December 10, 2025. Santa Clara, California.
San Francisco Gold Rush Training Facility.
"AAAAHHHHH!!!"
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the air above the SAP Performance Center. It sounded raw, primal—like a reindeer getting its throat torn out by a wolf.
The entire training field went dead silent.
Every pair of eyes locked onto the center of the turf. Number 23 was rolling on the grass, clutching his knee, his face twisted in pure agony.
Chris "C-Mac" Carter.
The league's best Running Back. The nuclear weapon of the San Francisco Gold Rush. The undisputed favorite for the season MVP.
Now? He was curled up like a dying shrimp, sweating bullets, his face pale as a sheet of paper.
"Medic! Where the hell is the medic?! Get your ass over here!!"
Head Coach Kyle Shannon lost it. He smashed his tactical clipboard onto the ground. Plastic shrapnel exploded, flying into the face of Quarterback Brock P. nearby.
Brock didn't flinch. His eyes were empty. He knew.
It's over.
It was Week 14 of the 2025 season. The Gold Rush was sitting at a 7-6 record, clinging to a playoff spot by their fingernails. Losing C-Mac now was like ripping the wheels off a Ferrari while doing 200 mph on the highway.
Minutes later, the stretcher arrived.
C-Mac was still sobbing as they carried him away, pounding the stretcher in despair. The sound made every grown man on the field shiver.
One hour later. The Locker Room.
The atmosphere was heavier than a funeral. You could hear a pin drop.
On the wall-mounted TV, a loudmouth analyst was screaming on ESPN, spitting facts that nobody wanted to hear:
"...This is a disaster! A total catastrophe! Kiss the Super Bowl goodbye! Without C-Mac, this team is a tiger with no teeth! Who is left on that bench? Aside from the injured Mason, it's just a pile of scrap metal picked from the trash!"
Click.
Someone killed the TV.
Coach Shannon leaned against a locker, hands covering his face. His voice sounded like he'd swallowed a bag of sand.
"MRI is back. Torn ACL. Season over."
Boom.
Even though they expected it, hearing the words out loud was like a grenade going off in the room. It shattered whatever mental defense the team had left.
"Offensive Coordinator!" Shannon snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, looking like a starving wolf backed into a corner. "We aren't dead yet! Tell me, who steps up against the LA Horns next week?"
The Offensive Coordinator swallowed hard. His hands shook as he flipped through his roster clipboard.
"Coach... Mason is still in concussion protocol. Mitchell pulled his groin... We either pull a rookie from the practice squad or..."
He paused. His eyes flicked to the dark corner of the locker room. Then, he looked away fast, like he'd seen a bad joke.
Sitting there was a young man with black hair and yellow skin.
Levi.
He was quietly polishing a helmet that didn't have a single speck of dust on it.
"There's no one. Coach, we either sign a free agent or... we ask Deebo to play Running Back." The Coordinator closed his notebook in despair.
"I ain't doing it."
Wide Receiver Deebo Sam threw his towel on the floor, his face dark. "Last time I played RB, I broke two ribs! That isn't a job for a human. That's suicide. I'm not going out there to die!"
Silence returned. Absolute, hopeless silence.
Then.
"Coach, I can do it."
The voice was calm. Clear. Even a little lazy.
Heads snapped around.
Levi, the silent Asian kid, slowly stood up from his corner.
He was 6'1" (185cm). In the real world, that's tall. But here? Surrounded by 250lb NFL monsters? He looked like a sheet of paper.
"Pfft..."
Someone snorted.
Then, the locker room erupted into a wave of cruel, malicious laughter.
"Yo! Levi, you deaf? Coach is looking for a Running Back, not a pizza delivery boy!"
A backup linebacker—a massive wall of muscle with a face full of scars—pointed a thick finger at Levi's limbs. "You want to get ripped in half by Aaron 'The Titan' Don? You want us to ship your body back to Chinatown in a box?"
"Sit down, kid." The Coordinator waved his hand like he was shooing a fly. "We signed you to sell jerseys to the Bay Area demographic. Don't pretend you're a football player. This is a man's game."
Humiliation.
Pure, naked humiliation.
But Levi didn't get mad. He didn't look ashamed.
Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Because in that exact second, a mechanical voice exploded in his brain—
[DING! Crisis Detected: Career-Ending Threat.]
[System Activated: The Supreme Tank System!]
