Previously, we discussed how, since the turn of the century, the AFC's power structure had remained firmly in place. Led by Manning vs. Brady, with the Pittsburgh Steelers and Baltimore Ravens acting as defensive powerhouses waiting for their opportunities, the teams at the top of the pyramid had been unshakable. Other teams had co and gone, but none had managed to disrupt the established order—let alone overthrow it.
Now—
Finally!
Lance, like a catfish thrown into a calm pond, had effortlessly stirred up the balance of power in the AFC.
Was the AFC finally about to change?
Of course, it was too soon to declare that the Kansas City Chiefs had broken free of their chains. But at the very least, Lance had brought an elent of chaos into the equation. The league's old guard was uneasy, and that alone was a victory.
Traditional powerhouses were on edge, and sports dia was loving it.
In fact, the excitent was so organic that even the NFL didn't need to push the narrative. The journalists were doing it for them.
The upcoming Divisional Round, regardless of whether the Chiefs faced the Steelers or the Patriots, was guaranteed to be the center of attention.
As a result, the other AFC Wild Card ga was treated like an afterthought.
Jacksonville Jaguars: So… should we just leave?
David Caldwell, the GM of the Jacksonville Jaguars, had not recovered from April's NFL Draft.
It had been eight months, but he still hadn't gotten over it.
The Jaguars had gone from heaven to hell and back again—only to fall right back into hell.
Right in front of their eyes, the Chiefs had snatched Lance away, leaving Jacksonville's entire draft war room in complete collapse.
A nightmare.
That's what it was.
Caldwell looked at the overwhelming dia coverage surrounding Lance.
His heart bled.
No—his heart had been bleeding for an entire season.
If the Chiefs didn't exist…
All this attention, all this publicity, all this montum— it would have belonged to the Jaguars.
And they had reason to be excited.
They had finally put together their best season since 2007.
After a ten-year drought, they were back in the playoffs.
With Lance, they would've had the full support of the league.
Caldwell closed his eyes.
He could see it—stacks of cash flying through the air, just out of reach, no matter how hard he tried to grab them.
It was cruel.
Everything had been set.
They had been one move away.
One wrong decision.
One misstep.
And they had missed out on the biggest cash cow of the next decade.
Pain. Absolute pain.
Caldwell suddenly snapped his eyes open.
They would advance.
They would keep moving forward.
And when they finally faced the Chiefs—
They would make them pay.
Revenge.
It was coming.
Buffalo Bills: We belong under the bus.
Despite making the playoffs for the first ti since 1999, the Bills had been completely ignored.
This was their first playoff appearance of the 21st century—
Yet they barely existed in the dia.
Despite earning a playoff spot, it felt like they weren't even invited to the party.
The entire league's attention and dia frenzy revolved around Lance.
But in the eye of the storm, Lance himself didn't seem to notice.
Or—
More accurately, he noticed but didn't care.
Just because he didn't care, though, didn't an others wouldn't react.
And those ripples were already spreading.
"Sherlock, wait—I left my playbook in the WR eting room."
"You an your RB playbook or your WR playbook?"
"Ha! Nice one. You're learning how to joke."
"No, I'm serious…"
Mahos watched as Lance jogged back into the team facility.
He let out a small laugh.
He thought, after spending a whole season with Lance, that he had gotten used to him.
But today—he realized he hadn't.
In the final two minutes against the Titans, Lance had displayed leadership, poise, and vision in a way that changed the ga.
It proved sothing.
Personality wins gas.
And now?
Even after becoming the center of the football world, after leading Kansas City to only their second playoff win in over twenty years, Lance was already focused on the next ga.
Discipline. Dedication. Relentlessness.
It was hard to imagine soone studying playbooks the night after a playoff win.
But Lance was.
"Disrespect the opponent strategically, respect them tactically."
Lance had told him that.
Mahos thought about it.
His first career start—
He had believed he was ready.
He had believed he had adjusted to the pro level.
But he had learned the hard way—he still had so much to learn.
And if he wanted to catch up to Lance, if he wanted to one day stand beside him as a leader of this team—
He needed to work.
He took out his phone, pulled up the ga film, and started re-watching the Titans ga.
anwhile, Lance jogged back into the facility.
The Titans ga had taught him a valuable lesson—
The playoffs were a different beast.
The margin for error was razor-thin.
That ant they had to rely on the team even more.
That also ant—he had to improve every detail of his ga.
Win or go ho.
That was the thrill of the playoffs.
The Wild Card Round?
It was just the beginning.
That ga was already in the past.
Now, it was ti to focus on the Divisional Round.
So—he wasn't relaxing.
He was studying.
In pro football, there were so many positions—
And each position had countless strategies and nuances.
At the pro level, the ga was far more complex.
Every team had position-specific eting rooms—
A room for QBs, one for WRs, one for RBs, and so on.
Strategy etings were packed with information.
Players often held additional etings within their own position groups, reviewing film and tactics together.
To Lance—
It wasn't all that different from college.
He pushed open the WR eting room door.
Sure enough, his playbook was still on Hill's desk.
Recently, Lance had grown closer to Hill.
Hill was reserved at first, but once he ward up, his generosity beca clear.
As a route-running specialist, Hill had taught Lance a lot.
A RB and WR had different responsibilities.
So Lance had asked Hill for tips on route-running and reading defensive coverage while carrying the ball.
Hill?
Held nothing back.
That was why Lance had left his playbook behind—
He had been so deep in conversation with Hill and Kelce that he forgot.
Lance picked up the playbook, ready to leave—
Then he glanced out the window at the practice field.
There—
A lone figure stood.
Number 11.
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Powerstones?
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