you made a mistake not starting him?"
Peterson was quiet for a long moment, watching Tristain convert a crucial third down with perfect accuracy.
"Mike, that kid never got a fair shot here. Politics, boosters, all that bullshit. Sometimes I wonder what we could've been if I'd just gone with my gut."
On the screen, Tristain was celebrating with his teammates after another touchdown pass.
"Well," Williams said, "looks like he's doing just fine without us."
"Yeah," Peterson nodded, but there was regret in his voice. "Yeah, he is."
----
Jason Reynolds - Starting QB, Southfield High
Jason was at his summer workout, supposed to be focused on his throwing drills, but his mind was elsewhere. His phone kept buzzing with notifications—friends sending him highlights of Tristain's performance, asking if he knew him.
"Yo Jay, isn't this the dude who was on your team?" his teammate Marcus Davis asked, showing him a TikTok compilation.
"Yeah, that's him," Jason replied, trying to sound casual while his stomach churned.
The truth was, Jason knew he'd only gotten the starting job because his dad was a major booster. Tristain had always been the better quarterback—everyone who wasn't blinded by politics could see it.
Watching Tristain throw perfect passes on national television while he was stuck doing 7-on-7 drills in Texas was like a punch to the gut.
"Damn, y'all must've had a sick offense with him throwing," Davis continued.
"He was third string," Jason said quietly.
"Third string?! Bro, how was this dude third string? He's cooking Division I prospects!"
Jason didn't have an answer for that. He just put his phone away and tried to focus on his own throws, but every pass felt heavier, every rep felt like a reminder of what could have been.
----
Alex was working his summer job at a local sporting goods store when his phone exploded with notifications. He stepped into the back room and called Tristain immediately.
"BRO! WHAT THE FUCK!" Alex screamed when Tristain picked up. "You're all over ESPN! You're trending on Twitter! What the hell happened out there?!"
Tristain laughed, hearing his best friend's voice cutting through all the chaos. "Man, it's been crazy. I can't even process all of this."
"Dude, I'm watching these highlights and I'm like, that's my fucking boy! Remember when we used to throw in your backyard and you'd tell me you were gonna play college ball?"
"I remember you saying I was crazy," Tristain shot back.
"Well, I was wrong as hell! Bro, you just embarrassed the #1 team in the country. On TV! I'm so proud of you, man."
Alex's voice got more serious. "For real though, T. Seeing you out there... it's like watching someone's dreams come true in real time. And after all the bullshit you went through here, with the politics and Jason getting handed everything..."
"It's all good, man. Everything happens for a reason."
"Maybe, but still. Jason's been real quiet since yesterday. His whole crew stopped talking shit about you real quick."
Tristain smiled. He wasn't holding grudges—he was too focused on the future for that. But it did feel good to know that his success was speaking for itself.
"Just keep grinding, Alex. Your time's coming too."
"Nah, this is your time, bro. Now go win that championship so I can say I knew you before you were famous."
"Yo, check this shit out," Deshawn said, scrolling through his phone as the team gathered for breakfast. "ESPN just ranked us as the #2 team in the entire tournament now."
"Number two?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Who's still ahead of us?"
"Dallas Elite. They went undefeated yesterday too, but they didn't have to come back from 21 down," Deshawn continued reading. "Says here we're the 'most dangerous team in the tournament' after that Warren Central performance."
Tristain was quiet, picking at his eggs. The attention felt surreal. Less than 24 hours ago, they were the scrappy underdog team that nobody expected much from. Now they were favorites.
Most dangerous team. I guess they saw what happens when we get pissed off.
"Who we playing in the final?" Elijah asked.
Coach Taylor walked over with a clipboard and a serious expression. "Detroit Storm. They beat Atlanta Elite 28-14 in their semifinal. Good team, well-coached, but..."
He paused, looking around the table.
