"Before this game, even though the Kansas City Chiefs were still ranked as the No.1 seed in the AFC, the label of 'pretender' followed them closely after losses to the New England Patriots and Los Angeles Rams."
"This scene—how similar it is to last season. It feels like history repeating itself."
"And once again, under pressure, the Kansas City Chiefs proved themselves."
"With just four minutes left on the clock, the Chiefs were still behind. But in those final minutes, the reigning champions delivered three consecutive surges:"
– "A passing touchdown to tie the game."
– "A three-and-out stop to force overtime."
– "And a rushing touchdown to walk it off."
"At the last possible moment, the Chiefs showed the explosive strength of a true No.1 seed—offense and defense both shut down the Baltimore Ravens."
Cool. Dominant. Fearless.
"Now, with this version of the Kansas City Chiefs, we're finally seeing the true aura of a team transforming into champions."
"And all of it—this might sound unbelievable, but it's the truth—all of it started with the Chiefs' newly appointed captain this season: Lance."
"Two touchdowns—both came from Lance. One receiving. One rushing. And more than just scores, he became the anchor of the entire team in their darkest hour."
"The most incredible part? Lance suffered a concussion scare in the second quarter and was forced to leave the game. But after passing protocol and returning to the field, even against a defense that specifically targeted him, he found a way to come back."
"Wow."
"Listen—that's the sound of Arrowhead Stadium."
No praise, no comment, no admiration could ever match the sound of the crowd.
So real. So passionate. So utterly insane.
Felix shouted until his voice cracked:
"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere—he's the Edgewalker, Lance, Lance, Lance!"
He knew he looked like a maniac, tears in his eyes.
But he couldn't help it.
When the cancer came back, the doctors had given him a death sentence—one year at most, six months at worst. That was ten months ago.
They kept fighting. His mom never gave up. Neither did he. But deep down, it felt hopeless.
In the quietest moments of the night, he'd ask himself—should I let go? Was it really worth dragging it out and making everyone suffer?
But…
He wasn't willing to go out like this.
He was just eighteen. There were so many things he hadn't done. He didn't even have someone he liked yet. His life had barely begun, and now it was ending.
He wasn't ready.
So he kept crawling forward, stubborn as a cockroach.
And now… now he knew someone else out there was also fighting—someone who refused to give up, no matter the pain, no matter the odds.
It was Lance.
Lance made him believe in dreams again. Made him believe the journey could still hold meaning—even when you already knew the ending.
Even if death was waiting, there was still depth and wonder to be found in every moment before it.
And so, Felix was still here.
Ten months after the diagnosis, he stood at Arrowhead, burning bright.
Walk-off! Victory!
The Kansas City Chiefs still had the heart of a champion. Even if the entire league doubted their ability to defend the title—even if people claimed last season's win was a fluke.
They kept moving forward—on their terms, at their pace.
The "Heart of a Champion" wasn't just about winning. It was about faith, willpower, and the refusal to quit. It was about fighting until the end.
One more time.
One more chant.
Felix sang.
And Karen noticed.
Felix was usually the strong one—never crying in front of them, never letting them see how much weight he was carrying. He'd always been the grown-up.
But now, Karen knew—it was too much for his young shoulders. She had to be even stronger.
She straightened her back, ignoring the tears in his eyes, and began singing too.
"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere—he's the Edgewalker, Lance, Lance, Lance!"
Again. And again.
The whole stadium roared.
Somewhere, Mosley dropped to his knees, overwhelmed, stunned—his mind buzzing like a thunderclap.
What… what the hell just happened?
In the end, he hadn't even touched Lance's jersey. And just like that… they lost?
"24–30."
The giant scoreboard above Arrowhead burned the score into everyone's retinas.
In overtime, if a team scores a touchdown, it's over. No extra point needed. Game ends right then and there.
That's exactly what just happened.
The Baltimore Ravens had control. They had every chance, every escape route. But they retreated. Step by step. Until there was nowhere left to go.
And then… that was it.
Lamar Jackson stood frozen, rooted in place, saying nothing. Mind completely blank.
No shame. No anger. No regret. Just numbness.
Lost. Again.
How many times had it been now? Jackson had lost count. It happened too often—it had become routine.
But worse than losing… was how he felt nothing about it anymore.
Was it really destiny? Was he doomed never to break through, even in the NFL?
From nearby came a wail—Edwards.
"We're finished. That rookie is gonna roast me alive. I don't wanna do the post-game interview. He's gonna clown me."
"I'm just a kind, innocent man… and he's gonna chew me up in three sentences. I'm done for."
He collapsed to the ground dramatically, cradling his helmet like it was his soul, fake crying without tears.
Finally, Jackson shook himself.
Snap out of it, Lamar. This was just one game.
You can't be scared already. This was just the first time you've faced him. There will be many more chances.
He would come back. One day, he would defeat Lance fair and square—and prove his worth.
Today proved Lance wasn't perfect. Not even dominant. The Ravens had nearly won—they were this close.
They didn't need to wait long. Maybe next time, the outcome would change.
One day, sooner or later, that day would come.
But not today.
Today, he couldn't give up. He couldn't bow his head.
The crown would fall.
Jackson took a deep breath and calmed down. He had to face Lance. Had to prove he wasn't scared.
So…
Where was Lance?
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Powerstones?
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