Chapter 374: Chapter 374

Smith's heart was pounding, lodged in his throat. He scrambled to his feet, barely noticing Van Noy as he hurriedly sprinted forward, his eyes locked on Lance and Chung.

Lance, against all odds, ripped the ball away from Chung's grasp, snatching it as if stealing prey from a predator's jaws.

Smith couldn't contain himself. His fists clenched, his entire body surged with adrenaline, and without thinking, he ran—

Straight ahead, straight toward Lance.

Why the hell was their quarterback charging forward like a lead blocker?

Also—wasn't this play over?!

It wasn't over at all.

Somehow, someway, Lance was still moving.

Kelsey barely had time to process what he was seeing before the entire Chiefs sideline erupted, white jerseys flooding down the field, sprinting toward the action.

They weren't just playing anymore. They were fighting.

Smith's arms shot into the air. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He already knew.

A roar erupted through the stadium, the kind that shook the very air itself.

Kansas City's first score of the game.

A perfectly executed scheme.

A breakthrough on the edge of disaster.

This game wasn't over.

Smith let out a primal yell, something raw and untamed, his voice cutting through the chaos.

He didn't think. He just acted.

Lance took two steps forward.

Then—he lifted the football high above his head.

And with all his strength, slammed it into the turf.

A deafening roar erupted from his chest—

Fierce. Menacing. Bloodthirsty.

Lance stood at the front of the end zone, right in front of the New England crowd.

The same crowd that had spent all night raining down boos, jeers, and insults.

He had ignored them before.

That didn't mean he hadn't heard them.

He heard every single word.

This was just the beginning.

Now—they were silent.

Like rabbits, frozen in fear, too afraid to move, too afraid to make a sound, cowering beneath the shadow of a lion's claws.

Not one dared to meet Lance's gaze through his helmet.

For once, the legendary commentator had no words. His brain had shut down.

He thought he'd be shouting, stretching out the call, delivering a signature exclamation—

Instead, he was stunned.

Every word felt… unnecessary.

Because nothing could capture what they had just witnessed.

Beside him, Tony Romo picked up the slack.

"Kansas City has finally found its voice."

"From the O-line's switch-route pocket protection, to Smith's delayed-release throw, to the chaotic misdirection in the secondary, and finally—Lance turning a single play into a moment of pure dominance."

"Everything was perfect."

"The Patriots' six-man blitz was just as ferocious as before, but their all-in pressure left a hole in the secondary—and Kansas City found it."

"Now, Belichick has a choice."

"Does he stick with the same strategy and risk getting burned deep again? Or does he adjust and give Kansas City more breathing room in the pocket?"

"Either way—Kansas City just sent a message. And it's loud and clear."

Like an explosion, the energy shifted.

For the first time all night, the game felt like it had truly begun.

Because Kansas City had finally scored.

And more importantly—

They scored in a way that Belichick never saw coming.

The gap was still wide.

It didn't seem so impossible anymore.

New England's Sideline

Belichick didn't flinch.

He didn't even glance at Smith.

Instead, he turned his back on them immediately and went straight to his offensive unit.

This had always been part of the calculation.

The Patriots' game plan had a deliberate weakness—deep passes.

When you commit everything to the pass rush, you leave the secondary vulnerable.

That wasn't a mistake. That was a trade-off.

The only question was—would Kansas City take the risk?

Now, they had their answer.

Because to him, whether the final score was 21-0 or 21-20—

All that mattered now was making sure Brady kept scoring.

Because as long as the offense did its job—

This game was theirs.

Kansas City's Sideline

The special teams unit stormed onto the field, their energy completely different from before.

The defense lined up, waiting for high-fives.

Lance smirked and slapped Houston's hand.

"You do realize," Lance said, "we're not playing Tennessee today, right?"

Last week, in the Wild Card game, the Titans had staged a miraculous comeback in the second half.

But this wasn't Tennessee.

This was New England.

And Belichick wasn't the type to fold after one play.

Kansas City needed everything they had.

From behind Houston, Revis watched.

Revis had been in the league for years. His career had taken him to many teams, and he had seen it all.

The only place he had ever stayed for more than two years?

His rookie contract with the Jets.

After that, he was just a mercenary.

A traveler, drifting from team to team, always playing for whoever paid the most.

And one of the biggest reasons?

He could never hold it back.

He was always sarcastic, always throwing out jabs, always letting the words slip before he could stop them.

He had almost done it again.

Watching Kansas City celebrate, watching them act as if one touchdown had changed the game, he had wanted to remind them—

New England wasn't about to roll over just because of one highlight play.

Belichick wasn't that kind of coach.

Revis held his tongue.

Because Lance thought the same way.

One touchdown wasn't enough.

Lance didn't look satisfied.

Lance was already focused on defense.

And for the first time all season—

Revis was interested.

Instinctively, his eyes followed Lance.

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