“You again?”

Joe Burrow leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like he’s trying to decide if this is funny or just plain annoying.

You don’t blame him. If you were him, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see yourself either.

Two years ago, back when LSU was still trying to find its footing, you were given an assignment: cover the football team for the school’s article website. You weren’t a fan, not really, but you knew how to get clicks. So, you wrote something… bold. A deep dive into the team’s flaws, the gaps in their lineup, the questionable coaching calls. You analyzed every player, right down to the last stat, and made one thing clear—if LSU ever wanted a real shot at a championship, they needed to revamp everything.

Then, of course, they didn’t. Instead, they won the whole damn thing.

And now? Now, you have to write a follow-up article. A reflection. A deep, insightful look at how LSU went from should tear it all down to national champions. Which means interviewing the same people you once tore apart in writing.

Which means him.

Joe watches you, unimpressed. He hasn’t opened the notebook in front of him, hasn’t even picked up the pen. He doesn’t need to—he knows you’re the one who’s going to be scrambling for words.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head. “Not gonna tell me what I need to fix this time?”