Back and forth. Undercurrents swirling.
Reid glanced at Harbaugh, trying to determine whether he genuinely hadn't picked up on the subtext or was just pretending to be clueless. But in that relaxed and easy manner, the topic had already shifted.
In fact, Harbaugh had slyly redirected the teasing right back at Reid.
Still, Reid didn't voice his suspicions.
"Heh."
With no change in expression, Reid chuckled softly.
"You too. To this day I still can't tell whether you were really interested in Lance or just putting up a smokescreen."
Harbaugh laughed heartily. "Whatever it was before, now I can say for sure—100% interest. I still regret missing out on Lance."
Reid didn't believe a word. Compared to Pederson, Harbaugh was more seasoned, more cunning. In games and strategy, he could genuinely go toe-to-toe with any elite team—
Maybe the Ravens didn't win every game, but they always made their opponents suffer.
Reid wasn't arrogant. Nor would he act superior as if still a mentor—he and Harbaugh now stood as equals in competition.
Reid said, "Instead, you now have your franchise quarterback."
Harbaugh didn't seem to catch the probe in Reid's tone. He followed his words naturally. "Coach, what do you think of Jackson?"
Reid looked at him intently. "Haha, close one. I almost gave you my opinion. John, I'm not going to get myself in trouble."
"Ha!" Harbaugh laughed, immediately catching the hidden meaning. "If a coach is that cautious, it means he approves."
"Coach, I look forward to our next game."
Reid shook Harbaugh's right hand. "Heh, I don't look forward to it at all."
A lighthearted joke, and the two men laughed together.
From Reid and Harbaugh, to Mahomes and Jackson, to Lance and Edwards, and finally the two distinct, elite defensive units—the Chiefs vs. the Ravens had turned into an unexpectedly brilliant game.
Romo watched the field, eyes slightly narrowed, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
"I have a strange feeling… like this isn't the last we'll see of these two teams clashing. Today might just be the first of many. Are we witnessing the arrival of a youth storm?"
Nantz raised an eyebrow. "A youth storm? You mean 'Mahomes vs. Jackson'?"
Romo shrugged lightly, not answering directly. "Let the viewers decide for themselves."
He didn't say it, but his gaze quietly drifted to Lance.
No doubt—the NFL was still dominated by pass-heavy offenses, and the role of running backs was more challenged than ever. But as long as Lance existed, Romo stayed curious. He remained hopeful.
Romo knew—changing the direction of the entire league with just one running back was nearly impossible. Just look at what Le'Veon Bell went through.
But if it were Lance… there might be a sliver of possibility.
These past two seasons, young quarterbacks had drawn unprecedented attention. A storm of youth was rising quietly—but Romo was more intrigued by Lance's future. He looked forward to following where Lance might lead.
That anticipation… was heating up, little by little.
And clearly, Romo wasn't the only one. Nantz noticed it too. Following Romo's line of sight, his eyes settled on Lance as well.
Across the whole of Arrowhead Stadium, the celebration still roared for their hero—
Lance! Lance! Lance!
Over and over, echoing through the twilight.
The waves of heat continued to surge in Arrowhead Stadium. Even after the game had ended, they didn't disperse. Instead, they settled into the air, still and simmering.
Night had fallen.
Kansas City dropped in temperature drastically within just thirty minutes. The cold bit through down coats, sneaking into every crack. Yet even then, it couldn't cool the boiling blood—
The passion refused to fade.
Some talked about the game. Some sang and danced. Some simply grinned stupidly. Others basked in the drunken atmosphere of celebration… Hours after the final whistle, Kansas City's party was only just beginning.
This hard-earned victory preserved the Chiefs' undefeated home record this season.
And more importantly, by defeating the Ravens, the Chiefs improved to an 11–2 record. Based on other AFC teams' standings, this meant Kansas City had clinched a playoff spot three weeks early—qualifying for the postseason for the fourth year in a row.
For the defending champions, it was good news.
Of course, the race for the AFC's top seed wasn't over. The New England Patriots were still on their heels. If the Chiefs wanted full home-field advantage, they couldn't let up.
But it wasn't just the win.
This young team had once again shown grit and composure when it mattered most. In a bloody showdown, they held on and emerged victorious. This was what the Chiefs needed—something that would be critical in the playoffs.
This city, these fans—they had every reason to celebrate wildly.
Arrowhead was the perfect reflection.
Outside the stadium's back gate, a crowd of fans had gathered, waiting for their heroes through the bitter cold and deepening night.
Time ticked by—postgame press conferences, massages, cooldowns… and just like that, two hours had slipped away. Still, no sign of the Chiefs players.
The temperature kept dropping. The wind kept howling. Just standing outside took courage—let alone standing still, waiting for so long.
Slowly, they lost feeling in their toes and noses.
Even so, the fans in the back lot parking area endured it gladly.
They sang, they danced, they cheered—holding their own celebration party, driving away the cold with joy.
Karen was worried. For the third time, she checked Felix's cheeks and hands. Even though Felix was wrapped up tight like a dumpling, the exposed skin on his face remained cold to the touch. It made Karen panic.
Seeing this, Felix gave a helpless smile. "Mom, I'm fine. Really."
Karen didn't believe it. "Felix, we can contact the team directly, or reach out to Lance's agent. Call or email—it's enough. We don't need to tell Lance in person. Your health…"
Felix cut her off. They'd had this conversation more than once. "I want to do it myself. It's my promise to Annie."
Karen frowned deeply. "Then let's pick another day. When the team is back to practice—"
Felix said, "Mom, once they start practicing, they'll be preparing for the next game. I don't want to mess up their routine."
Karen replied, "It's only an hour. Even if they're practicing, it won't matter."
As they argued, the players finally began to emerge, one after another—and the crowd of fans erupted in cheers.
Felix could no longer care about his mother. Awkwardly, he pushed his wheelchair forward, craning his neck to search through the crowd.
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Powerstones?
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