At one of Westwood's classic sports bars, just a few blocks from the UCLA campus, Howard, Leonard, Monica, Rachel, Sam, and Paige had gathered.
The place was packed with students dressed in the Bruins' light blue jerseys. Most of them wore the same number on their backs: Andrew's 19.
For away games, the group did not usually travel with the team. Thanks to Andrew and Steve, they could get tickets relatively easily, but paying for round-trip flights every two weeks was far beyond what they could afford.
Maybe they would make the effort for a truly important game, like the one against Oregon the following week, but that night they had to settle for watching it from Westwood.
Although calling it settling was not entirely accurate either.
From the pregame show, when everyone arrived several hours before kickoff to secure a good spot in front of the screens, the atmosphere had felt different. There was more tension, a constant anxiety running through the bar.
For many, that game had turned into a kind of UCLA against the rest of the country.
Andrew had responded to Fischer's provocations, but most of the media had ignored everything that came before. The narrative had focused solely on his words, as though he had started the conflict for no reason at all.
The entire country seemed to be waiting for the same thing: to find out whether Andrew could deliver on what he had promised or whether he was nothing more than an overconfident fraud who had been overhyped since high school, despite already putting up historic numbers as a freshman.
That was why every touchdown, every field goal, and every two-point conversion was celebrated with the same intensity as the first. It did not matter how much the lead grew on the scoreboard or that the victory was practically guaranteed.
It did not even matter when the two-point conversions stopped looking like part of an aggressive philosophy and began to feel like a deliberate attempt to humiliate the opponent.
In that bar, and in many others across Westwood packed with UCLA students, no one cared.
Every new conversion was celebrated even louder than the one before it.
The fifth, with Andrew running directly toward the end zone, absorbing a dangerous hit and getting in anyway, caused an absolute explosion.
Glasses were raised into the air, strangers began hugging one another, and some students, already quite drunk, jumped onto chairs as they shouted at the screens.
When the game ended with a 66-9 victory, and the replays once again showed Andrew sitting on the bench during the third quarter, a towel over his shoulder, giving the camera a thumbs-up and a wink, none of them interpreted it as arrogance.
To UCLA fans, that image was the materialization of a prophecy fulfilled.
"Look, man!" exclaimed a student with two blue lines painted across his cheeks as he showed his phone to the person beside him.
His friend looked down at the screen and widened his eyes.
The guy had already set the shot of Andrew on the bench as his wallpaper: the towel resting over his left shoulder, his thumb raised, and that carefree wink aimed at millions of people.
"That picture is incredible! You have to send it to me!" he said, leaning closer to get a better look.
The internet had acted with its usual speed.
The game had barely ended, and that frame from the broadcast was already circulating everywhere, cropped, edited, and turned into the perfect image to summarize what had happened that night.
"Finally, it's over..." Monica murmured, letting her head fall onto the bar table.
Small beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her voice was hoarse. She had spent the entire game shouting along with everyone else: protesting every illegal hit by Arizona, insulting the referees, and celebrating every completed pass as if it were a touchdown.
Even before meeting him personally, she had already been a huge fan of Andrew and his YouTube channel. Now, on top of that, she could consider him a friend.
She was part of his circle, and because of that, she wanted to see him succeed that night more than ever.
Andrew's statements during the week had never seemed reckless or arrogant to her. They had made her nervous, of course, because he would have to back them up on the field afterward, but they had also filled her with an excitement that was difficult to contain.
When UCLA began attempting two-point conversions one after another, many students simply laughed and celebrated the aggressiveness, but Monica had been far more intense than that.
"Again! Do it again!" she had shouted after the fourth two-point conversion, slamming both hands against the table.
To her, that game already ranked among the greatest sporting moments she had ever experienced as a spectator.
Howard, sitting beside her, placed his phone horizontally on the table, "Look at this..." he said before pressing play.
Leonard, who was still watching the bar's giant screen, looked down curiously.
Monica lifted her head slightly, though she kept one cheek pressed against the table.
Rachel, who had been about to take a selfie, leaned over to watch as well.
During the game, Howard had placed his phone on a small tripod some distance away from the table to record the entire atmosphere inside the bar. The camera was focused on them, but the enormous crowd of students surrounding them could also be seen.
At first, only scattered voices could be heard through the noise of the bar.
[Come on, Andrew!]
[Get in! Get in!]
[Jump, Jesus Christ!]
[Watch out!]
Then came the fifth two-point conversion. Andrew took the hit but still made it into the end zone, rolled, and quickly got back to his feet to celebrate with his arms spread wide as he stared toward the opposing student section.
