"No abnormalities."
Lilith Rosen's words were neutral, avoiding any personal interpretation. But Lance could still detect a hint of surprise in her tone.
It was likely due to the effect of the Injury Impact Reduction Card.
Even at 10%, it had already delivered impressive results. Now, with the upgraded card at 50%, Lance couldn't wait to see its long-term impact.
Still, this was his personal secret. Lance had no intention of turning himself into a governnt experint, whether as a guest or a guinea pig.
On the surface, he remained unfazed. "So, the power of youth?"
Lilith imdiately recognized the playful edge in his tone. She agreed, though—youth was indeed the most reasonable explanation.
At least, based on the data so far, there were no abnormalities.
Perhaps Reid was right.
The Kansas City Chiefs had truly unearthed a generational talent in Lance. He was a treasure chest filled with surprises, and there were likely more to co—perhaps even enough to challenge conventional wisdom about running backs.
But...
Lilith looked at Lance quietly, her gaze steady. "I hope you're not insinuating anything."
Her words carried no ambiguity. If Lance intended anything inappropriate, he'd be the only one embarrassed.
Youth. Hormones. Impulses.
Lance tilted his chin slightly, feigning a thoughtful expression. "Ah, so I've been exposed."
He admitted it. Just like that. Without a hint of embarrassnt. His candid deanor caught Lilith off guard once again.
Lance's gaze then shifted directly to her face. "I didn't expect you'd notice, though."
Lilith blinked in surprise. His words registered as teasing, but before she could respond, a faint warmth rose to her cheeks. She composed herself quickly.
"I've ntioned before, haven't I?" Lilith's tone regained its characteristic edge. "My father raised as a tomboy. There's no way I wouldn't pick up on sothing like this."
What she didn't expect was Lance's nod.
"Actually, I know."
Lilith: What?
The matter-of-fact response caught her completely off guard. Lance always seed to veer off the expected path. What was he talking about now?
"Jenny's doing alright?" Lance asked.
"Jenny?" Lilith echoed, confused.
Lance mimicked wiping a tear from his face, his expression overly dramatic. "I'm not above teaching a girl so lessons, you know."
The Old Oak Tavern.
That was where Lance and Lilith had first crossed paths. Jenny had been the dark-haired girl involved in the commotion that day.
Since joining the Kansas City Chiefs, Lance had never brought up the events of the Old Oak Tavern. He maintained a professional distance, and Lilith had long pushed that mory to the back of her mind.
Now, out of nowhere, Lance brought it up again.
Rather than feeling wary or annoyed, Lilith unexpectedly found herself recalling her friend with a touch of fond exasperation.
"Jenny... is still Jenny. She's back in the dating scene."
Lance nodded slightly. "At least she's not back with Pete."
Lilith's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. "True. At least she didn't go back to that guy."
Lance shrugged with mock seriousness. "Maybe he realized coming back would've cost him an arm or a leg."
Clearly, this was aid at Lilith.
Her eyes narrowed as she fixed her gaze on Lance, locking on like a predator.
Lance raised his hands in mock surrender. "Thank you for your work. I should get going—don't want to get fined by the league for missing the press conference."
He retreated as he spoke, leaving Lilith standing there, speechless, until his figure disappeared from view.
Unconsciously, the icy lines of her expression softened.
Then Travis Kelce entered, catching the rare mont. His steps slowed, and he studied Lilith with a mix of confusion and curiosity, his expression sowhere between disbelief and amusent.
Lilith noticed and snapped back into her usual deanor.
"Travis, get over here. Treadmill. Gear up."
Postga Press Conference
As expected, Lance was once again the center of attention.
Unlike Week 1, where Alex Smith had drawn much of the spotlight, this ti Lance's ga-changing plays placed him firmly in the dia's crosshairs. Reporters wasted no ti stoking the flas.
"Between Tom Brady and Carson Wentz, who would you rather face as an opponent?"
Unbeknownst to Lance, ESPN comntator Joe Tessitore had already frad the narrative for him: following "Rookie vs. GOAT," the league's attention had shifted to "2017 Draft Pick vs. 2016 Draft Pick."
The dia loved nothing more than a good generational showdown.
Despite being unaware of their broader strategy, Lance sensed the trap in the question.
"Philip Rivers," he answered, throwing everyone off course.
Reporters: Huh?
Rivers: Excuse ?
Lance offered a simple explanation.
"The textbook answer should be 'myself.' Every professional athlete's greatest opponent is themselves. We have to beat and surpass our own limits to grow.
"But let's be realistic—this isn't The Oprah Winfrey Show. Right now, my only focus is on my next opponent."
Rivers, the long-standing quarterback for the Los Angeles Chargers, was part of the NFL's celebrated 2004 draft class alongside Ben Roethlisberger and Eli Manning. His inclusion was logical yet unexpected.
The reporters were left scrambling, their carefully set trap completely sidestepped.
Of course, the dia wasn't about to let Lance off so easily.
Headlines on social dia quickly spun out of control:
"Lance: Brady and Wentz Are Yesterday's News."
"Lance Shuns Past Rivals, Eyes the Future."
And the most absurd:
"Lance: Rivers Is Better Than Brady."
Rivers: I didn't even do anything!
Dragged into the fray without warning, Rivers found himself the target of New England Patriots fans' misplaced fury, left baffled and speechless.
It was a vivid reminder of the age-old adage: the more popular you are, the more trouble follows.
After completing the postga routine, Lance finally returned to his locker. When he picked up his phone, he noticed five missed calls.
Four were from the sa unknown number as before.
One was from Donald Yee.
Lance left the locker room with Patrick Mahos, the two heading out to drive ho. On the way, Lance called Donald back.
The line connected quickly.
"Hey, Donald. Sorry for the delay—my phone was in the locker. Nothing urgent, I hope?"
Donald's voice was as calm as ever.
"Not urgent. If it were, you know I'd find a way to reach you imdiately."
"By the way... did you happen to get a call earlier from soone claiming to be LeBron Jas?"
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Powerstones?
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