Lance left the field, but the game continued—and remained tight.
Mosley's unnecessary roughness penalty gave the Chiefs a first down and pushed them closer to the end zone.
The Chiefs' offense regrouped quickly, regaining composure, but they were still young and lacked experience; their focus wavered slightly. Meanwhile, the Ravens showed their savvy, calmly seizing the moment and applying sustained pressure, reversing their disadvantage.
In the end, the Chiefs went three-and-out.
What had seemed a sure touchdown ended as a field goal.
10:17.
Halftime arrived. The Chiefs, at home, led by a touchdown—but the outcome was far from settled.
After the break, the Ravens opened the second half on offense.
Their first drive was a brutal slugfest—the Chiefs and Ravens locked in a knife fight, their clash dragging into a trench war.
The Chiefs' defense forced four separate third-down situations, but the Ravens escaped every time, thanks to Jackson.
After eight minutes and thirty-three seconds of grueling play, Jackson finally struck—completing a 10-yard pass to their fourth receiver, Maxx Williams, unexpectedly connecting for a touchdown.
17:17.
Deadlocked. Tense. Tangled. But the Ravens had finally clawed back and tied the game before the third quarter ended.
A great game—just as expected.
It wasn't so much that the Chiefs performed poorly, but that Harbaugh once again displayed his coaching brilliance: always finding ways, no matter the crisis, to extract something from nothing, to shift momentum and keep moving forward—a true tactician.
Arrowhead Stadium felt subdued.
In over eight minutes of battle, the Chiefs' defense had multiple chances to shut down the Ravens—but ultimately fell short.
Frustration lingered—they seemed just one breath away from finishing the job.
The air itself felt uneasy, incomplete—an unnamable emptiness and loss hung over Arrowhead, like drifting weeds.
Felix kept glancing anxiously toward the player tunnel, unable to hide the tension and worry in his eyes—his gaze lost, unable to settle.
That unresolved question tugged constantly at his attention.
And he wasn't alone—many scattered, unfocused glances kept drifting toward the tunnel, as if searching for the return of that figure.
Some might say that football is a team sport—and that no single player can turn a game around.
That's true.
But also true: like all team sports, football needs spiritual leaders.
Even if one player can't win alone, the presence—or absence—of that leader changes everything. Their spirit lifts the whole team.
This team needed their leader.
Felix waited, his gaze flicking again toward the tunnel—until that figure, clad in red, finally appeared. It caught his heart in an instant. Felix stood up reflexively.
"Lance!"
He called out, staring at that figure intently.
Confident and unhurried, walking with steady, light steps, chin slightly raised, scanning the field with full focus—the faint golden glow seemed to highlight the burning determination in his eyes, shining with fiery resolve in the sunlight.
That man was back.
He knew it!
Felix knew Lance wouldn't give up easily. He knew Lance would fight to the bitter end. He knew Lance would return like a king.
He had always believed it—always believed in that number 23 jersey proving itself again and again, until it became a belief embedded in Arrowhead itself.
He believed in dreams, in hope—even as his cancer cells resurfaced. He would not surrender. He would fight to the end, burning every day he had left.
Maybe, in the end, he couldn't defeat fate or change his ending—but at least, he would have lived, shouted, and run free at Arrowhead. At least, in the darkest days, he would have felt the searing heat of hope—and that made it all worthwhile.
He refused to give up.
A surge of hot blood broke free from reason's chains and exploded from Felix's chest—he could no longer contain it and shouted:
"Lance!"
As soon as he called out, a wide, unrestrained smile spread across his face.
So this—this was happiness.
"Lance!"
Beside him, Karen watched her son come alive again—her nose tingled with bittersweet emotion. But joy and happiness surged through her too. She quickly took a deep breath to hold back tears and then joined in the shout.
One, two, three, four, five voices.
More and more eyes turned, locking onto that figure emerging from the tunnel. No one could hold back anymore—shouts broke out all around.
A spark—spreading into wildfire.
Until finally, it engulfed all of Arrowhead in a roaring tide of sound.
"Lance!"
"Lance!"
In perfect unison—deafening.
Nantz stared at the scene, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open.
Alongside the shock and amazement, a passion beyond words rose inside him—his chest filled with pride and emotion.
"That man… he's back."
"From what we can see, Lance must be fine. Even after that brutal hit, that tumble, that fall—he's shown his toughness and resilience. He passed all league protocols and returned to the field immediately."
"Arrowhead has erupted in an unbelievable roar—welcoming their one and only number 23 back."
"This… this is incredible."
"In just a year and a half in Kansas City—and just as a running back—Lance has captured the hearts of this city, becoming their new icon and leader."
"From Crimson Tide to the Chiefs, everywhere Lance goes, he's become the leader, on and off the field—earning genuine respect and love from teammates and fans alike."
"That means something. It absolutely means something."
"Wow…"
His words faltered—losing strength. Nantz gave up trying to speak further, letting himself be swept up in the storm, wanting to join it too.
Beside him, Romo looked over. He was about to fill the silence—but then he realized: the voices from Arrowhead were the perfect soundtrack right now.
So he simply watched, falling into his own memories, as that sea of sound swelled before them.
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Powerstones?
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