American Football: Domination

"So, it seems you're brimming with confidence."

Though Edwards maintained a calm demeanor, his words carried a weight of implication, especially within the context of the conversation.

Donald didn't take offense; he understood that his visionary plan was groundbreaking—perhaps even ahead of its time. It required a partner with courage, insight, and foresight to truly grasp its potential.

Donald didn't argue. Instead, he rose from his seat, extended a hand to Edwards, and prepared to take his leave. With measured composure, he remarked,

"I'm not standing alone."

Edwards instinctively glanced toward Lance—

So, is this entire pipe dream just between the two of you?

Lance calmly met Edwards' gaze without flinching.

Donald's voice interjected,

"It's unfortunate. It seems Nike's preparations are incomplete. Perhaps, Mr. Edwards, you should consult your scouting department once you're back. See what they think about the Kansas City Chiefs' surprise pick making waves at the draft."

Even now, as the NFL season had kicked off, debates surrounding the Chiefs' draft strategy were far from over—

In fact, with every game Lance played, the conversation only intensified.

The subtext was clear: maybe Nike should take a closer look at what Andy Reid saw in Lance—something extraordinary enough to make such an audacious draft decision.

Edwards froze momentarily.

He had to admit, he'd overlooked this angle. Had Andy Reid miscalculated? Or had he seen something others had missed entirely?

But Donald didn't linger for a response. The negotiations were over for now. After exchanging polite farewells, he and Lance turned and left the hotel room.

Inside the elevator, surrounded by silence, Lance refrained from speaking. Surprisingly, it was Donald who broke the quiet.

"You're not going to ask anything?"

Finally, Lance let his true feelings slip.

"I've been keeping a poker face the entire time. Honestly, this is more exhausting than a game."

The lighthearted remark diffused the tension.

"Donald, this is your specialty. I've said it before—I trust your judgment. You take the lead."

Donald, uncharacteristically, joked back.

"Careful, or I might just sell you out."

Lance shrugged casually.

"No problem. Even if you bury me in the Sahara Desert, I'll crawl out and find you."

Donald: …

Lance burst into laughter.

"You should've seen your face just now—priceless."

Donald shook his head in mock exasperation, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"So, what's next?" Lance asked, returning to the matter at hand.

Donald regained his usual professional demeanor.

"Next, we meet with representatives from Under Armour and Adidas. Today's purpose is to send a message—to test the waters and let them understand our expectations. They'll start digging for information on one another soon enough. After that, tonight's dinner with LeBron James will generate buzz and set the stage for you."

Lance shrugged again, his tone laced with good-natured resignation.

"Fine. I'm just the Barbie doll today, doing as I'm told. But tomorrow, it's back to the training field."

Donald nodded in agreement.

"One day is all we need. Your primary task is still to perform on the field. Focus on training and games—I'll handle the rest."

Despite the apparent whirlwind of meetings, the actual schedule wasn't as hectic as it seemed.

First, Donald bore the brunt of negotiations.

Second, most of these meetings involved little more than sitting on a couch and talking.

Although the underlying tension and mental gymnastics consumed significant energy, the stakes didn't compare to the relentless pressure of competing on the field.

Once the meetings with Under Armour and Adidas concluded, Lance found himself with a rare four-hour gap before dinner.

Back at the team hotel, Lance spent three hours completing a solid workout in the gym. Following that, he stumbled upon a group of defensive players dissecting strategies in an impromptu session. Intrigued, Lance, a running back, joined the defensive study session, sparking spirited discussions.

For the defensive group, having an offensive player provide insight into how their tactics were read by opponents added a valuable perspective.

Conversely, for Lance, understanding how defensive players devised schemes to disrupt offensive plans was an enlightening crash course.

Typically, offensive and defensive groups focused solely on their own playbooks, leaving cross-disciplinary understanding to the coaching staff.

Yet this informal gathering offered mutual benefits, opening new doors for both sides.

Before they realized it, an hour had flown by.

If not for Donald's timely call reminding Lance about dinner, the session might have gone on indefinitely.

After a hasty shower and a change of clothes, Lance headed out for his dinner appointment.

Fortunately, he arrived on time.

The dinner turned out to be a delightful affair.

LeBron James and Lance, each with their own agenda, found common ground quickly. Once their initial misunderstanding was cleared, they treated it as a humorous anecdote, teasing each other good-naturedly.

As an NBA megastar, LeBron graciously showcased his charisma. Even outside Cleveland, his recognition among casual fans was undeniable.

That night, LeBron went out of his way to be approachable—posing for photos, hugging fans, and enthusiastically introducing Lance. His compliments were effusive, describing Lance as a "superstar," "a rising phenom," and "someone you can't afford to miss." For Lance, it was a brief yet exhilarating taste of fame.

Particularly when random passersby recognized Lance, it validated the massive advertising campaign plastering his face across Los Angeles—proof of its far-reaching impact.

Until now, Lance had struggled to grasp his growing fame.

While his popularity had exploded online, his real-world recognition had been largely confined to Kansas City. Outside his home base, he still felt like an ordinary rookie.

Experiencing his rising celebrity status in Los Angeles was both surprising and surreal.

After dinner, LeBron took things a step further, introducing Lance to his circle of friends at a local bar. The group spent the evening enjoying each other's company.

LeBron, however, kept the night short, knowing Lance had training the following day. By 9:30 p.m., LeBron personally saw Lance off, ensuring he left early to rest.

Once Lance departed, LeBron returned to the bar—not for revelry but to hold a discreet meeting with another player.

The show was over; now, it was time for the real business.

Back at the hotel, Lance stuck to his usual routine and turned in early.

What he didn't expect was the fallout the next morning.

"NFL Rising Star Succumbs to L.A.'s Allure—The Beginning of His Downfall?"

Lance: What?!

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Powerstones?

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