[Body Modification Complete: 100%]
[Starter Gift Received: Indestructible Body (Lv. 1)]
[Passive Stats: Pain Nullification. Bone Density x10. Steel Muscle Fibers. Absolute Hardness.]
[System Message: In a world of collisions, you are the Wall. Let them hit you... and send them to the ICU.]
Levi clenched his fist.
Power. Raw, terrifying power flooded his veins. The heavy pads felt like feathers. His bones didn't feel like calcium anymore—they felt like titanium alloy.
"And if I don't sit down?"
Levi looked straight into Coach Shannon's bloodshot eyes.
The laughter died instantly.
Everyone stared. Did the "Invisible Man" just talk back? Did he eat the wrong meds today?
Shannon narrowed his eyes. He was already pissed off; now he felt disrespected.
"Levi, I'm not in the mood for jokes. Your combine stats are garbage. You can't even bench press one of Nick's legs. Putting you on the field is murder."
"Stats are dead. People are alive."
Levi grabbed his helmet and walked to the center of the room. His gaze was sharp as a knife.
"Give me one shot. Right here. Right now. Pick anyone to tackle me. If I go down, I terminate my contract and leave. You don't pay me a cent."
He looked around at the teammates who just mocked him.
"But if you don't give me a chance... enjoy getting slaughtered by the Horns next week."
"Fk that!"
From the defensive side, a mountain of a man stood up.
Nick "The Beast" Boss.
Defensive Player of the Year. The scariest pass rusher in the league. The locker room Alpha.
He was shirtless, muscles rippling like rocks.
"Yellow monkey, you calling out the whole defense? You wanna die? I'll help you!"
Coach Shannon looked at the tension. He needed this. The team needed this. They needed to vent their rage on something.
"Fine."
Shannon pointed to the door. "Go to the turf. Full pads. One-on-one drill."
He looked at Boss coldly. "Nick, don't kill him. Just put him in the hospital. Teach him what the league really is."
"Don't worry, Coach." Boss grinned, cracking his knuckles. He looked down at Levi like a bug. "I'll be gentle... maybe just three broken ribs."
Five Minutes Later. Indoor Field.
The team formed a circle. Although everyone had a "watch the show" look on their face, the atmosphere smelled like blood.
This wasn't practice. This was an execution.
On one side: The Apex Predator. 6'4", 265 lbs of pure violence—Nick Boss.
On the other: 6'1", 210 lbs. The harmless fullback—Levi.
"Kid's dead."
"Boss is pissed about the loss. Levi is walking into a woodchipper."
"Call the ambulance. Seriously."
Dr. Sophie Vance, the team's new Chief Medical Officer, stood on the sideline clutching her first-aid kit.
She pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses, frowning. It wasn't just the bullying; she knew physics. She knew anatomy.
"Coach! This is dangerous!" Sophie yelled. "Based on the momentum formula, Boss's impact force will shatter his sternum!"
"He asked for it, Dr. Vance," Shannon said coldly, arms crossed. "Start!"
TWEET!
"ROAR!!!"
Boss exploded off the line like a beast. He kicked up a cloud of turf.
He didn't hold back.
That was full speed!
He was a runaway freight train, carrying enough kinetic energy to smash a brick wall, aiming straight for Levi.
Ten yards!
Five yards!
Two yards!
People closed their eyes, waiting for the crunch of broken bones.
But Levi?
He didn't dodge. He didn't lower his center of gravity. He didn't even brace for impact.
He stood there straight, casual, like he was browsing a shop.
As the monster filled his vision, Levi's eyes flashed with amusement. He whispered:
"System... Activate Damage Reflection."
BOOM—!!!!
A sickening, heavy thud echoed through the facility.
It didn't sound like flesh hitting flesh. It sounded like two granite boulders smashing together at high speed!
The shockwave actually made the air vibrate.
Next second.
The image of Levi flying away didn't happen.
Instead, a scream tore through the room.
"AAAAHHH!!!"
In front of everyone's popping eyes, the 265lb monster, Nick Boss, bounced off Levi like he had hit an invisible steel wall!
He flew backward!
Three full meters!
THUD.
Boss hit the ground hard, clutching his shoulder, rolling in agony.
And Levi?
He was still standing there.
He hadn't moved an inch. Even the grass under his feet wasn't disturbed.
He dusted a speck of dirt off his chest where Boss had hit him, looked down at the wailing Defensive Player of the Year, and said flatly:
"That was your full power? Did you skip breakfast?"
Dead silence.