"...We're ready to face the challenge. You in?"
A sincere invitation.
It struck the heart of the boy in the wheelchair with pinpoint precision, and he couldn't wait to respond.
"Yes."
But his voice was too muffled to be understood.
So, he nodded vigorously, terrified that even a slight hesitation might fail to convey his conviction. He kept nodding, over and over again, until his heart—suspended and trembling—was finally grounded by the anchor of reality.
They released the hug. Stepped back.
The boy was still nodding, furiously wiping away the tears and mess on his face, clumsy and overwhelmed, half in disbelief that any of this was truly happening—until he caught the playful smirk on Lance's lips.
There was no sorrow. No pity. No sympathy. No sadness.
Just a bright, brilliant grin—cheerful and unfiltered—playfully teasing, as if to say: "Man, your snot and tears are a complete disaster."
And it was precisely that ease, that refusal to treat him like fragile glass, that helped him feel human again—helped him find confidence.
He chuckled, breaking into a grin.
Throwing his hands up, he rolled his eyes in mock surrender.
Then, he nodded again. "You won't kick me off the team just because of the wheelchair, right?"
Lance, completely straight-faced, replied, "I'll think about it."
The boy: ...
Looking at the goofy kid with his chin jutting out, making faces—he seemed like a normal 17-year-old, full of mischief and sunlight. No heaviness. No despair.
Lance returned the smile, stretching out his right hand.
"Lance. Running back."
The boy blinked, staring at the hand in front of him.
And just like that, his heart soared like a kite catching wind. His chest swelled, and the sunlight flooded every corner of his soul.
He took a deep breath and shook that hand.
"Felix Grey. Defensive end."
Lance raised an eyebrow—
A defensive end? That's the guy who lines up across from a running back. Felix definitely didn't look like a football player, but the half-joking, half-serious tone made it crystal clear—it was a joke.
Maybe this—this moment—was who Felix really was, beyond the "patient" label.
A grin spread across Lance's face. "Looking forward to it."
Felix burst into carefree, open laughter.
Lance said nothing more. He stood up, looked toward the woman nearby, and gave her a firm hug.
Karen held him tight. Her mind was overflowing with things she wanted to say, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was one word:
"Thank you."
That single word carried a thousand meanings.
Lance squeezed back. "This isn't the end, right?"
Karen nodded, quickly wiping her tears away, flashing a smile. The moment had thrown her completely off balance.
Lance didn't say anything more. He simply clenched his fist and gave the mother and son a strong wave before standing tall again, lifting his chin, and striding back toward the bus.
Security scrambled again, caught off guard. But Lance moved quickly, slipping past them and hopping back on the slow-moving double-decker like it was nothing.
Panting and breathless, the security guards finally exhaled in relief.
Meanwhile, Felix was beginning to calm down. His mind, still boiling with emotion, began to clear. He looked up at his equally disheveled mother, and the two of them burst into laughter together—messy, tear-stained, and beautiful.
Karen opened her mouth, searching for words, but there were too many. They tangled and fought their way out until she didn't know where to begin.
Then—commotion nearby.
Karen looked up instinctively. On the upper deck of the double-decker not far away, Smith had taken the lead, something you'd rarely see. Kelce, Hill, Mahomes, and Houston followed, gathering at the back rail of the bus, fists clenched and pumping.
"Fly, Felix!"
"Felix, join us!"
"You'll never walk alone!"
Behind them, Lance stood smiling.
Karen froze. Her eyes—still damp—welled up again. But this time, the world shone through her tears in vibrant, radiant light.
Felix raised his arm high. "Fly! Fly!"
Laughter echoed from deep in his chest.
Karen laughed too. She nodded, joined in, and shouted, "Fly!"
Dreams. Hope. Miracles.
What makes them beautiful isn't whether they come true—it's how they make life worth enduring.
And that's why they got to see the "Kansas City Miracle" unfold before their very eyes.
The victory parade lasted the entire day. Even after the procession, fans and players gathered at Arrowhead Stadium for celebrations, which carried from daylight into evening—and when night fell, they rolled straight into the second wave of festivities. The victory frenzy climaxed well past midnight.
In that sea of cheering, heat, and energy, memories blurred. What remained were fragments—flashes of endless crimson tides, thunderous chants, and proud Asian faces full of joy. Everything else was wrapped in a hazy glow.
It happened. But it was hard to grasp.
Lance couldn't even remember when the party ended.
Not until the next day, when he woke from a deep sleep, did the giddy buzz begin to fade. The madness of the past few days started to settle.
Ding dong. Ding dong.
The doorbell blared, splitting his head open. Groaning, Lance staggered through the spinning room to answer.
And—
"Drug test?"
This time, it was a new face.
Still, all the proper credentials, paperwork, and notification procedures were there. The agent explained the league had already sent out 24-hour email and text alerts in advance.
Lance chuckled.
After the Super Bowl, he'd been bombarded with messages—congratulatory texts he hadn't even had time to read. Somewhere in the flood, the league's message must've been buried. Clearly, this was their way of catching him off guard.
He wasn't surprised.
He shrugged. "Alright. Now it really feels like I'm the Super Bowl MVP."
The agent couldn't help smiling—yep, just like the rumors said: Lance definitely played by his own rules.
Once the test was done and the staff left, Lance's foggy mind slowly cleared. The craziness had finally quieted. Alan and Sue had returned to New York before the parade, giving Lance space to celebrate.
Now—finally—he had time to check his phone, go through missed messages and calls, when suddenly—
The system!
He vaguely remembered… something had popped up when they clinched the Super Bowl.
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Powerstones?
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