Calm and resolute, honest and confident.
Lance was still Lance. He didn't sugarcoat failure, nor did he shy away from it—he faced it head-on, upright and unafraid.
Mahomes stared into Lance's eyes, dazed for a moment, then completely lost control as tears flooded his face. His mouth filled with bitterness, frustration, and anger as he clumsily wiped his tears with the back of his hand, nodding messily, his voice muffled.
"I'll remember. I will."
The logic was simple, but enduring such a painful loss firsthand still required time—especially for a young player like Mahomes.
Despite Mahomes' efforts to pull himself together, it was too difficult. His face buried in his hands, sweat visibly pouring off him, his cheeks flushed red. The bitterness and agony were palpable, stabbing deep.
Sometimes, Lance couldn't help but wonder—was it more hopeless to lose by a wide margin, seeing no chance at all? Or was it more agonizing to fight until the very last second only to fall short, watching victory slip away?
There was no answer.
Lance took a deep breath.
"Remember what we always say?"
"We face victory as a team, and we face defeat as a team."
"It's not just words. Victory and failure are never due to one person alone."
On the surface, Mahomes' interception was indeed the final turning point in their defeat. But up until the very last moment, the defense, the special teams—they all had chances to hold the line, to give the Kansas City Chiefs an opportunity to reach overtime—
Including Lance's own fingertip miss on that block.
It became clearer than ever to Lance why Burns had taught him that first lesson of football:
Football is a team sport. If any piece is missing, victory may be impossible. Though all eyes may focus on the quarterback, every position holds value and meaning.
"Not one can be missing."
Those were Burns' exact words.
Victory is never just one player's credit; failure is never just one person's fault.
"We had our chances—from the first second to the last. Always."
"Sherlock, you're our quarterback. You should understand how vital it is to see the big picture. Winning or losing isn't decided by one mistake or one detail. We need to assess the entire game, view it as a team. Otherwise, next time we meet, the result won't change."
"We can't obsess over past details—the endless 'what-ifs' will only drive us insane. We need to focus on the bigger picture, on the future."
"Hey, it's just a regular-season game. You're not looking forward to the next matchup?"
The Chiefs and the Patriots wouldn't meet again in the regular season. If they crossed paths this season, it would be in the playoffs—
Single elimination.
That one statement reignited the fire in Mahomes' eyes. His cheeks flushed red, but his eyes blazed with fighting spirit.
Even with tonight's game barely over, Mahomes was already eager for their next clash with the Patriots.
Ambition burned in his chest.
Lance smiled—
Anger and sadness—these were good things. They meant you cared. But they couldn't trap you. Emotions needed to fuel your drive forward, to feed your fighting spirit.
Lance knew that was enough. The rest? Left to time.
Lance stood and extended his right hand to Mahomes.
Mahomes grabbed Lance's hand, pulling himself to his feet.
Lance didn't say anything more. He patted Mahomes on the shoulder, ready to turn away—the team still had players lost in their emotions who needed to be lifted up. But before his steps could carry him, the chaotic sounds tangled around him—
From the stands, just behind the Chiefs' bench.
To be precise, the ugly, filthy, indecent words had never stopped—from kickoff to the final whistle. And after Gostkowski's game-winner, they reached a new peak.
On the football field, it wasn't quite as savage as the English soccer hooligans, but as a brutal, high-contact sport, fans' aggression and violence were impossible to avoid.
Especially with the economic crisis sweeping North America in recent years, unemployment rates high, frustration boiling over, and anger pouring into the stadiums.
This was no exception.
New England had never welcomed "outsiders." It was, without a doubt, one of the most discriminatory regions in North America.
Last season, Gillette Stadium gave Lance a harsh welcome—but the Chiefs silenced them with back-to-back wins.
Tonight, finally—
Gillette Stadium roared in triumph. Even Tom Brady, usually composed, broke character, celebrating half a lap around the field, riling up the home crowd. And the fans? Unleashed their long-suppressed fury.
This time, with a new target—
Mahomes.
Mahomes, mixed-race—Black father, white mother—always caught in the middle. Too Black for some, not Black enough for others. Trapped in an awkward space.
During rookie camp, media had provoked Mahomes, questioning his identity.
Despite growing acceptance in the NFL, Black quarterbacks remained relatively few. After injuries sidelined the "big four" running quarterbacks, the wave of Black QBs quieted. Meanwhile, Wentz and Goff became media darlings again, leaving Mahomes' place ambiguous.
Mahomes had responded with pride in his Black heritage but always emphasized that performance, not skin color, defined a football player.
Last season, as a backup, Mahomes avoided much scrutiny. Few eyes lingered on him.
Until tonight.
In New England, like Lance, Mahomes was a minority. From start to finish, Gillette Stadium targeted him relentlessly. And after the Patriots' last-second win? The abuse hit its peak.
Filthy, offensive slurs poured like a torrential storm.
Lance had no desire to engage—no need to argue with a swarm of barking dogs. But ignoring and being unable to ignore were two different things. When those dogs broke free of their leash and lunged—
Lance wouldn't stand idly by.
The voices, sensing Mahomes' vulnerability, bared their fangs—
"Half-breed."
Someone shouted.
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Powerstones?
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