บท 237: A Deadly Strike
Rodney McLeod was sprinting.
Lance was sprinting.
But their momentum couldn't have been more different.
McLeod, who should have been on the offensive, found himself stuck in a defensive posture. Lance, who had been teetering on the brink, now exploded forward with an unmatched ferocity.
The two figures closed in at full speed, seemingly destined for a head-on collision.
McLeod felt the heat radiating from Lance's presence, his body bristling with tension. His knees trembled slightly, but he clenched his teeth and threw himself forward, bracing for impact. He funneled every ounce of his power, speed, and determination into one final, desperate tackle.
This was it.
McLeod hardened his resolve, rushing toward the contact point like a battering ram.
Bang!
Except—
There was no collision.
At the last moment, Lance slammed on the brakes.
McLeod, all momentum and no control, flew past Lance like a wild bull charging into thin air. He turned his head just in time to see Lance spinning clockwise, slipping by in the opposite direction, close enough for them to graze each other.
What just happened?
McLeod flailed to recover, but his speed betrayed him. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he stumbled helplessly as Lance spun clear. In the blink of an eye, they were worlds apart.
With McLeod's desperate tackle dodged, Lance's path was clear.
The field ahead stretched open like an endless highway.
The entire stadium froze, collectively holding its breath as Lance burst into a full sprint.
"Fly!"
Lance hit the 30-yard line.
Behind him, the Eagles' defense swarmed in pursuit, a white wave crashing after the blazing red streak of #23.
"Fly!"
The 20-yard line disappeared under his feet.
The Eagles were closing in, narrowing the gap created by Lance's hesitation during the spin. But Lance found his rhythm again, his strides growing longer and faster.
"Fly!"
The 10-yard line loomed ahead.
What little ground the Eagles gained was now slipping away. Lance, regaining his top speed, widened the gap with every step.
Arrowhead Stadium erupted. Thousands of fans rose to their feet, transfixed. Nobody was cheering, nobody was screaming—they were mesmerized by the moment.
The tension built as the red blur crossed the goal line.
Bullseye.
Boom!
The stadium exploded in unison.
"Touchdown!"
The roar of the crowd rolled like thunder, shaking the earth beneath Arrowhead Stadium. The energy surged outward, rippling across Kansas City like a shockwave.
Bart: ...What the hell?
"Lance!"
"Lance! Lance! Lance!"
Pasch, calling the play for ESPN, was on the verge of losing his voice.
"Just moments ago, the Eagles executed a perfect 25-yard touchdown pass, declaring their intention to seize control of the game. But in response, the Chiefs' rookie running back answered with a devastating counterpunch, reminding everyone whose home this is."
"Incredible!"
"Lance just shattered the Eagles' suffocating four-man zone coverage, showcasing his otherworldly speed and cutting ability. A 75-yard touchdown run, absolutely dismantling Philadelphia's entire defense in one move."
"Wow, that's the kind of play that gives you chills."
Even Pasch, who had followed Lance since his Alabama days, was stunned. Though he believed in Lance's potential, witnessing such brilliance against this level of opposition left him in awe.
"This, right here, is why I love football."
In the end zone, Lance stood silently, fists clenched, his breath heavy and visible in the cool Kansas air.
He didn't scream or shout—he simply soaked in the moment, savoring the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He lived for this: pushing his body to its limit, unleashing his full potential in the crucible of competition, and discovering new heights of greatness.
Lance slowly spread his arms, embracing the sea of red roaring around him.
The crowd responded with a deafening roar.
"Lance!"
"Lance!"
"Lance!"
At the Old Oak Tavern, bartender Charles West could no longer contain himself. Raising his arms high, he let out a primal yell.
It had been too long—far too long.
Kansas City had been shrouded in the shadows of economic hardship and unemployment for what felt like an eternity. The weight of uncertainty, of a future obscured by hardship, bore down on its people.
But now, there was hope.
West threw down his rag and raised his fists in triumph.
He wasn't alone.
The entire tavern erupted, strangers uniting in jubilant celebration. West glanced around and saw weary, weathered faces transformed by smiles of pure joy.
Let the storm rage on—
They weren't giving up.
They wouldn't surrender.
Somehow, in his own stumbling way, Lance—an Asian-American rookie with no football background—was inspiring a city to believe again.
Across Arrowhead Stadium, a similar energy surged. Tens of thousands of voices united in chanting one name.
Lance's stunning 75-yard touchdown run didn't just rip through Philadelphia's defense—it tore through the tension that had been suffocating the game.
On the sidelines, Chiefs players erupted in cheers, raising their helmets in salute to their rookie savior.
And when the Chiefs' defense took the field again, they channeled that same energy. Fierce and unrelenting, they crushed the Eagles' offense in a swift three-and-out.
Quarterback Carson Wentz, battered and bruised, was forced to the sidelines.
The Chiefs' defense had extinguished the Eagles' fire.
Now, the momentum was firmly with Kansas City.
The Eagles knew they were teetering on the edge. If they couldn't contain the Chiefs' next drive, their chances of victory would plummet.
The intensity surged as both teams prepared for the next snap, and Arrowhead Stadium erupted into a frenzy once more.
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Powerstones?
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