Page 15 of Blake University: HBCU Chronicles – Yon & Imole

The stadium buzzed with energy, the roar of the crowd already rising before kickoff. The Blake University Bears were suiting up to take on Southern University, archrival, repeat conference champs, and known for their cutthroat defense. But this wasn’t the same BU team from years past.

Not since Dawson III took the field.

He was already in the zone as he made his way toward the tunnel, helmet under one arm, cleats hitting concrete with purpose. His earbuds pumped a beat in his head that matched the rhythm of his focus. Nothing else mattered but that field. The win. The legacy.

Then he heard it.

That unmistakable voice slicing through the noise.

“! Yooooon! Hold up!”

He didn’t break stride, but his jaw clenched. Shawna.

Sure enough, she came clicking down the tunnel like she owned it, tight jersey dress painted on, hair laid, lashes fluttering with fury.

“ are you really gonna ignore me like I didn’t stand outside your dorm all morning?”

she snapped, heels stabbing the ground with each step.

He sighed and stopped just short of the team entrance. If he didn’t give her a second now, she’d follow him into the damn locker room. Again.

“Shawna, what are you doing?”

he asked, his tone low and measured.

She cocked her hip and folded her arms.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Making sure you get your mind right before the game. Like always.”

Her flirtatious tone hinting toward something he used to look forward to.

He stared at her, unmoved.

“We not together.”

“That never stopped you before,”

she said, inching closer, voice dropping into that sultry tone she always used when she wanted to play him.

“You used to say I was your good luck charm. What happened to that?”

“You happened,”

he shot back.

“You don’t know how to fall back.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“So, where were you last night, huh? You didn’t answer my texts. You always answer before a game.”

He hesitated. Then said it plain and dry as he could, “I was out.”

“With her?”

Shawna spat the word like it tasted bad.

“This what we on now? You ditchin’ me for some random freshman bitch?”

stepped forward, his voice calm but firm.

“Her name is Imole. She’s a sophomore. And don’t call her that.”

Shawna laughed bitterly.

“So that’s what this is? You seriously throwin’ away three years for a bitch with baby curls and glitter lip gloss?”

“This ain’t about her,”

said.

“It’s about me finally realizing that what we had… it’s done. You’re the fucking problem and I don’t want your kind of problems anymore.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I said a lotta things. So did you. But we both know together we’re toxic as hell. You don’t love me, you love controlling me. You might’ve loved this dick, but you love playing mind games and manipulating me even more and I’m done.”

“You loved the way I got you right before games, though,”

she hissed, stepping into his space.

“You ain’t never played bad when I was your pregame ritual. You need me.”

He leaned in just enough so she could feel the finality in his tone.

“Not anymore.”

For a second, she didn’t move. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but nothing came. Her eyes were still beautiful, still dangerous, flashed with something between fury and heartbreak. couldn’t even lie, Shawna did things with her tongue that had him weak in the knees. The way she sucked his dick gave him instant clarity, especially when she drank his kids like a protein shake. That shit was nasty and hot. But he stayed firm.

“You’ll regret this,” she said.

didn’t answer. He turned and walked through the doors to the locker room, letting them close behind him like the final page of a chapter. He didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

Blake U vs. Southern State

The campus was electric. From Cove City Heights to The Commons, Blake U was a sea of blue and gold. Tailgates wrapped around the stadium, grills smoking, music blasting, and students repping their Bears jerseys with pride. The marching band, The Roaring Sound of Blake, tuned up near the quad, ready to shake the stadium walls with their halftime show.

stood at the 50-yard line during pregame warmups, helmet in hand, scanning the packed stands. Legacy ran through his blood, but today it pulsed like fire. His family was there; his father, a former Blake U Bear himself, arms crossed with pride. The Mega Phi Psi were out in full force, chanting his name from the student section.

Imole, dressed in a deep blue wrap dress with gold hoops, sat with her girls near the Royale Phi Rho alumni row. She looked like confidence personified, no longer the quiet freshman. Her eyes met 's just before kickoff, and something unspoken passed between them.

The announcer’s voice boomed:

“Welcome to Founders Field! Where history is made, and legends are born! Let’s hear it for your Blake University BEARS!”

The stadium erupted. Blue and gold pom-poms waved, the cheer team flipped across the field, and the Blake Bear mascot did a sideline dance that had even the security guards hyped.

Suddenly, the band struck up the school fight song, and the entire student section rose, fists in the air, chanting in rhythm:

Blake U Fight Chant

(Call and Response Style)

CALL:

B! U! What we do?

RESPONSE:

GRIND HARD, BLEED BLUE!

CALL:

Gold in our veins, bears on the rise—

RESPONSE:

Legacy strong, we never compromise!

CALL:

Who run the field? Who own the game?

RESPONSE:

Blake U Bears, remember the name!

ALL TOGETHER:

Blake U, Blake U, ROAR with pride!

Stand up, Bear Nation, side by side!

Fierce, Focused, Fearless too—

We play for the gold, we bleed that BLUE!

pulled his helmet on, lowered his head, and stepped onto the field as the crowd chanted the final lines. It was more than just a game. This was who he was. He played for the love of the game, the thrill of the action and the sound of pads and helmets all crashing under the Stadium lights.

The scoreboard glared in red: Southern State: 34 – Blake U: 27. Kenzai Jones, the wide receiver, had two great touchdowns, and the rest, well that was all me.

Two minutes left. No timeouts. Founders Field buzzed with anxious energy.

The defense had been all over the entire second half with double coverage, late hits, no space to breathe. But now it came down to this: one play, one chance.

On the sideline, Coach Franklin huddled with and the quarterback, Brandon Roundtree.

