American Football: Domination

"Oops, slipped. My bad."

Looking at Lance's calm and unapologetic demeanor, Bailey was momentarily speechless. He opened his mouth to retort but, recalling his earlier behavior—the outbursts, the overreactions—he quietly swallowed his words.

After a pause, Bailey finally said, "Sorry for acting like a jerk earlier. I guess I just…"

Lost my cool.

He trailed off, unsure how to explain himself.

From the crowd, someone jumped in to finish the sentence.

"…had one of those days of the month?"

The group burst into laughter.

Bailey rolled his eyes and flipped the bird toward the voice before turning back to Lance. He let out a resigned sigh. "Alright, rookie. You got me. Throwing me down twice—"

"Three times," Lance corrected, holding up three fingers with a straight face.

Bailey paused and then gave a begrudging grin. He couldn't argue with that. Spreading his arms in surrender, he added, "Fair enough. But don't get used to it. From now on, I'm bringing everything I've got—100% effort, no holding back."

Finally, Bailey extended a hand toward Lance.

"Welcome to the Chiefs, rookie."

Childress, standing nearby, let out a long breath of relief. What could have turned into a full-on brawl had resolved itself far better than expected. Walking back to Reid, he asked, "Coach, should we pull them aside for a talk? Things almost got out of hand."

Reid shook his head slightly. "No need. That rookie just took care of it."

Strength, composure, confidence, and wit—Lance had it all. Not only had he diffused a potentially explosive situation, but he had also rallied the team's morale and fostered camaraderie in the process.

Reid allowed himself a rare smile.

"Maybe we've found our team's future leader," he murmured.

Childress still looked skeptical. "A running back? Really?"

Reid didn't elaborate. Instead, he gestured toward the field. "Keep the bullring going."

Childress nodded and returned to the makeshift arena.

"Alright, everyone! The bullring continues. Next pair, step up! Reminder: players can go more than once, but by the end, everyone has to participate. No exceptions—except quarterbacks."

Having just rejoined Mahomes, Lance heard Childress' announcement and, without hesitation, stepped forward again. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he scanned the defensive group.

"Rookie!" Safety Eric Berry called out, mock exasperation in his voice. "Get back in line! Quit trying to hog the spotlight. Sit down and behave."

The jab sent another wave of laughter through the group.

The atmosphere had completely shifted.

Among the defensive players, rookie safety Leon McQuay III hesitated. Glancing nervously at Berry, he bit back a comment he'd nearly blurted out.

McQuay, from USC, had been Lance's opponent in the Crimson Tide's season opener during his freshman year—a game where McQuay had been immortalized as a background figure in one of Lance's highlights.

Now, fate had brought them together as teammates, though under vastly different circumstances.

Drafted in the sixth round, 218th overall, McQuay had been overshadowed by Lance's third-overall pick status.

Despite this, McQuay couldn't shake the desire to prove himself. Seeing Lance seamlessly earn respect while he remained unnoticed only fueled that fire. But now, watching Lance so effortlessly navigate the dynamics of the team, McQuay silently resolved to focus on his own path.

Whatever had happened in college was history. The NFL was a fresh start, and he intended to make the most of it.

Taking a deep breath, McQuay stepped forward, volunteering himself.

Almost simultaneously, rookie running back Kareem Hunt stepped forward from the offensive side.

"Rookie vs. rookie!"

"Let's see if the defense's rookies can handle the offense's!"

"Two running backs! Let's go! Show us what you've got!"

Excitement rippled through the crowd as Hunt and McQuay locked eyes.

For both players, this wasn't just another drill—it was their first opportunity to carve out a reputation in their new professional careers.

Spring training camp had officially begun, and the rookies were ready to make their marks.

By the end of the day, exhaustion blanketed the field like a heavy fog.

A deep fatigue had settled into every muscle in Lance's body, leaving him drained yet exhilarated.

The physical demands of training were grueling, as expected. But the mental strain of carrying the expectations that came with being a top draft pick was the greater challenge.

Even so, Lance felt more energized than ever.

The challenges, competition, and camaraderie—the very essence of the NFL—had exceeded his expectations, leaving him eager for what lay ahead.

As the day's training concluded, rookies and second-year players stayed behind to help clear the equipment.

While the team had staff to handle these tasks, having the younger players pitch in was a tradition. It wasn't about necessity—it was about fostering connections and building camaraderie among the newest members of the team.

"What's for dinner?"

"I'm starving. I could eat a whole cow."

"Hey, did you hear about the Patriots' nutritionist? Supposedly, they're so strict it feels like you're eating in prison."

"Pfft, that's nothing. You should see Tom Brady's diet. That's not eating; it's a science experiment."

"Is it really that bad?"

The rookies bantered back and forth as they worked, their fatigue temporarily forgotten. Naturally, Mahomes was at the center of it all, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the chatter.

Heads turned to see the blonde woman from earlier walking across the field toward the coaches' office, clipboard in hand.

Predictably, the rookies couldn't help themselves.

A chorus of wolf whistles and playful cheers erupted once again.

Unfazed, the woman stopped in her tracks, turned, and raised an eyebrow.

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Powerstones?

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