"I think Lance is an absolutely outstanding player."
"I just finished my rookie season, and even now, I'm still learning and growing. Precisely because of that, I know how incredible Lance's performance really is."
"I believe that if Lance's na isn't in the MVP discussion just because he's a rookie, that would be a real sha."
"He's making history, isn't he?"
Wentz didn't hold back his praise. Having just endured the whirlwind of his own rookie season, there was a natural camaraderie between young players. Unlike Brady, Wentz had no hesitation standing on Lance's side, giving him positive and encouraging words.
The reporters? Disappointed.
They traveled all the way to Philadelphia, not to hear these polite, motivational platitudes. This wasn't The Oprah Winfrey Show. They were sick of these mutual-admiration clichés. Couldn't soone say sothing more genuine?
To the reporters, those words were just aningless blah blah blah, in one ear and out the other.
As the yawns started to spread among the reporters, Wentz suddenly changed his tone and dropped a bombshell.
"Of course, the next ti we et, I'll do my best to beat him and prove we're the better team."
Finally!
The reporters decided not to press Wentz any further, satisfied as they turned and left.
Thirty minutes later, social dia blew up.
"Brady: Lance wants to beat ? Not yet."
"Brady: Lance is no big deal."
"Brady: I don't even consider Lance a threat."
As the face of the NFL, Brady's words carried weight. Even though major dia outlets were using eye-catching headlines to stir up controversy, the general consensus remained that Lance was overestimating himself and wasn't qualified to challenge Brady.
The simplest and most direct argunt was laid bare: Brady has multiple championship rings; how many does Lance have? Ha.
"Wentz: I'm better than Lance."
"Wentz: Lance is great, but I deserve the MVP more."
Unlike with Brady, this debate sparked even more heated argunts. So supported Wentz, others supported Lance. Even though one was a quarterback and the other a running back, they were oddly being compared. Compared to the lackluster rookies of 2017, this discussion suddenly elevated the season's buzz to new heights.
Of course, there were still Brady supporters saying, "This generation of young players is no good. All of you, step aside."
When Wentz saw these headlines, he almost fainted. He swore on his life that he never said any of those things.
But this was just the tip of the iceberg.
When Lance's na appeared in the MVP conversation, it was like a drop of water falling into hot oil, causing a massive uproar. The entire league was swept into a storm of debate, once again proving Lance's dia magnetism—
Whether you liked it or not, whether you agreed or not, Lance was now standing at the center of the storm.
By the ti it reached this point, people could no longer rember who first brought it up at the post-ga press conference.
And what about Lance?
Lance didn't have ti to respond to these trivial disputes. His daily life was packed, and he simply didn't have the energy to address all the gossip.
If he had to respond to every controversy tossed around on social dia, he might as well quit training and eating and just spend all day at a computer responding to these topics.
When reporters flocked to the Kansas practice field, buzzing with excitent and ready to shove Brady's and Wentz's words at Lance for a reaction, they found Mahos and Kelce instead.
But there was no sign of Lance.
Confused, the reporters searched high and low for him like lost sheep. Their frantic eyes darted around, but they couldn't locate their target.
Mahos, grinning, pointed toward the road. He raised his right hand high and waved. Everyone instinctively followed his gaze, and there it was—Lance's familiar car slowly rolling into view. It stopped right in front of the eager crowd at the practice facility entrance.
Screech, screech screech.
The car window rolled down, revealing Lance's familiar face.
Lance flashed a smile, waved, and said loudly, "Don't forget to vote for ."
Mahos and Kelce imdiately burst out laughing and started cheering. "Roll, roll, roll! Lance! Lance! Lance!"
Reporters: ???
Wait, what just happened?
For a mont, the reporters couldn't keep up with Lance's pace of thought. It took them a couple of beats to process: Vote—he ant the MVP vote, which was decided by the reporters. This was Lance's response to the swirling storm of debate.
Of course, Lance being Lance, he always walked his own path.
Realizing what had happened, the reporters scrambled to chase after him, but it was too late. They were left coughing in the dust, watching his car disappear into the distance. Frustrated, they stood under the scorching sumr sun, hands on their knees, panting like dogs.
But what was Lance up to?
Why wasn't he heading ho with Mahos today? With the playoffs just around the corner, why did Lance leave early? Did sothing urgent co up?
Back at the practice field, the reporters exchanged puzzled looks. No one had an answer.
anwhile, Lance arrived at his destination in under 15 minutes.
The Marriott Hotel.
Just as Lance parked in front of the hotel, a valet rushed over to greet him. But when the valet looked up and saw who was stepping out of the driver's seat, his face froze in shock.
The shock turned to joy, then to outright excitent, all in the blink of an eye. He instinctively bit the inside of his cheek hard.
"Ah!"
The valet let out a soft gasp, quickly realizing he wasn't being professional. Clenching his fists, he fought to suppress his excitent, but his every movent betrayed his elation. He even seed to float as he walked.
"Rookie!"
"Rookie, that ga was perfect! Incredible performance!"
In Kansas City, Lance had already beco a household na. In just a few short months, he had captured the city's heart.
Who would have thought that "rookie" would beco Lance's signature nickna here?
Lance didn't mind. Though the nickna wasn't particularly cool or imposing, it carried a friendly charm that easily connected him to the fans.
Of course, it was a Kansas City-exclusive nickna. If a rival used it, Chiefs fans wouldn't hesitate to clap back.
Lance smiled. "Shh, let's keep this between us, okay? Don't let Alex find out."
The valet laughed heartily along with him.
But then, the valet's smile froze for a mont before turning serious. He stepped slightly closer, leaned in as if handing over the car keys, and whispered in Lance's ear.
"Rookie, don't look back. You've got a tail. Want to help you shake them?"
A tail?
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Powerstones?
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