Sure enough, Ramsey was a different kind of firework—when he went crazy, he even turned on himself. And he showed no mercy, to the point that no one else could get a word in.
There was no need to wait for the post-game press conference. Standing right in front of Lance, Ramsey had already started firing, his expression open, honest, and completely unshaken.
Lance was a bit surprised. He thought for a moment before raising his voice. "Sorry, I'm not good at remembering names. I was just born without that talent. If I hadn't watched Mr. & Mrs. Smith, I wouldn't even remember the name of our quarterback right now."
For the first time, Lance didn't counterattack. Instead, he openly admitted his weakness—
All this time, he had avoided mentioning this to the media because he knew they would twist the truth. They'd claim it was just an excuse for arrogance, a sign of disrespect, or even use it as a weak point for criticism.
He had always believed that actions on the field spoke louder than words.
Ramsey's blunt honesty made Lance reconsider. So, he chose to be just as candid.
Ramsey was briefly stunned before a look of realization crossed his face.
Suddenly, a lot of things made sense.
No suspicion. No speculation. Not even a moment of hesitation. Ramsey just accepted it.
This madman didn't seem to care, waving it off. "No big deal. Most names aren't worth remembering anyway. In thirty years, no one will remember them."
Ramsey was, indeed, Ramsey—a master of indiscriminate attacks. His casual remark swept through like machine-gun fire, leaving the league in shambles, knees buckling everywhere. Those who should kneel, and those who shouldn't, all went down.
Yet, Ramsey remained calm, completely unaware of the carnage his words had caused. He simply looked at Lance and continued.
"It's fine if you don't remember my name. But soon, I'll make sure you do. Just don't disappear too quickly, like a shooting star."
"You know how it is for running backs—too many shooting stars, burning out too fast."
Swish, swish, swish. A volley of arrows aimed straight at Lance's back.
Lance didn't mind. His smile widened. "Thanks for your concern." But maybe the cornerback should worry about himself—injuries are obstacles too.
Ramsey didn't seem to catch the sarcasm in Lance's words. He just kept staring at him, intensely focused.
"Before I defeat you, make sure to stay strong. A real challenge is more fun that way."
He took a step back, about to turn away, then paused.
"Oh, good luck at the Super Bowl."
"Losing to a Super Bowl champion sounds better than losing to a runner-up."
This time, Ramsey didn't linger. He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked away—
Ramsey truly was a character.
"Rookie, what did that guy just say?" Kelce walked over, eyeing Ramsey's retreating figure with suspicion.
Lance grinned. "He came over to introduce himself."
Seeing the confusion on Kelce's face, Lance burst out laughing.
Not far away, Fournette had been watching silently but decided to let it go.
He just couldn't bring himself to do it.
From the NCAA to the Heisman Trophy, from the draft to the playoffs—he had lost every step of the way. Now, he was beaten down and exhausted.
Next time. Next time they met, he would defeat Lance.
He exhaled deeply and turned to leave, only to suddenly yelp—
His voice trembled uncontrollably, like a record skipping. His knees felt weak.
Standing behind him like a ghost, staring at him with piercing eyes.
A chill ran down Fournette's spine.
Caldwell's gaze flickered to Lance, emotions swirling in his eyes, then back to Fournette, a slow smile forming.
"Leonard, we need to talk."
Fournette's thigh muscles twitched violently. Could he say no?
Though next season's schedule wasn't out yet, by rule, as division leaders, the Kansas City Chiefs and Jacksonville Jaguars were guaranteed to face each other in the regular season. That was set in stone.
The game had just ended, yet Ramsey and Caldwell were already looking forward to the next encounter.
Of course, who doesn't love a revenge story?
But while Jacksonville could already think ahead to next season, Kansas City couldn't—
There was still one game left in their season.
The most important one.
No, no, no. It wasn't time to celebrate yet. The routine remained unchanged, the schedule strictly followed.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
The doorbell rang, cutting through the darkness, echoing through the house, forcefully dragging Lance out of his dreams.
He glanced at his phone. 6:30 AM. Thirty minutes before his alarm.
He had to admit, he wasn't fully rested.
More accurately, he still wasn't used to the length of an NFL season.
In college football, the season ended in December, with a three-week break. Even the playoffs wrapped up in the first week of January. But now, it was late January, and the NFL season was still going—with two weeks left.
Two weeks ago, in the divisional round against New England, Lance had already felt the grind of a long season. The intensity had risen, the schedule had stretched, and endurance was now a whole new challenge—
At moments like these, his rookie status was more obvious than ever.
It wasn't just about experience.
If it were only about experience, he had plenty, thanks to his training simulations, even at the Super Bowl level. That's why he played with such maturity.
But adapting to the intensity, managing stamina, and adjusting to the season's length—those were all firsts. Even with the coaching staff and teammates helping, his body still had to adjust on its own.
After arriving in Kansas City early this morning, he went straight to bed. He had set his alarm for an extra thirty minutes of sleep.
The team had the next three days off—
The best news? After the conference championship, there was a full week off before the Super Bowl.
This break was filled with the Pro Bowl and skill competitions, giving both Super Bowl teams time to rest and prepare.
For today's off-day, Anson had planned everything.
The simplest and best recovery method. Only after fully resting would he resume light training in the afternoon.
And yet, at 6:30 AM, someone had already disrupted his plan.
Lance looked out his bedroom window—
The first light of winter had yet to break through.
So, who the hell was interrupting his sleep at this hour?
The doorbell kept ringing. Relentless.
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