Scene after scene unfolded.
Amid the swirling lights and overwhelming glamour, the surreal haze of the atmosphere blurred the lines—had they stumbled into Wonderland, or had the characters from the big screen broken the fourth wall and walked into reality?
The entire world was spinning.
Even as freshly crowned Super Bowl champions, within the NFL universe, they were still the new kids—far from household nas. Now, stepping into this party full of cinematic and musical royalty, their inexperience and nerves were hard to hide.
Kelce glanced over at Curry, seeking reassurance.
"Stephen?"
Maybe Curry was the exception.
After all, he was a two-ti NBA champion, awash in accolades, and a current gastar—surely this kind of setting was familiar to him.
All eyes turned to Curry.
He felt the weight of expectation land squarely on his shoulders. Straightening up, he tried to play it cool.
"There's nothing to freak out about. Scarlett Johansson is just a regular person—two eyes, one nose, one mouth. You saw her earlier, right? Otherwise, Kevin wouldn't want to drink her bathwater."
Kevin Durant, relaxing at ho sowhere, suddenly sneezed violently for no reason.
Kelce and Mahos broke into laughter.
But Lance caught the twitch in Curry's expression—he was trying very hard to keep his composure. Lance gave him a gentle shoulder bump.
"Well then," Lance grinned, "are you gonna get a glass of that bathwater for your teammate? If that's too much, maybe a napkin with a lipstick stain?"
Curry: ???
Lance! You traitor!
Curry's panicked eyes gave him away instantly.
Lance smiled even more broadly.
The tension? Montarily forgotten.
Curry was right, of course—these were just people.
Actors and singers found them as curious as they found the celebrities.
Though Curry had seen plenty of this glittering world, he still got flustered.
And when no one else made a move, the least-experienced among them—Lance—took the first step.
"Hey, miss," he called out with a bright smile, spotting a familiar-looking woman nearby.
"Excuse , do you know where the host of the party is? Have you seen him around?"
Ariana Grande, hearing soone call out over the thumping music, turned in surprise.
She looked up—
And up—
And up.
"You're... really tall," she blurted.
Lance: ???
The others burst out laughing.
So much for that heroic mont.
But Lance wasn't mad—she wasn't wrong.
She was barely 5'2", and he was standing on a step.
The height difference was almost cartoonish.
He smiled and replied,
"You're tall too."
Ariana blinked, confused.
"Huh?"
"Your ponytail," Lance clarified.
She froze—then burst into laughter.
"That has beco my trademark."
"Like Michael Jackson's white socks?" he quipped.
Her eyes lit up.
"I like you."
Lance blinked.
Ariana bead.
He threw up his hands, playing along.
"Sorry, I'm still learning Arican culture. So what do I say now? 'I love you'?"
And he said it in deliberately broken English.
Ariana laughed harder.
"No no, you can just say 'thank you'. 'Like' doesn't always an a confession, you know."
Still playing innocent, Lance shrugged like, See? You people are confusing.
Ariana's smile widened.
"I don't think you need Justin's help to fit in here."
Subtext: You're doing just fine.
Lance blinked innocently.
"But I don't know anyone here. I need Justin to introduce around."
"Clearly, you don't know who I am, right?"
Ariana studied him again but said nothing.
Lance casually stepped off the stairs, sat on a nearby couch, crossed his legs and adjusted to her eye level.
Ariana smiled, surprised by his ease.
"I barely know anyone at this party either," she admitted, leaning in with a playful whisper.
"Want a secret? I don't even know why I'm here."
She winked, then pulled back and extended a hand.
"Ariana Grande."
Lance shook her hand firmly.
"Lance."
She tilted her head.
"Nice to et you... Mr. Li."
Wait—Mr. Li?
So she did know who he was.
But before he could say anything, she looked past him.
"Look, the king of the party has arrived."
Lance turned—
and saw Justin Timberlake walking in, resplendent in a shimring silver suit.
He looked like a walking disco ball, drawing every spotlight in the room.
When Lance turned back, Ariana had already vanished into the crowd.
"Lance!" a voice bood.
"Oh my God, Stephen! Travis! Patrick! You're all here too! Co on in!"
Justin Timberlake—entertainnt veteran, smooth as ever—greeted them with open arms, calling each one by na without hesitation.
"We've been waiting for you guys all night!"
"You're the real stars of the evening! We're all just riding the Chiefs' coattails to have an excuse to party!"
"Let's kick this off right—everyone take a shot!"
Not a bullet—a shot of tequila.
Timberlake waved. A server glided over with a tray full of glistening shot glasses.
Lance looked at him, mock suspicious.
"You've been waiting in ambush."
Otherwise, how would the server show up so fast?
Timberlake just grinned.
"Justin Houston's party story already made its way around Minneapolis."
Yeah.
This was very much preditated.
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Powerstones?
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