"Touchdown! Another touchdown—again and again!"
"The Kansas City Chiefs are scoring at will, and this time it's Hunt who finishes it."
"Just when everyone had almost forgotten about Hunt, this young player keeps making noise: Hey, don't forget Kansas City still has me."
"Running back Hunt. No doubt, he's an outstanding back too—and like Lance, he's a second-year player."
"The Chiefs punch in another rushing touchdown, widening the score gap yet again—this may just be the straw that breaks the camel's back."
Another touchdown. The Chiefs keep pulling away, ripping open the Bengals' wounds, pouring salt in, and showing no mercy.
The Bengals' defense, gasping and glassy-eyed, thought they had riled up Mahomes, only to have Hunt come out of nowhere.
In the end zone, Hunt roared—"Ah! Ahhhh!"
That ferocious look, more tiger than Bengal, with eyes burning red and hungry, seizing every chance to prove himself.
Even though Lance had already proven himself time and again, Hunt showed no fear:
Because he believed he was no less than Lance, maybe even better—and after all, a career is long. A fast start doesn't guarantee leading the whole way.
Roaring, howling, unleashing.
Arrowhead Stadium erupted, a sea of red celebrating Hunt's triumph.
At this point, the game seemed decided.
But people forgot one thing: Lewis should never have taunted the Chiefs—especially not at this moment—
After a painful loss and a swirling media storm.
As reigning champions, basking in rare spotlight for the first time in half a century, the Kansas City Chiefs faced incredible pressure.
And everyone on that team was holding it all in.
Perfect timing: Lewis had walked straight into the fire.
And so the poor Bengals became the sacrificial lambs, absorbing the Chiefs' fury and reigniting their fighting spirit.
Coach Reid knew his team needed this release—he also knew it was a vital step for their transformation. They needed to taste bitter defeat, learn how to recover quickly, and adapt to the relentless grind of elite clashes.
So they unleashed hell.
Poor Lewis probably never realized that he had woken a dragon.
"Mahomes still scanning—still moving."
"No! Mahomes's footwork is like a Houdini trick—he escapes Atkins's would-be sack at the last second and resets for a throw."
"Mahomes goes deep toward the end zone! His targets—"
"Wait—Lance and Hill have created a 2-on-1 matchup in the red zone, completely tying up Bengals safety Bates."
"It's a deep ball—straight to the end zone—Hill and Lance jockeying for position."
"No—at the critical moment, Lance locks up Bates—Hill is open—catch!"
"No contest—touchdown, like picking it out of the air."
"Another touchdown—and it keeps coming, like a summer rainstorm in the Amazon—unstoppable!"
"Last game, Mahomes's final pass to Hill was intercepted and cost them a win; but this time, Mahomes conquers his demons and goes right back to the deep ball. Hill makes the play."
"Mahomes and Hill redeem themselves—together."
"Touchdown—yet another touchdown! The Bengals are falling apart."
Even the commentator couldn't bear to go on—
This was a massacre—a thorough, brutal rout.
No one was surprised that the Chiefs could beat the Bengals—they were favorites this week.
But this was supposed to be a matchup. The Bengals, reborn this season and having beaten the Ravens, were no pushovers. Confident and united, they weren't afraid of challenging the defending champs. The outcome was supposed to be in doubt.
Instead, the Chiefs dominated them in every phase, showing terrifying power.
They simply weren't in the same league.
Overwhelming, relentless, crushing—the Chiefs delivered a complete and utter victory.
The final whistle blew and the score froze.
You didn't even have to watch the game—this score alone told the story.
The Chiefs crushed the Bengals at home—avoiding the collapse that doomed them last season when they failed to recover from a tough loss and spiraled into defeat. This time, after one painful stumble, they stayed focused and got right back on track.
And this resounding win wasn't just cathartic—it reasserted their position as one of the league's most competitive teams. It set the season's biggest margin of victory and, more impressively, was even more convincing than their rout of the Jaguars.
Signs of a team primed to defend their crown.
Lewis's mind was mush—his anger snuffed out—his whole body weightless, swaying as if gravity no longer applied. Half-awake, dizzy, like a spinning top—
"Inception"—wasn't that top spinning endlessly?
So… this must be a dream, right?
How else could this happen?
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He glanced up at the scoreboard.
He was now certain—this had to be a nightmare.
Any moment now, he'd wake up. It must be Saturday night or early Sunday morning, before their game at Arrowhead. He must have been so focused on this matchup that it invaded his sleep.
But maybe this nightmare was a warning—a premonition that he should tighten up their game plan, pay special attention to Lance.
Lewis hadn't planned to treat Lance any differently—not worth extra attention, just a sophomore running back—but now? Maybe this nightmare was telling him not to be so stubborn.
See? He was being open-minded.
Good. All he had to do now was wake up and shake this nightmare.
How did they do it in the movie?
Lewis looked around. After all, it's just a dream—falling won't hurt.
So, as if possessed, Lewis walked to the side, stumbled over a bench leg, and faceplanted into the ground.
The world spun around him.
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