Coach leaned into , face stoic, “They’ve keyed in on you all game. You sure about this?”

Panting, locking eyes with him, replied, “I was born for this moment, Coach. Let’s do it and bring the win home.”

Brandon nodded.

“You get open, I’ll find you. Just don’t look back.”

The offense lined up at the 38-yard line. The student section roared, stomping in the stands, chanting through their nerves:

“Let’s go, Bears! Let’s go, Bears!”

Snap.

Archer dropped back. Pressure surged from the right. took off, sprinting down the sideline, weaving through traffic. The safety bit on the slant. That was the moment.

Brandon launched it.

A high, perfect spiral ball blazing through the night sky like it had a destiny.

looked up, heart pounding. He had one shot.

Caught.

He planted, juked the last defender, and turned on the jets. The stadium held its breath.

10 yards. 5 yards. TOUCHDOWN!!!

Founders Field exploded.

The Blake Bear mascot did a backflip. The band kicked up the fight song before the ball even hit the ground. Fireworks burst over the stadium as raised the ball in triumph, gold gloves gleaming under the lights.

They lined up for the two-point conversion. A quick snap, Archer faked the handoff, then floated a pass to tight end Quincy Harris, in the back corner of the end zone.

Caught. Conversion good.

Final Score: Blake U: 35 – Southern State: 34.

The crowd surged. Students jumped the gates. The cheer squad cried tears of joy. The announcer's voice cracked through the speakers:

“THE BEARS DO IT! A miracle at Founders Field! Legacy wins tonight!”

From the stands, Imole clutched her chest, laughing and shouting, surrounded by classmates waving gold towels and chanting:

“BLAKE U! BLAKE U! BLEED THAT BLUE!”

pointed to the sky, tears in his eyes, the stadium still roaring around him.

Steam rose in the air, mixing with the heavy scent of sweat, muscle rub, and Gatorade. Jerseys flew. Cleats hit lockers. Music blasted from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. The Bears were lit.

Quarterback, Brandon Roundtree, laughed so hard as he slapped ’s shoulder.

“Yo! My man hit ‘em with the ghost route! Where’d you even go, bro? That safety is still lookin’ for you.”

Quincy Harris, the Tight end, was grinning hard, “Tell ESPN to put that on a loop. You did more than win the game, you baptized that entire secondary.”

I made my rounds dapping my boys, Kenzai and Quincy up. Blake University ain’t seen nothing like us on the field in a long time. And with Brandon Roundtree’s arm, we were a sure in for conference champions.

Grabbing a towel and laughing, replied, “Y’all act like y’all ain’t seen me do that before. That’s what we do. Megas move in silence but finish loud.”

The whole team in unison chanted, “BIG MEGA ENERGY!”

Coach Franklin blew the whistle in the middle of the celebration.

“Alright, alright! Get cleaned up, fellas. And keep your noses clean tonight. You earned the win, but don’t give me a reason to wake up pissed tomorrow.”

“Coach, We got this. We wouldn’t let you down.”

yelled proudly as he grabbed his duffel bag and headed to the showers.

Tree

The Phi Rho house was quiet, a rare kind of quiet.

Game day had emptied it out like a storm siren. Brothers were either at the stadium losing their minds in the crowd, tailgating with Sorors, or holed up with whoever they were trying to impress that weekend.

Tree had no interest in the game. He didn’t care who won. The Bears could lose by thirty and it wouldn’t move him. And the fact that was at the center of the team’s success left a sour taste in his mouth. He had other things on his mind.

The door creaked open behind him.

“You really skipped the whole game?”

the voice teased, soft and familiar.

Tree didn’t turn around. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, licking the edge of a fresh blunt with deliberate care.

“Wasn’t in the mood to watch run around like he God’s gift to the field,”

he said.

“Tired of the school ridin’ his dick like he the second coming of Deion Sanders.”

His guest laughed, stepping inside and closing the back door behind them.

“You jealous or obsessed?”

Tree lit the blunt and blew out slowly.

“Ain’t no difference when it comes to him.”

The flame flared, then dimmed.

He passed the blunt without looking, and they took it from him with practiced ease.

“Why you let him live in your head like that?”

the voice asked, exhaling smoke.

“You running Phi Rho, you got the bag and the history. over there doing his own thang.”

Tree finally looked up at that, just enough eye contact to let his guest know the words landed.

“He ain’t just doing his own thang. He a threat. Don’t nobody see it but me. Everybody too busy praising him or fuckin’ him.”

There was a pause, heat in the silence.

“And you’re the only one paying attention?”

Tree grinned at that. “Exactly.”

“Nigga, you weird as fuck.”

They shared another pull from the blunt, fingers brushing. The tension shifted from irritation to anticipation.

“Not too weird that you ain’t cravin’ this dick.”

Tree straightened, smoke curling from his lips, and headed for the stairs.“You coming or what?”

His guest followed without a word. The wood creaked under their steps, but the house remained silent. Empty.

Perfect.

Tree didn’t bother with lights when they reached his room. He opened the door, stepped inside, and didn’t break stride.

As soon as the door clicked shut, his sweatpants dropped to the floor like clockwork.

No hesitation. No words.

Only the sound of the blunt being set on the nightstand, a low laugh, and the quiet rustle of movement as the shadows took over. The forceful clapping of bodies, the fullness of lips wrestling for control and the moans and groans of reaching satisfaction. The cherry on top, Tree loved watching as his dick got serviced. It was something about someone kneeling down in front of him and wrapping their lips around his fullness, that made him feel like a god among men.

“Fuck, suck that dick,”

he moaned as he pulled out his phone and started recording their session without consent.

And just like that, Tree found another way to win even when the rest of the world thought he’d lost.