For a fraction of a second, there was silence.
Then the entire bar exploded.
[OH, YEAH!]
[THE FIFTH, BABY! THE FIFTH!]
[YES! YES!]
In the recording, Leonard shot to his feet, pounding his chest with one fist as he shouted at the television as though he had been the one who had just made it into the end zone.
"Oh, my God..." Leonard murmured in the present, watching his own reaction with a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief.
Since when had he become such an unhinged football fan?
In the video, Howard high-fived a complete stranger who had suddenly appeared beside him.
[HELL YEAH!]
The stranger shouted back, and the two of them high-fived again as though they had been friends for years.
Monica was even worse.
She had jumped out of her seat and was pointing at the screen with both arms extended.
[HE SAID HE'D DO IT, AND HE DID!]
[AGAIN! I WANT THE SIXTH!]
Beside her, Rachel clapped with a huge smile, never taking her eyes off the television.
The video continued for several more seconds, showing raised glasses, students jumping on chairs, and strangers embracing in the middle of the celebration.
When it ended, Howard reached out and picked up his phone.
"Judging by your reactions, anyone would think you were celebrating a last-second comeback touchdown," Paige commented with a faint, amused smile. "Not a two-point conversion when UCLA was already winning by more than forty."
Leonard opened his mouth to argue, though no immediate response came to him.
It really did seem excessive when you looked at it that way.
Paige was one of the few people at the table who was not wearing a UCLA jersey. Not because she wanted to be contrary or felt the need to distinguish herself from everyone else. In fact, she watched the games with them every Saturday and had also begun joining them at the stadium whenever she managed to get a ticket.
Although she had already become fairly integrated into the group and got along well with everyone, she still was not comfortable enough to ask Andrew or Steve directly for free tickets.
She had simply never bought herself a jersey. She was not the kind of girl who spent money on football clothes, especially when she did not have unlimited money and had to manage it carefully.
That did not mean she remained indifferent during the games.
She had celebrated every UCLA touchdown, although with considerably more restraint than the others. And when the lead became so wide that the victory was mathematically assured, she simply applauded with a smile, quietly enjoying the sporting massacre.
Howard was about to respond when a sound swept through the bar.
"Shhh!"
It was not just one person.
Dozens of students began demanding silence at the same time.
"Andrew's about to speak!"
The volume inside the bar dropped several levels in only a few seconds. Conversations died out, and almost every head turned toward the main screen.
Paige looked up as well.
On the broadcast, Heather Cox could be seen waiting near the visiting sideline, microphone in hand. Andrew was already standing beside her, inside the frame.
He was not wearing his helmet. His hair was slightly messy, but he barely looked sweaty after spending most of the second half on the bench. He also maintained a calm expression.
[Hi, Andrew. Congratulations on the victory,] Heather said.
Andrew inclined his head slightly. [Thanks,] he replied without sounding overly euphoric.
[On Tuesday, you said that by the end of the third quarter, you would be sitting on the bench enjoying the scenery,] Heather said, pausing briefly. [At what point did you know you were going to fulfill that promise?]
[That same Tuesday,] Andrew answered instantly.
The bar erupted.
Not at the level of a touchdown, but enough for several people to raise their arms and begin laughing.
"That's my quarterback!"
"That's what I'm talking about!"
"He didn't even hesitate!"
Monica crossed her arms with a smug smile. "What did you expect, Heather? Andrew doesn't doubt himself!"
Rachel looked at her, already completely accustomed to her reactions. "You should become Andrew's agent or representative," she commented with a smile.
On the screen, Heather also appeared amused and surprised by the confidence of his answer. [You never had any doubts? Arizona came into this game as a ranked team... Well, at least until now.]
Many people inside the bar laughed at that final comment.
After such a beating at home, Arizona would fall out of the rankings just as quickly as they had entered them.
[I couldn't afford to doubt myself after what I said,] Andrew replied. [That doesn't mean we underestimated Arizona. We studied them and prepared for this game for two weeks. We knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and the way they wanted to play. I think the scoreboard shows how well prepared we were, both on offense and defense.]
Paige rested her chin on one hand as she watched the interview.
There was something curious about the way Andrew answered. His words could sound arrogant if someone read them out of context, but both his expression and his tone lacked any aggression.
He did not seem to be trying to convince the world that he was better than everyone else.
He simply spoke as though the result had been the logical conclusion of his own talent and the level UCLA had reached as a team.
Heather nodded and continued with the next question. [UCLA completed five two-point conversions tonight. The first few could be interpreted as part of your aggressive philosophy, but once the lead grew beyond thirty points, many people began to see it as a message. Was it?]
