—Like an arrow loosed from the string.
TJ Watt: What just flew past me?
His focus was locked on Mahomes, as always—the quarterback was the root of everything. But no one could ignore Lance, especially when he approached the line of scrimmage. Out of the corner of his eye, TJ still tracked him.
Run, catch, throw—Lance was an unpredictable wildcard in any offensive play. Guessing his intentions was a mistake. One had to stay sharp, impose one's own pace.
Just like TJ was doing now—
Muscles taut. Coiled. Poised.
The snap call ripped through the air.
Before TJ could even move, a flash of red had already surged forward—his eyes couldn't track it, just a vivid streak trailing behind.
Wait—was that… Lance?
In a heartbeat, TJ realized Lance had baited them. A brilliant misdirection, real mixed with fake. Before they could react, he was gone.
In other words, if TJ chased Lance now, he'd be a step too late.
With Lance's burst and acceleration, TJ knew he couldn't catch him. He had been thoroughly humbled at the Miami training camp.
That memory? Branded into his bones.
Recognizing he'd lost the initiative, TJ didn't hesitate. He redirected his momentum and charged the quarterback.
If Lance was gone, this was clearly a pass play.
And if it was a pass, then the solution was simple—sack the QB.
Besides, Tomlin hadn't been bluffing. This was a real blitz. A third straight one—reckless, all-in.
The Chiefs hadn't expected it. They assumed the Steelers wouldn't dare a third consecutive blitz. So they called a pass.
Now TJ just needed to capitalize.
Three D-linemen and three linebackers—Pittsburgh went all-out.
And not a simple straight-up six-man rush—there was a twist, with staggered movement between D-linemen and backers to confuse the O-line assignments.
Hayward broke through first.
He exploded into the pocket, a black grim reaper locked onto Mahomes, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
Pressure, all at once.
Mahomes was backpedaling. A QB's first move on a pass is to create space—for throwing lanes and for reading the defense.
Six Steelers overwhelmed five blockers. The blitz plus the tactical misdirection ruptured the pocket instantly.
He hadn't even finished his dropback when Hayward loomed, arms wide, charging forward.
Mahomes stayed calm. He paused, waited for Hayward to commit, then stepped right.
He could feel the wind graze his left shoulder.
Hayward had learned from trying to tackle Lance earlier. He didn't overcommit—just nudged Mahomes with a shoulder to disrupt balance.
He collided—but not enough.
Mahomes sidestepped again, his lower body absorbing the contact. Two lateral steps created new space. Hayward stumbled and fell.
Mahomes refocused—here came TJ.
A lunge, arms wide, aiming to finish the job. He used Hayward's distraction and Mahomes' focus on targets to launch in.
Mahomes had choices—take the hit and muscle through, or spin away.
But he remembered Miami—TJ wasn't that easy to shake.
He didn't try to escape in one go. Instead, Mahomes shifted laterally in small steps, subtly altering his center of gravity to throw TJ off balance.
A tug-of-war dance. A tango on the edge.
They moved toward the sideline, far beyond the pocket. Rare in the Smith era. Mahomes, however, was clearly comfortable in this chaos.
Then—he hit the brakes.
Left foot planted, body snapped left.
Suddenly, a gap opened between them.
TJ adjusted quickly, lunging again—but Mahomes had his window.
Plant. Step. Turn. Throw.
A full-body twist launched the ball skyward with a piercing howl.
The next second, TJ got him. They crashed to the ground. But the ball was already in flight, climbing in a high arc.
Wait—was that a deep throw?
The Chiefs' offense unfolded like clockwork.
Left side—three receivers exploded: one slanting inside short, one curving medium toward the sideline, one sprinting deep downfield.
Right side—tight end and running back also launched: one flaring toward the sideline, one cutting into the slot.
Five players, five routes.
Horizontally, they spanned left, middle, right. Vertically, they spread across short, medium, and deep.
The shotgun formation?
It was the real deal.
A scattergun—petals in the wind.
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