The Super Bowl, as North Arica's grandest annual sporting event, carries enormous influence—
every gesture, every mont, is enough to spark endless discussions.
With LeBron Jas and Stephen Curry, two of the NBA's biggest stars, both appearing at U.S. Bank Stadium but supporting different teams,
the dia and internet were bound to be buzzing for days.
Clearly, Curry's worries weren't just about being accused of "goofing off."
Lance, however, wore an expression of complete innocence, hurriedly distancing himself,
"Whoa, Stephen! What an honor to see you here! Welco, welco!"
Acting like he had absolutely no clue why Curry had co to the ga.
Curry stared at Lance, speechless for a second,
"Wow," he said, scanning Lance up and down.
"Wow, I didn't realize you were this kind of person."
Lance burst out laughing,
"Don't worry about the noise.
Just treat it like hot air.
As long as you guys keep winning, it'll all blow over.
I'll even co to Oracle Arena and cheer for you during the Finals!"
The Finals?
Curry tried to keep a straight face—
but couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.
"You're that confident?
You're sure we'll make it all the way to the Finals?
Tell you what—how about you show up at our ho ga against OKC the day after tomorrow?"
Lance made a face of mock surprise,
"You need , the ultimate lucky charm, just to beat the Thunder?"
"Hahaha!"
Curry laughed outright.
"So am I a lucky charm or a secret weapon?"
Lance shook his head seriously,
"Clearly you don't understand:
It's not the masked killer from Scream that's scary—
it's Paddington Bear storming hell with a shotgun that's truly terrifying."
Curry was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, giving Lance a thumbs-up.
Unfortunately, their chat didn't last long.
Crowds kept surging in to congratulate the Chiefs on their Super Bowl win—
and especially to congratulate Lance on winning Super Bowl MVP.
It was dizzying.
No ti even to catch a breath.
Even Commissioner Roger Goodell showed up personally to offer congratulations—and to hint at exciting things to co next season.
BANG!
As soon as Lance pushed open the locker room door—
A cork popped.
A stream of champagne blasted him straight in the face—
followed imdiately by a Gatorade bucket dumped overhead.
Lance was instantly drenched.
Worse, ice cubes slid down his back under his jersey, making him curl up involuntarily against the cold.
Originally, Travis Kelce had been mid-celebration, arms raised—
but froze the second he saw the gauze from Lance's forehead injury fall off.
Oops.
Everyone's faces turned sheepish.
Kelce rushed forward, panicking,
"Rookie... Lance... Lance..."
He saw Lance rubbing his eyes, his head lowered—
and freaked out.
Was Lance's wound infected?
Was he crying?
Kelce bent down to check, worried—
only to see Lance flashing a sly grin.
Before Kelce could react—
Lance grabbed him in a headlock!
"Well, what are you all standing around for?
The hero of our ga-winning touchdown is right here!"
"Wait, Lance—no—"
SPLASH!
Another Gatorade bucket, mixed with ice, dumped onto Kelce's back.
The big man howled like a stuck pig.
The whole locker room collapsed into hysterical laughter.
Creeeeak.
At that mont, the locker room door creaked open.
Instant silence.
Coach Andy Reid stepped halfway inside—
stared at the chaos—
paused.
Everyone froze like deer in headlights.
Without a word, Reid quietly stepped back out—
and closed the door behind him.
Lance and Kelce exchanged a glance.
Without thinking, they each grabbed an arm and hauled Reid back inside.
SPLASH!
Champagne, beer, Gatorade, ice water—
a baptism of champions.
Reid squeezed his eyes shut and endured it all—
then opened them just in ti to see Mahos and Tyreek Hill hefting a huge ice bucket.
"What are you doing?!" Reid gasped.
Mahos and Hill froze guiltily.
Before they could answer,
Lance grabbed the bucket—
and dumped ice water down Mahos' jersey.
Pandemonium.
It was all-out war.
Before the season started, none of them—Reid included—had dared to even dream of this.
But now?
They were champions.
They deserved this celebration.
When Lance and the others finally stumbled out of the locker room, it was already 1:33 AM.
Normally, they'd be deep asleep by this hour, recharging for practice or gas.
Professional athletes knew better than anyone:
Sleep wasn't just a luxury.
It was essential for recovery, performance, and avoiding injury.
Coaches didn't get mad because players went out partying.
They got mad because lack of sleep wrecked their conditioning.
But tonight was different.
The season was over.
For once, they could cut loose.
They had earned it.
Lance stood at the curb.
A sleek black Porsche rolled up.
The window lowered.
"Hey, handso—need a ride?"
Driver: none other than Stephen Curry.
Though the Warriors had no ga tomorrow, Curry would still fly back to San Francisco for training.
So tonight, he was playing designated driver.
After all—
the afterparties were just getting started.
And there were a lot of them.
Dozens, scattered all across Minneapolis.
So Curry asked the natural question:
"First stop?"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon/michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)