UCLA had already attempted two-point conversions in other games. One was common. Two were not especially surprising either. They had even managed three in a single game before.
But never four.
Much less five.
Furthermore, in previous games, they had usually attempted them early or in specific scoreboard situations. Once they gained a considerable lead, they stopped taking risks and returned to conventional extra points.
That night had been different.
The bar grew even quieter.
That was the question everyone had been waiting for.
Andrew lowered his gaze for a moment, as though carefully considering his answer. [Our coach made the decisions, and we executed the plays,] he finally replied.
It was exactly the answer Mora and the rest of the coaching staff had told him to use if reporters asked about the conversions.
Howard let out a faint laugh. "That's the diplomatic answer."
However, almost as if he had heard him all the way from Arizona, Andrew added:
[But I suppose Arizona will remember now that it isn't a good idea to underestimate a team ranked inside the top ten.]
The reaction inside the bar was immediate.
Applause, whistles, and shouts of approval filled the place once again.
Fischer's statements had called into question whether UCLA deserved its position in both the AP and BCS rankings. He had spoken as though the Bruins were an overrated team that had yet to face anyone important.
Now he would have to look at the final score and learn not to speak too soon.
Heather smiled faintly at Andrew's response. [Last question, Andrew. Next week, you'll visit the Ducks. It will be an even bigger game than this one, with two top-ten teams, and probably the toughest challenge you've faced so far. How does that make you feel? Any message for Oregon?]
Paige could not help but frown slightly.
What kind of question was that?
Did that professional reporter actually want the provocations and media circus to continue? Andrew had just finished a game defined by an entire week of statements, headlines, and arguments.
Why should he have to send Oregon a message?
Andrew's expression did not change. [Without a doubt, it will be the biggest and most difficult game we've faced so far. Oregon is ranked second in the country for a reason. They aren't just having a great season. They've been playing at an extraordinary level for several years.]
Heather's smile gradually disappeared, replaced by a more attentive expression.
[We know winning in Eugene will be extremely difficult, especially with the atmosphere they have there,] Andrew continued. [But we'll prepare to compete, give everything we have, and go after the victory.]
There was no provocation. No challenging message. Not even a single sentence that could become the next day's headline.
Only a serious and respectful answer toward an opponent he genuinely considered dangerous.
Paige relaxed her brow and rested her chin on one hand again.
Thankfully, Andrew was not one of those idiotic athletes whose ego eventually swallowed them whole.
After a night like that, it would have been easy to get carried away. He had delivered exactly what he had promised, destroyed a ranked team on the road, and confirmed before ABC's cameras and millions of people that all the confidence he had shown throughout the week had not been simple arrogance.
Many players in his position would have felt invincible.
They would have used the microphone to provoke Oregon, perhaps not as extremely as he had with Arizona, but at least with statements that would motivate the Ducks and generate another week of headlines, pressure on UCLA, and everything else that came with it.
Andrew did not.
That proved his words against Arizona had not come from blind confidence.
Oregon was different. He knew they were a superior opponent, and he had no problem acknowledging it.
Paige smiled faintly, satisfied with that conclusion.
A moment later, she frowned again. 'Why do I care so much?' she thought.
Paige did not have much time to dwell on it. The noise inside the bar returned in full force as soon as the interview ended, filling the place once again with conversations and laughter.
Her gaze eventually shifted toward Sam.
Unlike the others, she did not seem to share the general enthusiasm. She was still staring at the giant screen, even after the broadcast had already moved on to replays and postgame analysis.
'Is she worried?' Paige thought, arching one eyebrow slightly.
"What's wrong?" Paige asked, gently touching her shoulder. "Are you worried that your boyfriend took a hit or a dangerous tackle?"
Sam finally looked away from the screen. "Yeah... That last fight could have been avoided completely."
Paige remembered the only serious pileup of the game. After the fifth two-point conversion, several Arizona players had gone straight after Andrew, but within seconds, UCLA's entire offense had rushed in to protect him.
"I don't know..." Paige replied with a thoughtful expression. "Arizona's players were already pretty out of control. I think that fight would have happened with or without the fifth conversion. All it would have taken was Andrew and the starters staying on the field."
"Maybe, but if Andrew hadn't done all of that, perhaps it could have been avoided," Sam commented.
Paige looked at her with renewed curiosity. "Oh, I see some criticism of UCLA's new god."
The sarcasm in her voice was obvious.
For everyone inside that bar, and probably for the fans who had watched the game from other bars, fraternities, dorms, or private homes, that night had revealed that their quarterback was far more ruthless than they had imagined.
