Bzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
The air was burning.
In the locker room, the Kansas City Chiefs players were fully geared up, standing tall—some nervous, some excited, some hopeful, others blank-faced—all eyes locked on Coach Reid at the center.
Reid looked the same as always. His plump, pale face showed no particular expression as he calmly scanned the room before raising his voice.
"No one believed we could make it to the Super Bowl. But here we are."
"No one believed we could win it all. But we're ready to try."
"Some say football is a money game. In the end, it's about the salary cap, the talent, the strategies, higher, faster, stronger—just like every other competitive sport. But I say no."
"Football is a game of belief."
"When it comes down to it, what wins games is belief—believing in yourself, in the playbook, in your teammates. It's about passion, love, and focus. Those who fight to the final whistle with unwavering faith—that's what makes a champion."
"And now…"
Reid paused, eyes sweeping across the room again. When he spoke again, the words echoed like thunder.
"I believe."
His gaze then locked onto a single figure, sharp and intense.
"No confidence—but we'll win."
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Every eye in the room turned toward Lance.
Yes, the Kansas City Chiefs were the underdogs. From the first game of the season to the last, they were a young team, raw and full of flaws, never favored. They had stumbled and scraped their way to this stage. Even against another dark horse, they were still seen as the weaker side.
So, no confidence.
It wasn't modesty or humility. It was fact. On paper, in tactics and talent, the Chiefs had no clear edge.
But—they would win.
Because of belief. Because of unity. Because they would give everything, fighting until their strength was gone.
And then—
Lance clenched his fist, raised his arm, and shouted—
"Fly!"
In an instant, the room erupted. All 53 players raised their arms and roared in unison.
"Fly!"
Again and again, voices merged in solidarity. Heads held high, they marched toward the battlefield.
At last—
It was time.
Lance and Kelce moved with the team toward the field. In the crowded tunnel, they approached a figure standing silently at the exit, gazing up at the pale blue dome above like it was the sky. As they reached his side, they looked out to see a tidal wave of noise crashing down on them.
Not just red. Not just black and blue. Not just white.
A riot of colors like a spilled palette, colliding with fury and merging in the chaos.
The crimson tide roared. The white storm howled.
Today, the Chiefs proudly donned their red home jerseys. Naturally, the Philadelphia Eagles had to wear white away uniforms.
The fans were already divided and frenzied, their jerseys painting their allegiance even before the kickoff.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Hearts pounded wildly.
Despite all the games they had played, this was the Super Bowl—something else entirely. The vibe, the emotions, everything was different.
More intense. More thrilling. More insane.
Exhaling slowly, the figure turned to Lance and smiled, "Ready?"
He wore the number 29 jersey, with heavy protective boots—a man fulfilling a promise.
Eric Berry, captain of the Chiefs' defense, who couldn't play today but still came to Minneapolis to be there for his team—to fight alongside them.
Lance looked at Berry. For a fleeting moment, he imagined Berry suited up and sprinting on the field, ready to soar, wind roaring beneath outstretched arms.
"Always," Lance said.
Berry gripped Lance's hand and bumped his shoulder. Words rushed to his throat but remained unspoken.
Instead, Lance pulled him closer. "Remember, we fight together. No matter where you are, we stand side by side."
Berry choked up, this time unable to hold back. "Rookie… I want to win. Just once."
"I just…"
"I want to win. For real. Just once."
The words nearly broke him. But he took a deep breath, steadied himself, blinked away the chaos in his eyes, and patted Lance's shoulder, pushing him forward. Then he turned, smiled again, and looked to the rest of the team.
Lance turned around, watching as Berry encouraged teammate after teammate.
He couldn't imagine the pain Berry must feel, a fighter at heart, now forced to stand aside. And yet—Berry showed up. He stood there, personally sending off each teammate into battle.
So let the war begin.
Turning back around, Lance took a deep breath, held his head high, and stepped onto the field.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're live at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis. The 52nd Super Bowl is just five minutes away."
"I'm Cris Collinsworth, here with Al Michaels to bring you the grand finale of the 2017 season."
Collinsworth took a deep breath, trying to calm down—but—
His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging.
No matter how he tried, he couldn't suppress the excitement. His temples throbbed, his mind roared.
A year ago, while covering the NCAA, Collinsworth stumbled upon a hidden gem—Lance.
He was amazed. Shocked. Awed.
Back then, he wanted to shout Lance's name to the entire league, hoping everyone would notice the Chinese-American running back. But even then, he couldn't have predicted Lance's meteoric rise—from clueless rookie to leading his team to the Super Bowl in just two seasons.
The sky truly was his only limit.
Now, Collinsworth couldn't hold back. He was eager to see what Lance would do. Eager to see how this game would unfold.
No matter who emerged victorious—Foles or Lance, Eagles or Chiefs—they were about to witness history.
"I've got the starting lineups for both teams right here. Though Philadelphia and Kansas City faced off in Week 2 of the regular season, that was six months ago. After a long season, both teams have undergone major changes. This is a brand-new battle."
"So now, let me introduce the starting lineups…"
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Powerstones?
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