"But they haven't faced anything like what y'all showed yesterday. Storm's been dominating, but they haven't been tested. Haven't had to come from behind. Haven't had to dig deep."
Taylor's voice carried a different tone than his usual pre-game energy. More measured, more serious.
"The thing is, boys, now everyone's watching. ESPN's got cameras on every play. College scouts are here specifically to see us. The pressure's different now."
Tristain finally looked up from his food. "Different how?"
"Yesterday, you played with nothing to lose. Today, you're expected to win. That's a whole different kind of pressure."
Marcus leaned back in his chair. "Fuck expectations. We play our game, we win. Simple as that."
"That's the attitude," Taylor nodded. "But Detroit's gonna come out swinging. They know they're facing the team that just went viral. They're gonna want to make a statement."
Let them come. After yesterday, I know exactly who I am when everything's on the line.
10:00 AM - Group Stage Championship
FLIGHT BOYS VS. DETROIT STORM - CHAMPIONSHIP
Field 1 was packed. Every available spot in the bleachers was filled, with overflow crowds standing along the sidelines. ESPN had multiple camera crews positioned around the field, and Tristain could see college coaches filling an entire section of the stands.
"Damn," Jaylen muttered as they walked onto the field. "This is some serious shit."
"Look at all those scouts," Carlos pointed toward the stands. "That's like every major program in the midwest."
Tristain tried to block out the noise and focus on warming up, but it was impossible to ignore the magnitude of the moment. Yesterday's comeback had put them on the map. Today would determine if they belonged at the top.
As both teams went through their warm-up routines, the contrast was obvious. Detroit Storm looked methodical, professional, confident. They'd been dominating teams all season and carried themselves like a program that expected to win championships.
The Flight Boys, meanwhile, were loose but focused. The swagger from yesterday's comeback was evident in every throw, every route, every laugh between drills.
"How y'all feeling?" Marcus asked as they huddled up before the coin toss.
"Like we bout to cook these boys," Deshawn grinned.
"They don't know what's coming," Elijah added.
Tristain just nodded, feeling that familiar calm settling over him. Not the cold killer instinct from yesterday's second half, but the quiet confidence of a quarterback who knew he could make any throw on any down.
Time to show them yesterday wasn't luck.
The coin toss went to Detroit, and they elected to receive. The Flight Boys would have to play defense first, but after yesterday's performance, their defense was playing with supreme confidence.
---
Detroit Storm came out in a balanced formation, clearly wanting to establish their ground game early. Their quarterback, Jordan Hayes, was a pocket passer with a strong arm but limited mobility—the opposite of Tristain's current dual-threat style.
1st and Goal from the 25
Hayes took the snap and immediately looked for his favorite target, a slot receiver named Cameron Willis who'd been putting up big numbers all tournament. But Malik Johnson had done his homework, jumping the route at the perfect moment.
INCOMPLETE PASS.
Malik's POV:Read that shit like a book. They ain't running nothing we haven't seen.
2nd and Goal from the 25
Detroit tried to establish their running game, but Jamal Williams was having none of it. He shed his block and applied a crushing two-hand touch after just a 2-yard gain.
From Jamal's POV: Welcome to the Flight Boys defense. Hope you brought your lunch.
3rd and 8 from the 27
The critical down. Hayes dropped back for a longer developing play, but the Flight Boys' pass rush was getting home. He was forced to throw it away under pressure.
INCOMPLETE PASS.
Detroit was forced to punt on their opening drive—something that had rarely happened to them all tournament.
Three and out. That's how you set the fucking tone.
---
Tristain jogged onto the field at the 35-yard line after a solid punt return by Terrell. The crowd was electric, ESPN cameras tracking his every movement.
1st and Goal from the 35
Time to show them yesterday wasn't a fluke.
Detroit was showing Cover 2 defense, clearly wanting to prevent the big plays that had made the Flight Boys famous. But Tristain had seen this look a hundred times.
"Gun trips right. Marcus, comeback at 15. Trust the chemistry."