Andrew was already a celebrity on campus. A prodigy known even outside UCLA.
But after publicly predicting how the game would end and fulfilling that prediction almost to the letter, his image was beginning to take on an almost mythological dimension.
Surely that ridiculous nickname, "the Jesus Christ of football," which many people were already using, would begin appearing much more often.
"It's not criticism," Sam replied. "It's just that once they had such a large lead, continuing to play that aggressively could become dangerous. They knew Arizona's players were going to get desperate."
Sam paused briefly before continuing. "When you're losing like that, you start playing with more pride than sense. You arrive late to plays, hit harder, and commit more dangerous penalties.
Besides, UCLA didn't seem interested in simply securing the victory. They only wanted to make the humiliation worse, and Andrew seemed to be the one who wanted it most."
Until that night, Sam had held a fairly specific image of Andrew.
Relaxed off the field. Competitive during games. Playful, self-confident, and generally pleasant.
Now she saw him in a slightly different way. More aggressive, proud, and considerably more vindictive than he appeared in everyday life.
That did not mean she was going to stop speaking to him or that she suddenly disliked him. Thinking something like that would have been stupid.
She had simply gained a better understanding of how far his competitiveness could go.
"Welcome to the world of an ultra-competitive sport," Paige replied. "Besides, it's not as though Steve is the perfect example of sportsmanship, elegance, and self-control."
Sam nodded immediately, knowing Steve better and knowing what he was like on a football field. "I know, but Steve is Steve, and Andrew is the responsible one."
Paige gave her a strange look. "The responsible one? Is he Steve's father now?" she asked, amused.
Sam shook her head, not sharing her friend's humor. "That's not what I mean. Andrew is the leader. When things start getting out of control, he's the one who keeps everyone else focused. Steve can get heated, the linemen can start shoving someone, and the others can lose their heads, but Andrew usually seems to have everything under control."
But in this game, he had not.
Paige had to admit that she understood what Sam meant.
Andrew seemed to be the team's center of gravity. He did not merely direct the offense. He also set the emotional tone for everyone else. If he remained calm, the rest tended to keep their heads. If he decided to push the game to its limit, they all seemed willing to follow him.
Even so, that side of him had not been particularly revealing to her.
An athlete who had spent his entire life being called a prodigy and told that he was destined to become a star had an ego?
What an unexpected discovery.
Paige could almost hear the sarcasm inside her own head.
In truth, she had already expected it.
The reasoning Andrew had used before the game against Arizona made sense. He had not been irrational to believe that UCLA could win by a considerable margin.
The truly risky part had been promising that he would end the game before the third quarter was over.
She had also seen some of his provocations on the field. Moments caught by the cameras in which Andrew approached an opponent to say something, brief gestures after a play, and things of that sort.
But she had never gotten the impression that the emotion of the game had taken control of him.
Andrew simply seemed to have consciously chosen to push the game to that extreme.
He had not lost control. Paige found that far more interesting.
She also admired the fact that Andrew had backed up every single one of his words. He had played inside a hostile stadium, taken increasingly hard hits, and endured the pressure of more than fifty thousand people booing him.
Even so, his decision-making had not deteriorated.
The opposite had happened.
The more pressure he faced, the better he seemed to play.
'He really is a genius when it comes to sports...' Paige thought.
He was not simply a good college prospect.
Nor was he a celebrity inflated by the media or an athlete who stood out only because of the team around him.
A small smile began to form on her face. Perhaps that new side of him could prove useful.
She could tease him about what had happened during the game. Tell him, with complete seriousness, that she was now afraid to face him again after discovering how vindictive and ruthless he could be.
'It will definitely be fun to see his face,' Paige thought.
Then she wondered whether they would get to see him that same night.
It was unlikely.
The game had just ended, it was already late, and UCLA still had to return from Arizona. Unlike other Saturdays, there would be no time for them to meet.
And that was how it went.
Andrew arrived home after two in the morning.
Although it was Halloween weekend and parties were still going on throughout the city, by the time he was free, it was already close to three. Some celebrations were beginning to die down, while others were entering their final stage, with too many drunk people and too little time left.
After the trip, the game, and all the accumulated tension, meeting up with his friends for only an hour or two did not seem worth the effort.
The night ended without another gathering.
Sunday was fairly quiet for Andrew, at least on the surface. Social media continued to fill with clips, photographs, and comments about the game, while sports programs replayed its biggest moments over and over, reliving it.
Monday was not very different, and the Oregon game was drawing closer by the day.
By Wednesday, October 31st, Halloween had arrived.
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