Everything was brand new.
Just imagining it made Mahos giddy with excitent.
That's the thing about the unknown:
It could be better, worse, or stay the sa—no doubt, it's terrifying. But at the sa ti, you can choose to embrace the possibilities, to venture out and explore the width and depth of life's limited length.
We can stay trapped in fear, or break free and open the door to a new world, facing the future with courage.
Taking a deep breath, Mahos found his footing again. He began mumbling through a checklist—because being a quarterback wasn't as simple as it looked:
Learning the offensive playbook—basic, but vital.
Studying the defensive playbook—that was advice from Lance. Understanding the opponent's sches helps clarify one's own role.
Drilling timing and coordination with the offensive line, building chemistry with receivers—that ca from Smith's personal experience. Every player had unique habits and styles. The quarterback needed to find ways to sh with all of them.
These details might seem small, but they often made the difference in crucial monts of big gas.
As Mahos ran through it all, he froze. Mouth agape, he suddenly panicked like his hair was on fire. He began jogging in place, eyes wide with urgency, and turned to Lance.
"I think... we might not have enough ti. Should we start right now?"
To soone passing by, Mahos might've looked like he needed the bathroom. Lance couldn't help but laugh. He patted Mahos on the shoulder.
"No need to rush. Just give it 120% at training tomorrow. And I'll be right there with you."
"Plus, JJ and TJ aren't going to go easy on us."
Mahos nodded. Coming to train with Lance in Miami this offseason was definitely a wise move.
Then—
"Lance, who do you think the Super Bowl halfti perforr will be next year?"
Lance: "???" So sudden?
For once, Lance couldn't keep up. How did they go from training schedules to halfti shows?
Mahos took a deep breath. "I hope it's Rihanna."
Lance raised a brow. "Why? Want her autograph?"
Mahos nodded earnestly. "Don't you think she's cool? If she's performing, I'll have more motivation to get there."
Vince Lombardi Trophy: So I'm not good enough, huh?
Lance had a different take. "Beyoncé's gonna be heartbroken."
"Haha!" Mahos cracked up. "I didn't know you were into Beyoncé?"
"I like the type who likes back," Lance deadpanned.
Mahos clapped and howled with laughter.
"Shhh. Sherlock, don't worry—Brittany doesn't need to know," Lance added slyly.
Mahos froze. "Hic."
"Hahaha!" Lance burst out laughing.
Mahos scrambled to explain, "Those are celebrities. Brittany and I have our own preferences. She likes Michael B. Jordan—I didn't say anything."
Lance stayed cool. "Sherlock, you're a celebrity now too."
Mahos paused, then grinned. No hint of denial—just happiness.
"Ahh, this feels great."
"Lance, we're finally going to fight side by side, aren't we? We're going to rule the league, right? Forget back-to-back—we're going for a three-peat! You believe it, right? A three-peat!"
"League, you better be ready. Mahos and Lance are coming. The tornado is on its way."
"We'll win, we'll be champions—but more importantly, we'll fight. We won't compromise, we won't surrender, not until we've burned every last drop of fuel."
"We're ready."
"To fly."
"Fly!"
Shouting now, Mahos jumped onto the balcony railing, leaning out and yelling into the night.
Then he turned to Lance, eyes sparkling with excitent, urging him to join in.
Lance gave him a disgusted look. The street was dead silent—not even a cricket in sight. Shouting here made them look like fools. He solemnly refused.
Ignoring Mahos, Lance turned and walked away.
"Lance! Lance!"
"Bro! Brother!"
Finally, Lance turned around, charged to the balcony, and shouted to the stars above:
"Pounding!"
Wherever they were, their blood burned, their spirits surged, and their hearts pounded.
Mahos instantly got it. He pounded his chest, felt his heartbeat, and joined in, roaring at the sky.
"Pounding!"
They shouted until their faces were red, veins bulging, until they collapsed, exhausted, beneath a sky full of stars.
No more shouting. Just the steady thump of their hearts echoing in their ears.
Then—quietly—
"…I'm hungry."
"You caught that from JJ, huh? He eats six als a day—you trying to catch up?"
"I'm not that bad. JJ's a hippo. I'm just… a baby calf."
"At least you said 'calf' and not 'lamb.'"
"Lance!"
"There's food in the fridge. A sandwich takes, what, a minute?"
As their epic, passionate night wound down, the two began discussing… a midnight snack.
But before they could finish, a familiar voice echoed from outside.
"God, I could hear you guys yelling from across the street. If no one was listening, that would've been too sad, so I ran over. Now you've got an audience. Want to do an encore?"
"Travis!"
It was Kelce—Travis Kelce, arriving alone without his brother Jason.
He raised a hand, stopping Mahos mid-hug, gave him a once-over, and looked back at Lance.
"So, rookie, this is our new field general. Satisfied?"
Lance replied coolly, "He'll do."
Mahos protested, "Lance, you—!"
Kelce cut him off with a bear hug and laughed. "It's fine. Your story's just beginning. You've got ti to impress our Super Bowl MVP. But now we need to team up—otherwise, that running back's going to take over the whole team. We've gotta remind him who's boss."
Before Mahos could react, Kelce dragged him off.
Lance called after them, "Hey! I'm still here! If you're going to talk behind my back, at least do it behind my back. Hey!"
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