American Football: Domination

It wasn't until this moment that Lance truly understood the quarterback of this team, the leader of the Kansas City Chiefs' offense—

Alex Smith, a man often labeled as ordinary and unremarkable, actually had his own pride and unwavering perseverance.

Diligently, quietly, he fulfilled his duty.

Maybe he wasn't a charismatic leader like Manning or Brady, but he was always there, guiding the team in his own way.

Lance took a deep breath. He had been wanting to tell Smith this for a while.

"You've always been our leader."

Smith was confused. "Hmm?"

Lance explained, "Earlier, you said you wanted to fight alongside us. You already have been. You've always stood with us. You've always led us into battle."

"Without you, we might not have even made it through the first half—let alone survived to the end."

"Leading a team to victory isn't just about charging ahead. There are many ways to lead. Trust me, I'm not the only one who sees it."

Smith froze for a moment. His eyes flickered—almost as if he was holding back some emotion—before he quickly turned away, took a deep breath, and looked up at the night sky.

"Thanks."

"But... I don't think I have much time left here."

"Patrick is growing fast. Maybe by next season—at the latest, the year after—he'll be ready to take over as the starting quarterback. My contract takes up too much cap space. This team won't keep me as a backup. The logical thing to do is trade me while they still can."

"So, I know... my time in Kansas City is running out."

Brutal. But realistic.

Smith wasn't some naïve rookie anymore. He understood how the league worked. He knew his place.

But even though he understood the rules, even though he knew this was just business, it still hurt.

"Lance, would you believe me if I told you that I really love it here?"

"When I left San Francisco, I felt like a stray dog. I had lost all confidence. But this city opened its arms to me. They made me feel wanted. They made me believe I belonged. Not just Coach Reid—the fans, too. All of them."

"I always wanted to give them a playoff win. Maybe not a Super Bowl, but at least a deeper playoff run."

"Because… they need hope."

So, Smith understood.

They weren't just playing for themselves.

They were playing for this city, for the people who embraced them, for the fans who poured their hearts and souls into this team.

And how could they ever repay that?

"This time, we were so close. We almost let them down again."

"But we didn't."

Smith exhaled deeply.

He didn't say it out loud, but Lance could feel it—the weight pressing down on Smith's shoulders.

"Lance... I think I want to give it one more shot."

Lance turned to him, raising an eyebrow in question.

Smith straightened his back slightly, as if summoning courage.

"I want to try winning back-to-back playoff games—for the first time in my career."

"I know I'm not that ambitious. I dream about winning a Super Bowl, but I've always been too afraid to say it out loud. Hell, I don't even let myself think about an AFC Championship Game."

"But... I really want to win another one. For Kansas City. For myself."

"Before the Wild Card game, I didn't dare hope—I was afraid even thinking about it would jinx us."

"But in those last two minutes... I saw you, and I saw Houston, and I saw Kelce and Hill, and I saw Revis—all of you were still fighting."

"I don't want to just stand back and cheer. I want to be part of that fight."

"In that moment, I truly believed—maybe my time here isn't over yet."

"So... I want to see this through. No matter if it's Pittsburgh or New England, I want to take my shot."

"Because when I do leave Kansas City, at least I'll be able to hold my head high."

Lance had always believed:

If you're going to dream, dream big.

What if it actually comes true?

But looking at Smith now—this veteran, battle-worn, scarred by time and disappointment—Lance saw something different.

Smith wasn't young anymore. He wasn't filled with reckless optimism. He no longer believed he could move mountains.

Even when he dared to dream, there was a certain hesitation, a quiet sorrow.

But precisely because of that—because he had been broken, because he had suffered, because he had fought and failed so many times—his determination shined even brighter.

No bold declarations. No dramatic speeches.

Just quiet, unwavering resilience.

"I'm all in," Lance said.

Smith looked over.

Lance grinned and threw both hands—and even a foot—in the air. "I'm all in!"

Smith finally laughed.

At that exact moment, Patrick Mahomes sat in his car, reviewing game tape on his tablet.

Suddenly, he sneezed.

Like a meerkat, he snapped his head up, looking around suspiciously—

But there was nothing.

Shrugging, he went back to studying film.

Back on the field, Lance continued, "This is our battle. But it's yours, too. No one else can fight it for you—not even that kid wearing number fifteen, waiting in the parking lot."

Smith burst into laughter.

At that moment, sitting alone in the darkness, he felt it—

A flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Fire.

Determination.

Hope.

Lance smiled. "But you're not alone. We'll be with you all the way. No matter what happens next, let's fight with no regrets."

Lance held up his right hand, forming a fist.

Smith—normally reserved, normally composed—felt his blood start to burn.

He lifted his own fist, bumping it against Lance's.

Solid. Steady. Strong.

For the first time in years—

Smith felt like he had an army at his back.

Lance stood up. "Ready to go? That kid in the parking lot is still waiting for me."

Smith chuckled. "You go ahead. I'll stay here a little longer."

He pressed both palms against the turf, running his fingers over the blades of grass.

Taking it in.

Memorizing it.

Maybe this really was his last season in Kansas City.

Maybe he wasn't the quarterback of the future.

But this team, this city, this moment—

They were still his.

Lance took a few steps, then stopped.

He turned around.

Smith sat there, back straight, his fingers grazing the turf—as if trying to hold onto something fleeting.

Lance grinned.

"Captain."

Smith instinctively turned around.

"After the next game, let's get the whole offense together," Lance said. "Let's count the stars."

Smith blinked, confused. "What?"

But Lance didn't explain.

He simply turned and walked toward the parking lot.

In the distance, the night sky shimmered.

And in his heart, Smith made a silent vow—

Not yet.

Not just yet.

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Powerstones?

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