Derrick Henry had always been confident. He had never doubted himself—not even during the past two seasons when he was stuck in a backup role. Not for a second. If anything, he carried a sense of superiority.
But now.
Now, he saw Lance—a rookie who had switched sports mid-career, yet had boldly beco the face of the Crimson Tide. And he didn't stop there. In the blink of an eye, he had grown into a cornerstone of an NFL franchise.
Was Henry envious?
A little.
Was he jealous?
Not at all.
Because Henry still believed in himself.
He believed he could do the sa. He believed he could carve out a place in the league, make defenses tremble at the re ntion of his na.
He had no need for jealousy or resentnt—only focus.
Head high. Back straight. Eyes forward.
As the Arrowhead Stadium crowd roared around him, Henry walked toward Lance.
Lance usually left the field quickly after gas. He had a terrible mory for nas, so every ti an opposing player ca up to shake hands and offer their respect, he had to force an awkward yet polite smile—desperately trying not to let them see the confusion in his eyes.
Who is this guy again?
But today was different.
As the Chiefs stord the field in celebration, Lance was already scanning the crowd for Henry.
Derrick Henry.
From the mont Coach Burns had "tricked" him into playing football, that na had been a towering presence.
Not soone to surpass.
Not even soone to chase.
Just a symbol. A standard.
For all the running backs who ca after, Henry was the benchmark.
And he was the first football player Lance had ever truly rembered.
Not Manning. Not Brady. Not even the Hall of Fars.
It was Henry—who, at the ti, had just entered the league.
And today, finally.
Lance could stand face to face with the legend who had lived in every coach's speech.
——Here he cos.
Even from a distance, Henry's presence was overwhelming. He moved through the sea of Chiefs and Titans players like a battleship cutting through the waves.
6'3" (191 cm).
247 lbs (112 kg).
Bigger, heavier, and stronger than Lance in every way.
But up close, he wasn't as massive as expected.
Henry's build was lean, compact, pure muscle—not an ounce of excess fat.
Despite the friendly smile on his face, there was an unmistakable edge to him.
Like a blade.
No wonder defenders in college used to get weak in the knees just seeing him.
But sothing was different. Maybe it was tonight's loss. Maybe it was two years of struggle in Tennessee. But Henry, once the cocky, unstoppable prodigy, now carried himself with restraint.
He wasn't just a force of nature anymore—he was evolving.
Young players flaunted their talent, reckless and proud. But the truly great ones learned to sharpen their skills in silence, waiting for the right mont.
When two warriors et, the braver one wins.
But when two brave warriors clash, the smarter one prevails.
Finally, Henry stopped in front of Lance—two steps away.
As Lance had been sizing up Henry, Henry had been doing the sa.
Just as Lance had heard stories about Henry, Henry had heard stories about Lance.
Two legends of the Crimson Tide.
The past two Heisman winners.
For the first ti, face to face.
A hush fell over the surrounding players.
One by one, heads turned.
Even Hill, who was always up to mischief, felt a rare mont of concern. He nudged Kelce.
"Hey, should we back up the rookie?"
Kelce glanced over—then burst out laughing.
"You forget? They're from the sa school. This is probably their own little rivalry."
Hill rolled his eyes. "No kidding. That's why I'm asking. What if that second-year guy tries to bully our rookie?"
Houston, who had been quietly watching, snorted. "When has anyone ever bullied our rookie? It's always the other way around."
Then, as if by instinct, everyone's eyes drifted toward Orakpo.
Orakpo: ???
Not just Arrowhead Stadium.
Even in Atlanta, where the Crimson Tide players were watching on TV, all celebrations paused.
Every single one of them leaned in, eyes fixed on the screen.
Clearly, ESPN had caught on.
Normally, at the end of a playoff ga, the caras followed the head coaches and quarterbacks. Those were the stars, the icons. Their postga handshake was the highlight.
Not today.
Today, when the director saw the bland, aningless handshake between Mariota and Smith—then between Reid and Mularkey—he made a quick decision.
Forget that.
This was the real story.
In the luxury box, Roger Goodell saw the cara shift and nodded slightly.
Smart move.
Henry hesitated for a mont.
"You're… young."
Young?
What kind of description was that?
Lance, ever polite, simply nodded. "And you… are clean."
Henry blinked.
He actually looked down at himself—confused.
Clean? Really?
But he got the ssage.
Dropping the formalities, he extended his right hand.
"Hell of a ga. Truly, an incredible ga."
Lance firmly grasped Henry's hand.
"A great ga needs two worthy opponents. The better team won tonight."
Respectful. But not submissive.
Despite the victory, Lance wasn't boastful. He wasn't rubbing it in. He wasn't smug.
Henry saw it in his eyes—a quiet confidence.
And suddenly, he understood why Coach Burns had always told him to watch Lance closely.
A handshake.
Then, Henry tightened his grip.
Lance didn't flinch—he squeezed back.
Henry was surprised.
Lance had never been known for power. But tonight, Henry could feel it.
He was getting stronger.
And if Lance was improving, then Henry had no excuse to stay the sa.
The mont passed.
Henry relaxed his grip and let go.
He was about to say sothing—
But this ti, Lance spoke first.
"You're strong. Really strong."
"Coach Burns was right. You still haven't reached your full potential. If you had pushed just a little harder, I would've been in trouble."
Henry froze.
He hadn't expected that level of honesty.
For a second, his tough exterior cracked—and he actually laughed.
Lance kept going.
"So I'm going to keep working hard."
Henry's laughter faded.
He stood up straighter, shoulders squared, eting Lance's gaze directly.
"…Now you're worthy of carrying the Crimson Tide legacy."
Then, after a pause—
"But don't get too comfortable. I'm not done yet."
"I'll be ready for our next battle."
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