"Lance, is there any truth to the rumors about your injury?"
"How do you feel about the intensity of NFL-level physicality?"
"After sitting out two consecutive games, are you starting to doubt your career prospects?"
"Do you agree that Hunt might be a better fit as the starting running back?"
"Do you think you'll make the final 53-man roster?"
The preseason had officially concluded. All 32 NFL teams were preparing for the season opener, finalizing their 53-man rosters ahead of the deadline. Amidst it all, the swirling rumors surrounding Lance grew increasingly outrageous.
Discussions about Lance and Hunt vying for the starting role reached fever pitch—not just because of the position itself.
Imagine if Hunt, a third-round pick, beat out Lance, the third overall pick. It would seemingly validate the prevailing belief that running backs aren't worth a first-round selection.
If this trend continued, running backs could face further devaluation in future drafts, reduced to just another blue-collar role.
And with the dramatic twist during this year's draft, Lance had been thrust into the eye of the storm. Whether he liked it or not, he now carried the weight of expectations far beyond his control.
Whispers about Kansas City possibly cutting Lance began to circulate.
But precisely because it was so outlandish, the rumors gained traction. If it were to happen, Lance would go down in NFL history as the first-ever top-three draft pick to fail to make a 53-man roster—a new definition of infamy, a parallel to Ryan Leaf's legacy.
Leaf: "Do you have to drag me into this every time? Seriously?"
Reporters couldn't resist flocking to the Chiefs' training facility, hoping to corner Lance.
Patrick Mahomes, by now well-versed in these shenanigans, led the way like a trusty assistant, clearing a path through the media frenzy. His antics drew a hearty laugh from Lance.
But as they neared the entrance, a thunderous question pierced through the air:
"Lance, are you just not good enough?"
The atmosphere froze.
Lance kept his composure, his steps faltering for just a moment before resuming. He knew better than to give reporters the satisfaction of a reaction.
But Mahomes, visibly startled, stopped in his tracks and blocked Lance's path, forcing him to halt as well.
In less than a second—no, half a second—the reporters swarmed them like a horde of zombies.
The reporters had their opening.
Lance sighed, scanning the crowd with a hint of exasperation before locking eyes on the journalist who had asked the question.
Adam felt a chill run down his spine as Lance's gaze bore into him like a predator sizing up its prey. His entire body tensed, frozen in place.
Then, Lance's lips curled into a faint smirk.
"Do you want to find out?"
The crowd fell silent.
Though Lance's tone was light and nonchalant, the confidence emanating from him was palpable. It pressed down like a heavy weight, leaving everyone momentarily breathless.
Guterres was utterly speechless.
Lance's eyes swept across the gathered reporters, his expression calm and unbothered.
"Or maybe you all want to try? I'll be waiting on the practice field anytime."
The reporters shook their heads vehemently. Some even retreated a step, glancing down at their flabby arms and beer bellies.
Guterres: This is not good.
They had worked so hard to create this opportunity—they couldn't let Lance slip away now.
Steeling himself, Guterres decided to play his trump card.
"Lance, Brady said you're not worth mentioning. What's your take on that?"
It was the ultimate bait. Brady was the perfect talking point, guaranteed to generate headlines.
Lance blinked innocently.
Gasps echoed throughout the crowd.
The reporters had been expecting a juicy quote, something to fuel the controversy. Instead, they were left dumbstruck by Lance's response.
Even Guterres, who had posed the question, stood rooted to the spot, his mind unable to process what had just happened.
Mahomes nearly choked on his own spit. But he knew Lance well—this wasn't an intentional slight. Lance was notoriously bad with names and probably meant no harm.
Mahomes quickly whispered a few key details.
"New England Patriots. Number 12. Quarterback."
Recognition dawned on Lance's face.
The reporters collectively: "..."
"Great, so we have something in common," someone muttered under their breath.
Lance continued, unfazed.
"I'd love to meet him on the field. I'm looking forward to a good game."
Under normal circumstances, this would have been a polite, unremarkable response. But in this context, it carried an entirely different weight.
Guterres: Did I just get nuked?
The seemingly innocuous remark was laced with a subtle challenge. The subtext was clear:
This was no ordinary response—it was a declaration of war.
The reporters exchanged incredulous glances. They had come looking for a headline, and Lance had handed them a nuclear bomb.
The battle lines were drawn.
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