At the line, Tristain surveyed the defense with mechanical precision. The safety was playing deep, the linebackers were showing pass coverage. Everything was exactly as expected.
They're playing scared. Good.
Marcus released from trips formation and ran a perfect route, his cleats finding traction as he made his break at exactly 15 yards. The separation was immediate and clean.
Tristain's throw was surgical—a perfect spiral that arrived at Marcus's hands the exact moment he turned back toward the quarterback.
COMPLETION. 15 yards to the 50-yard line.
Marcus's POV:Money. Same connection, same result. They can't stop us.
The completion was routine, almost boring in its perfection. But that was the point—what looked impossible against Warren Central now looked automatic.
1st and Goal from the 50
Detroit called timeout, trying to regroup after giving up an easy conversion. But Tristain just stood on the sideline, completely relaxed.
Take all the timeouts you want. We're just getting started.
Coming out of the timeout, Tristain immediately identified Detroit's adjustment—they'd switched to man coverage, trying to be more aggressive.
"Doubles left. Deshawn, post route. Show them that speed."
Deshawn lined up wide and nodded. His eyes had that predatory look that meant someone was about to get burned.
At the snap, Deshawn exploded off the line like a sprinter. The cornerback was playing aggressive press coverage, but Deshawn's release was too clean. By the time he made his break inside at 18 yards, he had two steps of separation.
Deshawn's POV:This corner's too slow. About to take this to the house.
Tristain's throw was perfect—a bullet pass that hit Deshawn in stride at the 25-yard line. Deshawn caught it with both hands and immediately turned upfield, his blazing speed leaving the safety grasping at air.
TOUCHDOWN. 50-yard bomb.
FLIGHT BOYS STRIKE FIRST. 7-0.
Deshawn spiked the ball in the end zone and pointed at the Detroit sideline. "Y'all thought yesterday was luck?!"
The ESPN cameras captured every moment of the celebration, and the crowd was going insane. The Flight Boys had needed exactly two plays to score.
That's how you make a statement. One play, game over.
---
Hayes came back onto the field knowing his team was already behind against a Flight Boys squad that was playing with supreme confidence.
1st and Goal from the 20
Hayes tried to go back to Willis on a quick slant, but this time Xavier Banks was waiting. He knocked the ball away with perfect timing.
INCOMPLETE PASS.
Xavier's POV: They're rattled already. Same route they tried on the first drive.
2nd and Goal from the 20
Detroit tried their running game again, but the Flight Boys' defense was playing inspired football. The running back was stopped after just 3 yards.
3rd and 7 from the 23
Another critical down for Detroit. Hayes dropped back and looked for his tight end on a crossing route, but Malik Johnson read it perfectly and knocked the pass away.
INCOMPLETE PASS.
Detroit was forced to punt again. Two drives, two three-and-outs.
They're already broken. This is gonna be a long day for them.
----
Tristain took the field at the 25-yard line with 8:47 left in the first quarter. The momentum was entirely with the Flight Boys, and everyone in the stadium could feel it.
1st and Goal from the 25
Time to put this game away early.
Detroit had switched to a different defensive look, showing Cover 3 with an extra safety. They were clearly trying to prevent another big play.
"Gun spread formation. Elijah, seam route. Use that size."
Elijah nodded, his 6'4" frame creating immediate leverage over Detroit's linebackers. At the snap, he released cleanly and attacked the seam between the linebacker and safety.
Elijah's POV:Linebacker can't cover me. Safety's too far away. Easy money.
Tristain's throw was placed perfectly between the two defenders. Elijah caught it with both hands at the 15-yard line and immediately turned upfield.
COMPLETION. 40 yards to the 35-yard line.
The catch was so smooth it looked effortless, but it was actually a perfectly executed play against good coverage.
Elijah just made that look easy. This offense is unstoppable right now.
