"Lance!"
"Lance!"
The cries exploded like thunder, crashing and surging through the entire stadium.
In an instant, they swallowed Lance whole.
Lance froze for a moment—
Even he had never experienced something like this.
The game was still in progress—was this really okay?
And yet—
The rolling waves of heat surged toward him. He could feel the sting of fire licking at his skin—so real, so overwhelming—it made his heart tremble uncontrollably.
A small smile lifted at the corner of Lance's mouth. He raised his hand to wave at the fans flanking the tunnel, and that simple gesture sent the crowd into a fresh frenzy, their voices rising wildly.
He paused his steps, looked up toward the stands, scanning the crowd until he spotted the figure he was looking for—
Felix.
A Felix without his wheelchair. Slightly unfamiliar, but brimming with youthful energy. That image pulsed with vitality.
He was fighting. Even if he couldn't escape his wheelchair, he was still fighting. In his own way, in an unfamiliar battlefield, he fought alongside the Kansas City Chiefs.
Lance brought his index and middle fingers together and tapped the edge of his brow in salute.
Felix saw it—and understood. His joy exploded.
"Mom! Mom! Did you see that?! Mom!"
Again and again.
Felix raised his hands high, screaming with abandon, "Lance! Lance!"
The whole stadium roared.
And it wasn't just the fans.
Every Chiefs player on the sideline turned to look. One by one, filled with energy, they waited for Lance, cheering, whistling, clapping—welcoming him back with open arms.
Josh was the first to step forward, patting Lance's shoulder and giving him a once-over. He opened his mouth to speak, but swallowed his words. In the end, all he did was punch Lance lightly in the shoulder and burst into hearty laughter.
The others followed—high-fives, fist bumps, hugs, a ruffle of the hair—each player offering their own welcome.
This entire scene fell into Coach Marrone's eyes.
The old coach said nothing. His small eyes, hidden behind glasses, turned silently back toward the field as he resumed his calm, focused command of the game—
The Baltimore Ravens had taken the initiative.
Clearly, Harbaugh realized that Lance's return had given the Chiefs a massive morale boost, and the visitors would soon be facing a tidal wave of momentum.
But Harbaugh wasn't one to sit back and take it. He struck first—trying to widen the lead before Lance could return, before the Chiefs could retaliate.
On one side, Harbaugh reshuffled his forces.
On the other, Marrone remained steady and composed.
Before Lance could reenter the game, the Ravens' defense executed a masterful blitz and sacked Mahomes for the first time all game, forcing a three-and-out.
But Marrone was just as seasoned. The Chiefs' defense pressured Jackson right back, forcing him out of the pocket again and again.
Though they couldn't sack Jackson, they successfully shut down Baltimore's run game, forcing Jackson to keep passing or scramble on foot—and Josh's airtight coverage stuffed him every time.
In the end, the Ravens were also forced into a three-and-out.
Back and forth—dizzying to follow.
You could feel the entire energy shift. The game was igniting with intensity thanks to Lance's return. Every coach, every player—locked in.
Harbaugh tried to strike while Lance was still benched, hoping to reclaim the lead—but failed.
Marrone tried to use Lance's momentum to break through—but also failed.
So—
The game hit a stalemate once again.
In terms of results, Harbaugh had gained the upper hand. Just when the Chiefs were about to explode with Lance's return, he played a spoiler card. While Baltimore didn't capitalize, they at least stalled Kansas City's sudden momentum.
At the root of it all—the young Chiefs still lacked the deep experience to handle so many shifting game states.
And Lance was no messiah.
Sure, in comics and movies, a team's spiritual leader comes back, and everyone's energy shoots to 120%, reversing the tide and seizing a glorious win.
But real life isn't so simple.
Undoubtedly, Lance's return was a huge positive. The Chiefs' offense was back at full strength, no longer needing to worry about personnel issues in the fourth quarter.
Still, the Ravens' defense remained fierce and ruthless. Before Lance left the field, it had been a tooth-and-nail brawl. After his return, it was still the same—tight, bruising, and inch-for-inch physical. The Chiefs hadn't gone Super Saiyan to tip the scales.
Chiefs' possession—three-and-out.
Ravens' possession—three-and-out.
Chiefs' possession—three-and-out.
Both sides took turns, neither backing down.
Though Lance's return electrified Arrowhead and the fans' expectations surged higher and higher, the game remained a tense deadlock.
The Chiefs pushed past midfield twice but were stopped at crucial moments—one drive ended with Mahomes throwing an interception, the other with the Ravens stopping Lance cold at the line.
The Ravens offense, meanwhile, couldn't convert those chances into scores. Their game plan felt clunky and unstable, and the Chiefs' defense refused to yield, shutting them down once again.
17:17.
Still tied.
The score hadn't changed for a long stretch. Just like the first half, the battle between the Chiefs and the Ravens had reached a fierce deadlock again.
Time ticked on. The atmosphere grew heavier and more intense. As the game neared its end, the air itself thickened.
Everything felt frozen.
Until—04:04 on the clock. Just over four minutes left in regulation.
The deadlock finally broke.
This time, it was Lamar Jackson's moment.
Out of nowhere, without warning or preparation, he pulled out a surprise deep ball from a seemingly pointless angle—
Once again, Jackson faced pressure. Once again, he ran out of the pocket with his freakish athleticism. Once again, he slipped a sack with his legs.
Then—he threw.
Just as the Chiefs expected.
But this time, Jackson took a risk: he launched a 33-yard bomb that no one saw coming.
It caught Kansas City completely off guard.
It was the first—and only—time all game the Ravens had managed to sneak past the Chiefs' secondary, finding their No. 5 receiver, John Brown.
Brown, an unremarkable fifth-year wide receiver, had been cut by the Cardinals in the offseason. He had bounced around, barely getting reps in the first thirteen games—mostly coming in for mop-up duty.
Today, against the defending champions, he made the most important catch of his season.
And it wasn't just a catch—he took it all the way.
Touchdown.
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Powerstones?
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