American Football: Domination

Time was not on the Chiefs' side.

Even though Lance's run had stolen 15 yards, the price was burning their final timeout, leaving only 28 seconds on the clock.

From here on, the Chiefs had no more time to regroup. They had to make every single play count.

First-and-10.

The Patriots stood tall as defending champions. With only a four-man rush, they still managed to generate incredible pressure, forcing Smith's throw slightly off target—

Kelce caught it, but stumbled. He couldn't keep running, struggling just to regain balance before being swallowed up by three defenders.

And the clock kept running.

Smith had no choice but to spike the ball, wasting a down just to stop the clock.

He needed one last shot at a deep throw.

But—

The Patriots' defense was impenetrable.

On third down, Smith gambled on a 15-yard pass to Hill—only to be shut down by Chung and Butler.

Incomplete pass.

Fourth-and-7.

Nine seconds left.

Thirty-six yards from the end zone.

"The Chiefs have no other choice—they have to go for the Hail Mary."

"Third down or fourth down—it doesn't matter anymore. This is it. They must go for it. They must score. There's no other way."

"But the Patriots' defense is playing like champions, pushing the Chiefs to the edge of the cliff."

"Whether they want to or not—the Chiefs have to try the Hail Mary."

"The Patriots are ready. But are the Chiefs?"

Smith looked defeated.

The closer they got to the finish line, the more frantic he felt. That familiar hesitation tightened around his throat like a vice.

He had tried his best—but it felt like struggling in quicksand.

He was losing to the moment.

He knew the theory. He had the desire.

But executing under pressure was a different story.

Fourth-and-7.

A Hail Mary.

Could he really pull this off?

"Hey, Captain."

A voice snapped him out of his daze.

Smith's head jerked up, and through the haze of breath and sweat, he saw a familiar face—Lance.

His helmet shadowed his face, steam rising from his skin, but Smith could see his eyes.

"Give it a shot."

Light. Casual. Almost like a joke.

"Remember? No regrets."

"We always think that everything hinges on this one throw. That if we make it, our lives will change forever. And if we fail, then it's all over."

"But the truth is, whether we succeed or fail—it won't define us."

"Life is long. One moment doesn't determine everything."

"Michael Jordan played, what, 15 seasons? Maybe 16? And how many championships did he win? Six?"

"Does that mean the years he didn't win were failures?"

"No. Of course not."

"Because one moment doesn't define a career."

"What matters is this—when it's all over, can you look back and say, 'I gave it everything I had'?"

Lance's voice was steady, unwavering.

"So, Captain—"

"You ready?"

On the brink of disaster, he was still smiling.

Lance's confidence and calmness anchored the entire Chiefs offense, refocusing everyone's attention.

Smith looked at Lance.

Then at his teammates—faces drenched in sweat, exhausted, yet filled with fire.

And suddenly—the weight in his chest lifted.

"Keep fighting."

A smile crept across his face.

Smith stood tall—shoulders squared, chest open.

Ten years.

For ten years, he had been the butt of every joke, mocked for choking in key moments.

No one believed he could change.

Not even himself.

This season, every comeback win had been led by someone else.

He knew that better than anyone.

But tonight—he wanted to try.

No regrets.

Eyes locked in, Smith focused entirely on the defense.

The Patriots had set up their formation.

Four defensive linemen up front.

Behind them, the cornerbacks stood 10 yards back, the linebackers at 15 yards, and the safeties already in the end zone—

A layered wall, covering the entire field.

At first glance, it looked like they were guarding the middle, ensuring Lance couldn't break loose again—

But in reality, their focus was entirely on the end zone.

They knew.

This was a Hail Mary.

They were ready.

And yet—the Chiefs had no other choice.

Into the lion's den.

The wind howled. The air felt like solid ice. Beads of sweat froze mid-fall.

Smith's fingers tingled, numb from the cold.

At the Old Oak Tavern—

Provos couldn't take it anymore.

He turned away from the TV and left.

He couldn't watch.

Last game, he had poured every ounce of his soul into following the radio broadcast of the Chiefs' miraculous comeback.

But that took everything out of him.

He couldn't survive a second time.

His curiosity burned, his entire body screamed for him to turn back—

But his fear was stronger.

Standing outside the bar, he didn't know where to go.

So, he just sat down on the steps, trembling, a cigarette between his lips.

His hands shook too much to light it.

He gave up.

And just sat there.

He wasn't the only one.

Inside the Old Oak Tavern, West shut his eyes, listening to his own heartbeat hammering inside his chest.

Then—

From the screen—

Smith's voice rang out.

"Attack!"

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Helmets crashed. Bodies collided. Power exploded across the field.

The pocket collapsed.

Even though the Patriots only rushed four, their dominant defensive line shattered the pocket immediately.

**Flowers—**the first to break through.

Crisis.

But—Smith didn't panic.

His mind only had one thought.

Keep fighting.

He had to withstand the hit.

He had to buy time.

He had to give his receivers a chance.

"Alex—no regrets."

Smith backpedaled. Step after step, creating just a bit of separation from Flowers—

At the last second, the Chiefs' offensive line just barely slowed Flowers down, giving Smith a fraction of a second.

Still moving backward, Smith planted his foot—

Slipped.

Gasp!

The entire stadium screamed.

The world froze.

Smith didn't even realize the danger.

Instinct took over.

His core tightened, his body adjusted, and he regained balance—

Just in time.

To his left, another defensive tackle had broken free, surging toward him.

Pressure crashing down.

Smith cut right.

One step.

And then—

Flowers was already there.

Arms wide, lunging straight for him.

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates