American Football: Domination

"Oh! Cornerback Ryan tries to tackle!"

"Lance takes the hit backward, not only absorbing the impact but also using the momentum to accelerate—charging straight at linebacker Williamson!"

"Williamson!"

"Oh, disaster."

"Williamson has no idea what kind of beast he's up against—he gets completely blown away, offering zero resistance!"

"Lance keeps pushing forward!"

"The Titans' two safeties are closing in, trying to contain him!"

"Danger!"

The car radio blared with electrifying commentary, making the moment feel intensely real. Provols' heart pounded uncontrollably, lodged in his throat, ready to burst. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Kelce! Kelce throws a block!"

"Hill is right behind him!"

"The Chiefs' offense is working together, paving the way for Lance!"

"Lance! Byard!"

"Byard! Lance!"

"Hill couldn't completely stop Byard—Byard is closing in on Lance!"

"A stiff-arm!"

"My God! A stiff-arm! Lance knocks Byard away with a powerful stiff-arm!"

"Nothing but open field ahead!"

"Go, Lance! Fly! The path to the end zone is wide open!"

"Lance! Lance! Lance!"

Twenty-five!

Twenty!

The radio echoed the thunderous chants from Arrowhead Stadium. Even without being there, Provols knew exactly what those numbers meant—

The yard lines.

Lance was sprinting, carrying the hopes of all of Kansas City on his back.

Provols could almost see that number 23 jersey blazing like a comet. He had already given up—after all, without hope, there would be no disappointment. But now, Lance hadn't given up. The Chiefs hadn't given up.

They were still fighting. Still giving everything.

Uncontrollably, the dead silence in Provols' heart began to stir once more.

He closed his eyes, picturing Arrowhead Stadium at that very moment, and whispered along with the crowd.

Fifteen!

Ten!

Five!

Little by little, his heart soared higher. His blood surged from his feet to the top of his head, overwhelming him with pure joy and exhilaration.

Then—

Boom!

An explosion of sound.

"TOUCHDOWN!"

"Touchdown! That's a touchdown! No doubt about it—PERFECTION!"

"Orakpo had him! He had Lance locked in! He even executed a textbook suplex! But somehow, Lance defied gravity, regained his balance, escaped Orakpo, broke THREE more tackles, and sprinted into the end zone to seal the drive!"

"MY GOD! The Chiefs have taken the lead!"

"The Chiefs have pulled off a LAST-MINUTE COMEBACK!"

AHHHH!

Provols threw both arms into the air, screaming in sheer ecstasy.

His fists smacked into the roof of his car, sending jolts of pain through his hands. He quickly lowered them, just as an earthquake of cheers erupted from the Old Oak Tavern. The whole world seemed to shake with it.

When Provols came back to his senses, he realized—

Tears were streaming down his face.

His heart pounded wildly, so raw and real. The scorching heat in his veins reminded him—he was alive. This was what life felt like.

AHHHHHH!

Arrowhead Stadium was on fire.

Lance had nothing left in the tank—he had practically rolled into the end zone at the last moment. Now, he didn't even have the strength to celebrate. He simply lay there, gazing up at the sea of flames roaring around him.

This—this was the purest, most breathtaking, most miraculous essence of sports.

Yes, it was about victory.

But it was also so much more than that.

It was about spirit. About belief. About pushing limits, clashing with the best, breaking through barriers, and reaching new heights.

All eyes in the stadium were locked on Lance.

Then, in unison, they began to sing.

"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere—he's the Edge Walker, Lance! Lance! Lance!"

Over and over again!

At that moment, Arrowhead Stadium bowed before Lance, worshipping him.

Henry couldn't help but lift his head, gazing at the dazzling, fiery-red ocean before him.

For a fleeting second, he was back at Alabama—back when the Crimson Tide had cheered for him just like this. Now, at Arrowhead, he was witnessing it all over again. His blood boiled with excitement.

His eyes locked onto Lance.

Lance wasn't celebrating. Wasn't screaming. Wasn't even moving.

He just sat there, hugging his knees—while the entire stadium lost its mind for him.

Who could resist a moment like this?

On the TV Screen

The Crimson Tide players were howling like wild animals, leaping around, slamming into each other, celebrating as if they were on the field themselves.

Saban stared at the screen, watching as the Chiefs' entire offense swarmed around Lance.

A wild thought suddenly struck him.

Was this the reason why Reid had traded up to the third overall pick just to draft Lance?

"Burton," Saban murmured, "I think you really did find a hidden gem."

Burns: ???

Wasn't that already obvious? Did they need to say it again?

But while the whole world was celebrating…

One man was drowning in despair—

Mularkey.

As everyone cheered for Lance's impossible touchdown, Mularkey felt fate tightening its grip around his throat.

He immediately ran to the referees.

If he could, he would 100% throw the red challenge flag. He was convinced that when Orakpo tackled Lance, Lance's knee had touched the ground, making it a dead ball—meaning everything after that shouldn't count.

But he couldn't.

According to the rules, coaches cannot challenge a play within the final two minutes. Instead, the referees decide on their own whether to review the call.

Still, Mularkey had to make some noise and demand an official review.

The referees calmly told Mularkey to wait. They had already decided to review the play—not just Lance's touchdown, but also for any other possible penalties.

It was the playoffs. A win-or-go-home battle. There was no room for mistakes.

So—just as the tension reached its peak, just as emotions hit their breaking point—

Everything came to a halt.

Welcome to the NFL Playoffs.

The referees huddled for an official review, while the broadcast team immediately began replay analysis.

But for Reid—this was perfect.

That last drive had been a frantic, chaotic sprint. The Chiefs had barely had time to set up a proper play. Everything had been fueled by sheer willpower.

Now?

Thanks to the review, Reid finally had time to plan.

He immediately called Smith over. With Nagy assisting, they huddled to prepare for—

The two-point conversion.

Reid wasn't worried about the review.

He knew Lance's touchdown was good.

And even if—somehow—it wasn't? The Chiefs still had no choice but to keep attacking, drain the clock, and attempt a game-winning field goal.

But Reid was thinking ahead.

Even if Lance's touchdown stood, the game wasn't over.

He had to keep control of the game—he couldn't let Mariota and Henry get the ball back.

And he needed to put pressure on the Titans, forcing them onto the edge of a cliff.

So—the Chiefs would go for two.

Reid, Nagy, and Smith worked quickly to set up the play.

Only seven seconds remained in the game.

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Powerstones?

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