New York. NFL Headquarters, Commissioner's Office. The Day After the Hearing.
The mood in the top floor office was thick, curdled with furious defeat. Commissioner Roger Goodell, the man who controlled the most profitable sports league in the world, sat hunched over his mahogany desk, staring at the document he had been forced to sign: the Unrestricted Collision Rights agreement. It was a humiliating, permanent stain on the league's history, a silent confession of his failure to contain Levi.
"You are truly going to allow this, sir?" the Director of PR asked, his voice shaking with disbelief. "A license to injure? If Levi destroys the Dallas defense, the entire image of the league will be utterly ruined! Who will insure our players against a monster with Diamond Form?"
Goodell's control snapped. He growled, his face twitching, and furiously broke the steel pen in his hand. "What choice did I have? He destroyed my machine, he exposed my hand on live television! Now, we must fight within the framework of this humiliation. We must find a 'Legal Weapon'—a countermeasure—that Levi cannot simply shatter with brute force!"
He reached for the phone, his eyes burning with toxic resolve. He placed a direct call to the Dallas Cowboys owner. "Get me Jerry Jones," he commanded. "Tell him the League is covering the entire cost. Find someone, anything, that can stop Levi! The integrity of the Shield depends on it!"
Dallas, Cowboys Headquarters. The War Room.
Jerry Jones, the outspoken, controlling billionaire owner of 'America's Team,' was in a state of apoplectic fury. He paced his opulent war room. "I don't care if he has diamond bones! My five-billion-dollar franchise, the most valuable brand in sports, will not be treated like bowling pins by some Chinese fullback!" Jones raged, stabbing his finger at the colossal team logo on the wall. "Find his weakness! We represent American strength and dignity!"
The Head Coach presented his findings, trembling visibly as he flipped through laminated medical reports and slow-motion footage of Levi's past carnage. "Sir, we've reviewed every minute of the tape. Levi's strength and hardness are absolute. Traditional tackling is useless; whoever makes contact suffers broken bones."
"Then where is the weakness?!" Jones roared, seizing the coach by the lapel.
The coach swallowed hard. "Joints, and suffocation," he whispered, finally revealing the Achilles' heel. "Levi focuses entirely on frontal impact. He shows zero evidence of Jiu-Jitsu or evasive training. His body is hard, but his joints and his neck are inherently soft targets—areas where hardness offers minimal defense against torque."
Jones's eyes widened. He slowly released the coach, a terrifying, ecstatic laugh building in his chest. He slammed his hand onto the desk. "Joint locks? Why on earth would we use the rules of football against a monster who has already broken them all?!"
"Contact my personal consultant immediately! Go to UFC and Bellator! Spare no expense! I want three retired championship fighters—experts in ground grappling and joint locks—signed immediately as our 'Special Linebackers'! Tell them: Forget the tackle! Their mission is to lock his joints and choke his windpipe!"
The plan to destroy Levi's career using legitimate MMA techniques—a surgical strike against his vulnerable joints—was launched, funded entirely by the terrified NFL.
San Francisco, 49ers Training Facility. The Counter-Challenge.
Coach Kyle Shanahan was reviewing tape of the Cowboys' outdated defensive formation, laughing at their sheer foolishness. "Ha! They're still running a basic 4-3 defense! Don't they know Levi has been granted a 'Legal Killing License' by the Commissioner?"
Dr. Sophie Vance entered the room, handing Shanahan a newly updated Cowboys roster. Her face was grim, her composure completely shattered. "Coach, this isn't funny. We have a serious problem."
Shanahan glanced at the three new names listed under "Linebacker." He froze. They weren't football players; they were legendary figures from the world of combat sports: Khabib Nurmagomedov (The Eagle), Jon Tavares (The Bone), and Mark Coleman (The Hammer). "Are the Cowboys insane? They signed three fighting legends? They wanna play MMA, not NFL!"
"They are brilliant, Coach," Sophie said, her voice terrifyingly calm. "Levi's Diamond Form blocks impact, but not torque. Their goal isn't to hit him; it's to snap his arms, twist his neck, or choke him unconscious. The ultimate dimensional attack against his weakness."
The Gym. The Reckless Gambit.
In the gym, Levi was performing recovery training, effortlessly lifting 1000lbs on a specialized barbell. "Too weak," he sighed, dropping the bar with a deafening crash. "These weights are toys now that I've reached Diamond Form."
Sophie rushed in, showing him the roster. Levi instantly recognized the names: champions of the highest fighting echelon. His eyes scanned the list: "Armbars, kneebars, rear-naked chokes..."
His look of initial concern instantly transformed into reckless excitement. "Interesting. My hardness is absolute, but my flexibility is zero."
"This isn't a joke, Levi! Their ground grappling is the human ceiling! If they get hold of you, they can cause permanent injury with minimal force!" Sophie pleaded, grabbing his arm. "You have three days! Jiu-Jitsu takes ten years!"
Levi walked to a heavy punching bag and punched it once, the bag splitting open as sand poured onto the floor. "Then there is only one way."
He turned, his eyes blazing with furious confidence. "My Diamond Form is 50x in defense, but my muscle density is also 50x."
He looked Sophie straight in the eye, proposing the most dangerous gamble of his life. "Dr. Sophie, when a UFC champion attempts an armbar, forcing the joint to break, is their joint lock stronger, or is my bone and muscle hardness greater? Which breaks first?"
"It's madness! It's a gamble with your career!" Sophie cried, her hands gripping his suit jacket.
Levi pulled her into a brief embrace, his voice low and firm. "Trust me. My body is harder than you imagine. For three days, I train an 'Anti-Jiu-Jitsu' tactic. If they try to lock me, I will carry them into the end zone! We will see if their lock breaks first, or if my body does!"
"My new tactic: The Human Ornament, Reverse Hunting!"
Three Days Later. Dallas Cowboys Stadium Tunnel.
Levi walked alone, clad in his red 49ers uniform. In the tunnel entrance stood the three champions—The Eagle, The Bone, and The Hammer—wearing Cowboys jerseys, their eyes predatory.
"Look at the little guy," "Bone" Tavares sneered, licking his lips. "We'll be gentle. We'll use the most professional joint locks to send you home."
Levi stopped, his eyes meeting theirs. A cruel, thrilling smirk formed on his face. "I hope your insurance is paid up. Because I'm not just scoring a touchdown; I'm scoring a touchdown with all three of you as my 'Human Ornaments.'"