"Shit!"
Lance couldn't hold it in anymore and cursed harshly—not at anyone else, but at himself.
He shouldn't have.
He shouldn't have made a mistake at this mont. A fumble was an absolutely unacceptable error—especially in overti. Completely unforgivable.
Even if he recovered the ball and redeed himself, he still wasn't satisfied, because that run had been stopped short. They hadn't gained a new set of downs.
Fourth and one.
Just monts ago, they had been cruising with ease, converting first downs one after another—but now, out of nowhere, they were facing three failed plays and a fourth-down crisis. From paradise to hell in a blink.
The Kansas City Chiefs had shown their toughness, and the Baltimore Ravens had imdiately responded in kind. But at the core of it all, Lance still couldn't forgive himself.
"Damn it."
Lance spat again, fury roaring in his chest like wildfire.
When he turned his head, he caught sight of Mosley lifting his chin and dragging a finger across his throat in a mocking throat-slash gesture. The smug grin on his face oozed provocation as he stared down at Lance with a look of complete superiority.
Lance took a deep breath and stared right back, not backing down at all.
Their eyes clashed for a second.
Then—
"Rookie, it's alright, don't worry."
Kelsey rushed over first, patting Lance's shoulder to comfort him.
Imdiately after, Mahos, Hill, and the others ca over one by one.
Lance pulled his eyes away from Mosley, looked at his teammates, smiled again, and waved to signal that he was okay. Finally, he locked eyes with Mahos and gave him a questioning look:
Fourth down. What now?
From a clock-managent perspective, there was no need to panic—this was still just the first half of overti.
But from a tactical standpoint, the decision required caution.
If they went for it on fourth down and succeeded, everything would be fine. But if they failed, it would give the Baltimore Ravens the ball at midfield—a gift-wrapped advantage. That could shift the entire ga's montum.
Punting would be the safer choice—playing it like most NFL teams do in overti: put trust in the defense and try to win the field position battle. Just like the Ravens had done.
After all, both defenses had been dominant all ga. It made sense to expect that trend to continue.
So what would Reid decide?
Reid was the type to take risks, but he leaned naturally toward caution. When he did choose to gamble, it was often at pivotal turning points.
Was this one of those monts?
Reid's mind spun at high speed.
The Kansas City Chiefs were still a young team—still green, still maturing. But as defending champions, they didn't have the luxury to sit back and take their ti growing over two or three seasons.
This year, they had already lost to the New England Patriots and the Los Angeles Rams. Losses were never ideal, but regular season setbacks in heavyweight matchups could also be valuable fuel for growth—nourishnt for a future breakthrough.
And right now? Another defining mont.
No breakthrough without breaking.
If they wanted to take risks, to break through, to grow—then this hard-fought overti battle was exactly the ti to grab hold and push.
Youth is fearless. Not afraid to get hurt. Heads held high, running full speed into the storm.
Even if they fall, even if they bleed—wipe away the tears, patch up the wounds, cling to their dreams, and keep sprinting.
That's the price of youth—but also its irreplaceable power.
Reid had a thought—a vague instinct—and didn't hesitate.
"The Kansas City Chiefs choose to go for it on fourth down."
"This is a bit unexpected. Reid isn't backing off in overti—he's making a bold call to go for it and still refusing to let the Ravens' offense take the field."
"Things just got even more intense."
Crisis? Opportunity? Turning point?
For both the Chiefs and the Ravens, the stakes were the sa. The ga had co to a fork in the road—one direction led to triumph, the other to despair.
Arrowhead Stadium stirred with nervous energy.
Even Nantz and Romo couldn't escape the tension—hearts pounding in their chests.
The Chiefs' offense rushed into formation—
Still two running backs. Still shotgun formation.
It looked like Reid was preparing to break the stalemate with a passing play again.
But fourth and one? No QB sneak? No power run?
Was it because Hunt and Lance had been getting stuffed at the line?
Or… was it just a bluff?
So many possibilities. So much chess being played.
Mahos' heart thundered—just a bit too fast. On the verge of bursting.
But he wasn't afraid of the mont. He loved it. He lived for this.
Still, the pressure was real—
If he lost a third close ga like this in one season…
No. Cut it out. No more wandering thoughts.
Mahos took a deep breath and looked at Lance. He could see the laser focus and steady fire in his eyes. Lance looked sharp—fearless and ready to strike.
That look made Mahos smile.
They were ready for this challenge.
Monts like these define a team. They define players.
Arrowhead fell completely silent—
After all the cheering and noise, the whole stadium froze. So held their breath. So clenched their fists. Everyone locked in on the field, their souls fused with the team.
The world stopped spinning for just a mont.
Cold. Focused.
In the silence, Mahos could hear his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. His blood boiled, his spirit surged, and his eyes glead with unshakable resolve.
"Hut!"
Mahos' cadence sliced through the tension like lightning.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
All eyes snapped toward the field.
Mahos took the snap clean from the center. A smooth step back—space opened—then a quick pivot—
A red blur darted in from the left side, sliding perfectly between Mahos and the center.
Mahos stuffed the ball into the runner's chest.
Then he spun away—clearing space.
Handoff complete.
It all happened behind the tight wall of the offensive line. So fast, so clean, Baltimore's defense couldn't react in ti.
What—what just happened?!
The field blurred.
As soon as the ball was snapped, Hunt from the left and Lance from the right didn't charge straight forward. Instead, they cut in horizontally—eting in the middle behind the O-line screen.
At the sa ti, Hill, Watkins, and Kelsey bolted straight downfield like arrows from a bow.
Horizontal. Vertical.
The Chiefs used every inch of the field—but the key was what happened in the pocket.
Mahos handed off to Hunt—
Not Lance.
Lance instead lined up as a sixth offensive lineman—a lead blocker.
One role switch—and the Chiefs' ground ga hit differently.
A power run.
So in the end, the Chiefs did go for the fourth-and-one push.
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Powerstones?
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