I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 71: The Veteran's View
Jay's Perspective
It had been a long time since Jay sat on bleachers this cold. Years, maybe decades. He used to do this every Friday—rain, snow, or shine—but time had a way of distancing you from rituals you once held sacred. And now, as the frigid metal leached through his jeans and bit into his knees, it felt less nostalgic and more like a quiet punishment for all the years he'd spent pretending he didn't miss this.
But he did. God, he did.
He shifted, trying to ease the dull ache crawling into his joints, and looked down at the field as if it might give him something he didn't know he was searching for.
Phil sat on one side, his leg bouncing like a piston, radiating nerves. Cam was on the other, decked out in more team colors than half the student section, face paint cracking at the edges from the cold. Jay found their energy familiar, almost comforting—like the echo of something he used to be. But now he just sat still, watching.
He folded his arms with a grunt. "You'd think we were watching the Super Bowl."
Cam didn't miss a beat. His voice cracked with emotion, like something was caught in his throat. "It's bigger than the Super Bowl. These boys are playing with heart."
Phil chimed in, his voice animated. "It's true, Jay. Look at the grit. The drive. This is high school drama at its finest."
Jay didn't argue. But deep down, he wasn't just watching a game. He was watching a memory unfold. A mirror. And in that mirror, he saw himself years ago—boots in the mud, helmet hanging from one hand, chasing a dream that felt bigger than the town they all came from.
And now, sitting in the stands, older and heavier in more ways than one, he watched another kid chasing it.
Jon.
The first half was a deadlock—two quarters of grinding tension, every play a tug of war. Jon hadn't caught a single pass. Not one. But Jay watched him anyway. Not out of criticism. Not because he expected perfection.
He watched Jon the way someone who's been through it watches the next generation—with quiet, vested interest. With the kind of attention that knows stats never tell the full story.
Because that kid—he moved with purpose. Even when the ball didn't come his way, Jon made space. Pulled defenders. Blocked hard. Tackled with conviction. He didn't show frustration. Didn't look to the sideline for blame. He just kept going.
Jay admired that. Too many kids wanted the spotlight without the struggle. But Jon? He showed up for the dirty work.
When halftime hit, and the teams disappeared under the tunnel, Jay leaned back and muttered, "Coach better wake up and use the best damn receiver he's got."
Phil turned toward him. "You think they're not throwing to Jon 'cause he's not open?"
Jay nodded slowly. "He's blanketed. But that's not an excuse. If they want to win, they've gotta throw through it. Let the kid earn it."
And then came the second half—and with it, the shift. Jay spotted it before the first snap. The offense moved with new intention. The misdirection. The coverage reads. It was subtle, but it was there. A quiet acknowledgment that they were going to start trusting Jon, even in tight coverage.
Then came the throw.
Jay stood up before Jon even caught it. He didn't need to see it happen to know it would. Some kids, you just know. They don't wait for permission to shine—they demand it with how they rise.
Jon didn't just make the catch. He exploded after it. Turned a tense game into a moment. Turned silence into thunder.
Cam screamed. Phil nearly fell over. The whole stadium lost its mind.
Jay? He just stood there, arms crossed, lips tugging into a knowing smile. "About damn time," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
The game stayed close. Brutal, even. Both teams clawed for every inch. No mercy. No shortcuts. Jay respected that. He'd seen a lot of games over the years. But the ones like this—the ones where it's earned, not given—those were the ones that mattered.
And then the final whistle blew. 24–17. Victory.
Jay stayed seated for a moment, letting the cheers wash over him. The cold had settled deep in his knees, but he hardly noticed now.
"Come on," he said finally, pushing to his feet with a quiet grunt. "Let's go congratulate the kid."
They waded down through the chaos. Students spilled onto the field. The band was trying to keep rhythm while tripping over trumpet cases. Parents cried and hugged. It was beautiful, in its messy way.
Jon jogged over when he saw them. His jersey clung to him, soaked through. His helmet was under his arm, and his chest still heaved from the game. But his eyes—his eyes were alive.
Cam wrapped him in a bear hug, face paint now smudged onto Jon's shoulder pads. "That was epic! You're incredible!"
Phil slapped him on the back with enthusiasm. "That catch? Man, you should be on a college scout's radar already!"
Jay didn't rush in. He just looked.
Really looked.
In Jon's face, he saw something he hadn't expected to feel so sharply—hope. Not just for the kid, but for himself. A reminder that this game still had something to give, even after all these years. That maybe, through Jon, a little of what Jay had once lived was still alive.
He gave a short, firm nod. "That catch took guts."
Jon's face lit up. "Thanks, Jay."
Jay stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Proud of you, kid."
It wasn't a grand moment. No music swelled. No life-changing monologue followed. Just a simple exchange. A look between two people who knew what it meant to step up when it mattered most.
As Cam and Phil carried on, snapping photos and reliving the play over and over, Jay stepped back and watched Jon laugh. Really laugh. Chest-deep and full of light. His sweat still glistened, his breath visible in the cold air, but he stood like someone who'd earned his place—not just on the field, but in something bigger.
Jay had seen countless boys play ball. But tonight? Tonight he saw one become a man.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he rediscovered a flicker of the joy football used to bring.