"Ah, the sun's coming up."
Ryder let out a quiet gasp, prompting Lance to instinctively glance outside.
A blurry, orange glow, like a duck egg, nestled just where the horizon kissed the earth. Its faint light seeped into the dark veil of night, blending into a breathtaking shade of blue—eerie yet beautiful—stunning enough to make the heart skip a beat, as if the world stood still for that one perfect moment.
Nature's grandeur and mystery unveiled themselves in a moment both serene and thunderous.
"Damn," Lance muttered under his breath.
Ryder turned back to him. "What's wrong?"
Lance pulled a crooked smile. "We're back in reality. Alice's dream is over."
Ryder grinned wide.
Lance added, "So… this kind of position isn't quite appropriate anymore."
Ryder followed his gaze down. Her elbows were still resting on his palms. Heat shot up her arms, and she quickly pulled away, straightening her posture and stepping back a little.
Lance chuckled silently. "I came here hoping to catch the sunrise, but now—I kind of hate that the sun still rises every morning."
Ryder: "Aw, now the sun's going to be sad."
"Ha," Lance laughed again.
The world outside hadn't brightened fully yet. The sun peeked shyly from behind the horizon, hesitant to rise. Before its full light could spill into the streets, the night clung on—if only briefly.
"'Time passes like a hare.'" Lance said suddenly, completely out of nowhere.
Ryder raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Lance shook his head. "Nothing. I once heard Dylan Thomas reciting a poem by W.H. Auden. His voice was like a cello—deep and magnetic."
"Something like, 'Stop all the clocks, don't let time deceive you… oh, you cannot conquer time. In headache and worry, ambiguous life hurries by, time has its own dreams, whether today or tomorrow.'"
He looked away, a little embarrassed.
But Ryder didn't say anything. She seemed to be soaking in his voice.
That surprised Lance. He turned back to her. "I thought you'd joke that you never imagined a football player reading poetry."
Ryder lifted her chin. "Don't assume big guys don't have souls—just like you shouldn't assume Americans can't speak a second language."
"Hahaha!" Lance laughed out loud.
Ryder's eyes sparkled with her own laughter. "We should appreciate sunrises. They mark a new beginning, a fresh start."
Lance nodded. "Yeah. It also means the previous season is officially over."
Ryder: "No need to rush it. You've still got the victory parade. You should take a few more days to savor the joy. Stretch it out a bit."
Lance tilted his head thoughtfully. "So how many days, exactly?"
Ryder started counting on her fingers. "One, two, three, four—just four."
"Four?" Lance arched his brow. It perfectly matched her earlier "four soulmates" joke. Coincidence?
Ryder replied with a straight face. "Yep. Four days."
But the smirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. She turned quickly to look outside.
In those few seconds, the sun had already broken free, rising past the horizon. The transition from first light to full sunrise happened in a blink. No one noticed until the sunlight poured down in full.
Reality had arrived.
Lance knew it was time to go. Otherwise, who knew whether fans or paparazzi would find him first.
He looked back at Ryder and extended his right hand. "Talia…"
Ryder: "Ryder. Talia Ryder."
Lance: "It was a pleasure meeting you, Talia Ryder."
Ryder: "I'm glad I got to follow you down the rabbit hole, Mr. Mad Hatter Lance."
Lance: "Shh. That's a secret."
Ryder: "Shh."
She pressed a finger to her lips and gave him a playful wink.
As Lance turned to leave, his footsteps felt light again. The hollowness from a whole night of parties was quietly replaced by something solid.
…
Three days later, Kansas City held its official victory parade.
Don't underestimate it—just the budget exceeded four million dollars.
Jointly funded by city hall and the team, this first championship parade in forty-eight years ignited not just Kansas City, but all of Missouri.
Nearby states like Nebraska, Kentucky, Tennessee, and even Alabama—Lance's alma mater—were also swept up in the celebration. Like the Super Bowl itself, fans from everywhere flooded into the city, joining the party with passion and frenzy.
Despite Missouri's economic struggles, both city and state governments joined forces with the team to plan meticulously.
Why?
Because a parade like this could bring serious tourism revenue, job creation, and—potentially—economic revival.
They designed a parade route that spanned the city but didn't paralyze its core functions. Given Kansas City's location at the border of Missouri and Kansas, even the Kansas government pitched in.
In the end, more than 800 police officers, 150 firefighters, 200 city engineers were deployed—one of the largest mobilizations across all major U.S. sports leagues.
Logistics included mobile toilets, food and water stations, emergency vehicles, riot control, and all kinds of parade floats and contingents from different departments.
As for the Chiefs—they didn't hold back.
Six double-decker buses, thirty private cars, twenty parade floats, and sixty motorcycles. Everyone in the organization got involved.
The NFL later confirmed that about 1.5 million people were expected.
But the real number?
Over two million.
Breaking the previous record set by the NBA's Lakers in L.A.—a city ten times larger. Kansas City, with a population under half a million, had shattered it.
Why?
Two main reasons:
First, Alabama.
Second, the Asian American community.
In short—Lance.
Historically, Asian American fans had minimal presence in these parades. They might show up, but never in large numbers.
Now? They came from all over the continent. They were everywhere. They were the backbone.
All because of Lance.
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Powerstones?
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