Dominate the Super Bowl-Chapter 816 - 815 Reluctant at Heart

Chapter 816: 815 Reluctant at Heart

“Attack!”

Houston locked his eyes firmly on Brady, this time not making a reckless move—

Edelman, or Gronkowski?

Houston was clear that Brady had two offensive chances, and if a fourth-down gamble was included, there would be three; but the defensive group had only one chance—one mistake, and it was game over.

Thus, Houston needed to focus, one hundred percent.

Without blinking, he kept his gaze fixed on Brady and then saw Brady raise his hand, aiming in Edelman’s direction, preparing to throw.

Trigger?

No, Houston wasn’t fooled and stayed cautious—

Edelman was already the primary focus of their defense; plus, in the confined space of the Red Zone, without much room to maneuver, this wasn’t Edelman’s optimal area of play.

If it were Gronkowski, that would be a different matter.

Moreover, despite being absolutely exhausted, Houston didn’t let his attention drift; he noticed the New England Patriots employing a double running back tactic on this offensive sequence.

Alongside Michel, the second running back Rex Burkhead had also entered the field.

In tonight’s game, Burkhead’s ground running hadn’t been productive—eight carries for only 21 yards; however, as a receiver, he had made a notable impact, with four catches gaining 33 yards.

Now, Burkhead was on the field at this critical moment. Houston didn’t think Belichick would carelessly waste a position by placing a pawn with no strategic value.

So, looking at the bigger picture, Brady targeting Edelman seemed more like bait.

At least, Houston’s intuition didn’t set off alarm bells.

Sure enough, a fake play.

Brady pulled back, refraining from throwing, and instead turned to hand the football to Michel.

A running play!

The New England Patriots opted for another ground run, continuing to eat away at the game time.

However, Houston couldn’t let his guard down—he had to quickly intercept Michel.

Pushing off, stepping forward, all in one fluid motion.

Houston immediately took a position in the gap, blocking Michel’s path, while his peripheral vision caught Brady and Burkhead making a handoff motion.

Wait, what’s happening?

A fake handoff after a fake pass, followed by a double running back tactic—was the Patriots’ real weapon Burkhead?

Belichick had gone mad.

But Houston didn’t have time to dwell on his error in judgment. He reacted quickly a second time.

Head-on collision—Michel rushed straight toward him, aiming to break open a path for Burkhead; Houston sidestepped swiftly, shifting positions, brushing against Michel’s body, wobbling as he braced himself on his left leg, and lunged toward Burkhead.

Burkhead noticed and didn’t dodge—he charged directly at Houston.

Houston barely had time to plant his feet before he was met with an overwhelming surge of force.

BANG.

A muffled grunt escaped as the metallic taste of blood exploded in Houston’s mouth, but he held firm, teeth clenched tightly, his battered body yearning to collapse yet surging forward again to ram into Burkhead.

No matter the cost.

The next moment, the force shifted.

Burkhead stumbled backward, retreating to the right, staggering away from his position.

Houston suddenly felt his body lighten, teetering forward uncontrollably. At the last second, he gritted his teeth and impossibly pivoted on his left leg, lifting his right leg to spin toward Burkhead.

So close, just a little closer.

Houston’s strength was completely drained, and his knee refused his third attempt to apply force, giving out completely as he collapsed to the ground, helplessly watching Burkhead break free in the chaos.

Dammit.

Houston couldn’t contain himself. “Justin, get up, get up immediately! It’s not over, it can’t end like this. No, NOO!”

Yet his body didn’t respond; he couldn’t move, he had no strength left.

“Burkhead?”

“God, who is Burkhead?”

“But…”

“Michel opened the path, creating space for Burkhead, and Burkhead seized the opportunity!”

“Burkhead, Burkhead escaped Murray’s tackle and broke through into the end zone.”

“Touchdown!”

“Unbelievable! Unbelievable! All of Arrowhead Stadium has fallen into despair!”

“New England Patriots touchdown! Viewers, the New England Patriots have miraculously pulled off another touchdown to retake the lead—this is practically a dagger to the heart. The New England Patriots hold the key to victory firmly!”

“God, Burkhead! Rex Burkhead has risen as the New England Patriots’ superhero!”

“But, who is Burkhead?”

Drafted in the sixth round, 190th overall, by the Cincinnati Bengals in 2012, Burkhead had failed to make much of a mark in the first six seasons of his career.

Even this season, Burkhead’s regular-season performance had been underwhelming; in eight rotational appearances, he was mostly a role player.

However, in the most important game of his career, Burkhead stepped up, shouldering the responsibility entrusted to him by Belichick. He embraced the moment, delivering an extraordinary performance in response to Belichick’s trust.

One touchdown.

This is professional sports—always witnessing miracles in the least expected moments.

Last season, it was Li Wei; tonight, it’s Edelman and Burkhead.

“31:28.”

The New England Patriots lead.

“…A decisive blow.”

“Once again, the New England Patriots have done it. Standing on the edge of the cliff, they’ve turned the tide. Could this be a repeat of Week Six of the regular season?”

“But now, the game isn’t over—remember, the game isn’t over yet.”

“Thirty-nine seconds—New England Patriots have left the reigning champions thirty-nine seconds to strike back. Anything is possible; never underestimate the Kansas City Chiefs—they still have a shot at a Wanfu Mary.”

“The game is not over.”

Arrowhead Stadium, a fierce wind erupted—

A gust of cold air pounded down, overwhelming the heat, leaving the entire stadium vulnerable as intense silence enveloped it.

Either perish in silence, or erupt from it.

Houston turned to Li Wei, “…Sorry.”

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Choking on bitter words, his voice hoarse to the brink of failure.

Looking at Houston, barely standing, seemingly ready to crumble at any moment, the frustration, anguish, and sadness crushed his shoulders.

Anyone could see Houston had given everything.

It wasn’t just Houston—the defensive group players all looked like they had crawled out of hell.

Murray hung his head, biting his lip hard, tears shimmering in his eyes, yet he dared not cry aloud, exerting every ounce of strength to contain himself—

He wasn’t even sure if he had the right to shed those tears.

This game meant too much; it transcended mere victory or defeat.

They didn’t want, nor could they afford, to lose—but they had reached this point regardless.

Then, Li Wei smiled.

“Hey, what’s with you guys? You look like we already lost the game.”

“Everyone, pull yourselves together. Chin up, shoulders back—face the result with pride. We left everything on this field, without regrets. Whatever the outcome, we can face it head-on.”

Houston looked up, “If I had just…”

If he had just gritted his teeth a little harder, pushed himself a little farther, fought just a little longer—would the result have been different?

But Li Wei interrupted, “No ifs.”

“Captain, what we need is not ‘if.’ What we need is to fight until the very end. Don’t forget—until the game is truly over, nothing is decided.”

“We’ve got thirty-nine seconds left.”

“Hey, Sherlock, are you ready?”