High above the crowd, Provost stood on his toes, holding his sign as high as possible, shouting until his voice cracked.
His throat was already hoarse after only a few cries, but Provost didn't care. He shouted, he jumped, and a broad, happy smile bloomed on his face.
He believed. Believed in dreams, believed in hope, believed every dark cloud had a silver lining, believed that even at the end of endless darkness, one could still reach the dawn. All of it, because of Lance—who reignited the energy of life.
So, Provost gave everything.
More importantly, he wasn't alone.
One by one, figures appeared at the entrance of the training facility. More and more, gathering without need for words—their actions spoke volumes, tightly uniting them.
There was joy, there was happiness.
A year ago, if someone told Provost he'd feel joy after the team lost a game, he would've thought they were insane.
But now, Provost felt the warmth blooming in his chest, like a blazing fire. He couldn't help but smile, even more fulfilled than during the season-opening five-game winning streak.
Because he knew—whether at the peak or the valley—he wasn't walking alone.
They fought side by side.
The atmosphere burned with warmth and unity.
When Felix Gray arrived with his mother, Karen, he was anxious.
Karen Gray froze for a second, stunned by the scene.
Today was supposed to be a rest day after game day. The team wasn't practicing. Plus, it was Monday. Fans would be headed to work, so naturally, there wouldn't be crowds—
Usually, after a Sunday loss, Monday at work meant gloomy faces, grumpy bosses—the outcome of a football game was a barometer for the whole city.
That's why when Felix insisted they come before she started work, Karen thought it wasn't a good idea.
But here they were—and the scene stunned her.
"Mom!" Felix called again.
Karen snapped out of it, quickly unloading the wheelchair from the trunk, unfolding it beside the passenger seat. Felix got out, she closed the door, and they rushed toward the crowd.
No words were needed—a glance was enough.
Karen and Felix joined the fans, raising their voices high.
The sight left Lance stunned—completely unprepared for such a direct emotional blow.
He hadn't expected fans to wait for him here—let alone such a vast, overwhelming sea of red, so breathtakingly powerful.
A stunned moment—and then, a bright smile slowly climbed across his face.
In an instant, Lance spotted the "late arrival" Felix, grinning ear to ear, waving his left hand and shouting loudly.
"You'll never walk alone."
So simple, so sincere—but it hit Lance straight in the chest.
Taking a deep breath, Lance jogged straight to Felix—
Raising his hand for a high-five.
The crisp clap sent Felix's smile into full bloom, brighter and more beautiful than any words.
No speeches—just one high-five after another, palm to palm, feeling each connection, each heart-to-heart impact. The dense crowd followed Lance's steps, turning the moment into a spontaneous, joyful celebration.
When the reporters finally arrived, they were dumbfounded, jaws slack, minds blank, unable to react.
Lance entered the facility, the cheering crowd slowly dispersed, each person heading off in a hurry, wasting no time lingering.
A reporter stopped Provost, "Where are you all going?"
Provost's puzzled expression was as if staring at an idiot. "To work, sir. Today's Monday. Did you forget?"
Provost didn't bother explaining. He and Anderson, West, and others hurried off, donning work jackets, ready to start their day—leaving the confused reporters scratching their heads.
Even though most of the media missed the spectacle, some early-arriving reporters captured it, witnessing the rare moment.
It didn't take long to sweep across social media.
"You'll never walk alone" —
Kansas City Chiefs fans spontaneously organized to support Lance, the running back embroiled in allegations of assaulting Patriots fans.
Not just social media—ESPN broadcast footage of the crowd at the facility.
Quickly, Chiefs fans reclaimed their voice online, launching a wave of support for Lance, standing firmly behind him.
And this was only the beginning.
JJ Watt was the first to publicly support Lance.
"I believe Lance," he declared.
"Sure, football players can have anger management issues, sure, sometimes violence happens—but not Lance."
"The Lance I know? He fights back on the field, not by provoking tens of thousands of fans at Gillette Stadium. He's not that stupid."
Decisive. No hesitation.
Washington's Alex Smith—this season newly transferred—also stepped up.
"I've seen the video—it's an edited clip, clearly manipulated by people who don't want the truth seen."
"And even within that clip, Lance did nothing excessive. The so-called 'death threats' feel more like fabricated witch-hunt lies."
"Even when emotions run high, Lance knows his limits. I'm 100% sure he didn't do what they accuse him of."
"We should uncover the truth."
And that was only a fraction.
Pittsburgh's TJ Watt, Jacksonville's Ramsey, Carolina's McCaffrey, Philadelphia's Wentz and Foles, LA's Donald—players across the league voiced support, questioning the manipulated "truth" portrayed by the video.
By midday, before the league could even respond, the controversy had ignited a wildfire, the speed of the internet on full display.
Even Le'Veon Bell, still holding out, joined via phone interview, scoffing:
"Heh, was it Lance threatening Patriots fans—or the other way around?"
And it wasn't just the NFL—the other three major sports leagues got pulled in too.
The discrimination Asian players face isn't isolated to football—NBA, NHL, MLB—it's everywhere.
Absolutely not an isolated incident.
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