Previously, Lance had heard Houston complain about one time when someone knocked on his door at 1:30 in the morning. He thought it was a home invasion and had already armed himself with a baseball bat and a gun—only to find it was a surprise drug test inspector. Houston had been both speechless and amused.
Not just Lance—Kelce and the others thought Houston was exaggerating. Who the hell would show up at 1:30 a.m. for a drug test?
But now, Lance believed it.
Just because you haven't experienced something doesn't mean it isn't real. Clearly, the League had a well-practiced routine of showing up at bizarre hours for surprise tests.
After carefully checking the credentials and confirming the man's identity, Lance politely handed the documents back and went straight to the kitchen.
"Sorry, I don't have the urge right now. I need a glass of water."
The grim-faced tester wasn't surprised. "If one's not enough, you can drink two."
Lance glanced over at him.
The man explained, "From my experience, the human body can handle up to six glasses of water in a short period. After six, they will need to go. Doesn't matter who it is—at six, it's guaranteed."
Lance understood immediately. Clearly, many players had tried to get out of testing by claiming they didn't need to pee. "Relax, one glass is enough for me."
After finishing the water, Lance gestured invitingly and headed to the bathroom—
He had to collect the sample under the inspector's direct observation.
"To be honest, I'm kind of happy to see you," Lance started chatting.
The inspector gave him a look like he was nuts—he'd been to many players' homes and had never been welcomed. Especially not at this hour.
Lance shrugged. "Last week, after the divisional game, there was no surprise test. It threw me off. I started wondering—did I not perform well enough? Was I underperforming in the League's eyes? Otherwise, why no test?"
"Thank God you finally showed up."
The man said nothing, didn't smile—but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. It wasn't clear if he was speechless or stifling laughter.
"But seriously, what's with this time?" Lance raised his hands in exasperation. "You're tired, I'm tired. Who am I, where am I, what am I doing?"
The man couldn't help it—his eyes briefly lit up with a smile, though he quickly shut it down and returned to his usual blank stare.
"Maybe this is just proof of how well you played in the AFC Championship," he replied. "They probably figured, hit you before dawn, maybe they'll catch something that wouldn't show up otherwise."
So, he was a deadpan comedian.
"Like UFOs," Lance replied, lifting his chin.
The man clearly laughed—but only for a second. He quickly suppressed it, nodded solemnly. "Just like UFOs."
Before the words finished, Lance had already completed the collection and handed it over.
The inspector, already wearing blue rubber gloves, immediately began sealing the sample in front of Lance, labeling and securing everything with professional precision.
He let out a barely audible sigh—if only all players were this cooperative. He remembered one time when he tested wide receiver Josh Gordon. Gordon had held it in for four hours under his gaze, from afternoon until evening—
Eventually, even six glasses of water weren't enough. He had no choice but to submit a sample. Unsurprisingly, it tested positive.
Still, that had been a lucky case—at least there was no physical altercation. Gordon resisting testing physically wasn't unheard of.
In the end, Gordon, the incredibly talented receiver for the Cleveland Browns, failed multiple tests, missing nearly three full seasons. He only returned in November of the 2017 season—and finally scored a touchdown after a three-year absence.
Now, he remained a primary target of League surveillance.
"So, how do you deliver the sample to the lab?" Lance's question broke the silence again.
The inspector looked up, confused.
"Do you call in the Avengers? You know, League-level classified ops."
The man's blank eyes glared at Lance. "Two drivers. Eight armed guards in rotating shifts. Delivered to the lab within twenty-four hours."
Finally, he played along.
Lance looked disappointed. "I was hoping for a Fast & Furious 5 kind of deal."
The man gave Lance another long look.
By all accounts, someone like Lance—a rookie, Asian, stepping into a sport worshipped across North America—should've been met with resistance and exclusion. Even in 2017, 2018, certain ingrained prejudices hadn't disappeared completely.
That's why the Chiefs' game at Fort Fox had exploded the way it did.
From what he'd heard and seen, people had a strong positive impression of Lance. Not just Chiefs staff and players—anyone in the League who'd interacted with him had good things to say.
At first, he suspected Roger Goodell was pushing a PR campaign behind the scenes. But now? Not even the Commissioner could manipulate that much sentiment.
It's like the New England Patriots.
They may be dominant, but inside the League, Bill Belichick's militarized style has sparked endless controversy. Dislike—even hatred—towards them runs deeper than most realize.
In Lance's case, though, the goodwill he'd earned clearly wasn't fake.
"Twenty-four hours," the man said suddenly.
Lance looked at him, puzzled.
He explained, "After the Super Bowl, both teams are usually tested right after the game. But even after that, within twenty-four hours, more surprise tests can happen."
Lance raised his chin slightly. "So, have you ever shown up at a team's championship celebration demanding samples?"
The man: "…More than once."
"Ha!" Lance burst into laughter imagining the scene. No wonder the League and its players clashed so often. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you or one of your coworkers at midnight soon."
It took a second, but the man got what Lance meant.
He smiled—but quickly suppressed it. He wasn't allowed to show personal opinions or disclose anything beyond protocol. He raised his toolbox.
"Thanks for your cooperation. I need to go hand this off to Captain America now."
Lance nodded calmly. "Send my regards to Black Widow."
Though it started unexpectedly and the mood was a bit awkward at first, it ended on a relaxed note.
After sending the inspector off, Lance crawled back into bed. Outside, snowflakes fell steadily. In the gentle rustle of snowfall, the world slowly quieted down.
For 20 advance chapters: .com/michaeltranslates