1st and Goal from the 35
Detroit called another timeout, their defensive coordinator frantically trying to find something that would work. But the Flight Boys were operating at a level that was simply too high.
They're lost. No adjustments gonna help them now.
Coming out of the timeout, Tristain found Jaylen on a quick crossing route. The pass was crisp, the catch was sure, and the execution was automatic.
COMPLETION. 12 yards to the 23-yard line.
Jaylen's POV:These hands don't drop nothing. Keep feeding me.
1st and Goal from the 23
Red zone territory, where the Flight Boys had been nearly unstoppable all tournament. Detroit was showing goal line defense, but it didn't matter.
Tristain took a quick drop and found Terrell on a wheel route out of the backfield. The linebacker responsible for coverage was hopelessly outmatched.
Terrell's POV:Linebacker trying to run with me? That's disrespectful.
COMPLETION. 23 yards. TOUCHDOWN.
FLIGHT BOYS EXTEND THE LEAD. 14-0.
Terrell crossed the goal line untouched, then turned and flexed at the Detroit sideline. The rout was officially on.
Two drives, two touchdowns. This is what dominance looks like.
---
Hayes jogged onto the field with his team trailing by two touchdowns in the first quarter. The body language on Detroit's sideline was already showing signs of defeat.
1st and Goal from the 25
Hayes tried to force a throw to Willis again, but this time Devon Carter jumped the route completely.
INTERCEPTION.
From Devon's POV:They're pressing now. Making mistakes. Thanks for the free possession.
Devon Carter picked off the pass at the 30-yard line and returned it to midfield before being brought down. The Flight Boys' defense was now creating turnovers.
First pick of the game. They're completely falling apart.
-----
Tristain took the field at the 50-yard line with a chance to essentially end the game in the first quarter.
1st and Goal from the 50
Time to put the final nail in the coffin.
Detroit was showing desperation in their defensive alignment, bringing extra pressure and leaving their secondary vulnerable.
"Audible! Audible! Hot route!"
Marcus heard the call and immediately adjusted his route from a comeback to a go route. The safety was cheating up to help with the blitz, leaving Marcus with single coverage.
At the snap, Marcus burned past the cornerback like he was standing still. Tristain's throw was a perfect deep ball that dropped into Marcus's hands at the 10-yard line.
Marcus's POV: Corner's too slow. This is over before it started.
TOUCHDOWN. 50-yard bomb.
FLIGHT BOYS BLOW IT OPEN. 21-0.
Marcus caught the ball in stride and jogged into the end zone, barely celebrating. It was becoming routine.
Three drives, three touchdowns. This isn't even fair anymore.
---
As the teams switched sides for the second half, the scoreboard told the story:
FLIGHT BOYS 21 - DETROIT STORM 0
The statistics were even more lopsided:
Flight Boys:
3 drives, 3 touchdowns 150 total yards 0 turnovers Tristain: 6/6, 140 yards, 3 TDs
Detroit Storm:
3 drives, 0 first downs 15 total yards 1 interception Hayes: 1/6, 8 yards, 1 INT
The ESPN commentators were already calling it one of the most dominant quarters they'd ever seen at this level.
"This Flight Boys offense is operating at a level that's simply ridiculous," one analyst said into his headset. "Perfect execution on every single play."
In the stands, college scouts were frantically taking notes and making phone calls. The performance was confirming everything they'd seen in yesterday's comeback—this wasn't a fluke. This was a team that belonged at the highest level.
Detroit's coaches were huddled around their clipboard, trying to find some way to slow down an offense that looked unstoppable. But the body language of their players told a different story—they already knew this game was over.
The Flight Boys, meanwhile, were loose and confident on their sideline. They'd answered every question about yesterday's performance with a first quarter that was even more impressive.
21-0 and it's not even close. Time to see how far we can push this.
As they prepared for the second quarter, one thing was clear: the Flight Boys weren't just good—they were championship-level good. And everyone watching was starting to realize they might be witnessing something special.