The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum thundered with roars—
For the first time since relocating from St. Louis, the Rams had sold out every single seat. The stadium was packed to the brim.
Over the past three years, poor team performance and the endless entertainment options in L.A. had kept attendance low; it was common to see swaths of empty seats during broadcasts.
Last season, the Rams finally found their rhythm, and fans slowly began returning.
For the first time, the Coliseum was filled to capacity, and the fans got their money's worth, witnessing a peak showdown.
From the first second, the excitement and suspense never let up until the very last. The clash was fierce, the scoreline tight, offense and defense breathtaking—and in the end, the home team claimed victory with a perfect final note.
Wave upon wave of deafening chants, like a torrential summer downpour.
On the field, coaches Reid and McVay, and quarterbacks Mahomes and Goff, were surrounded in layers of reporters and cameras exchanging postgame handshakes, with TV cameras hot on their heels.
Yet, the eyes of the crowd and both teams drifted elsewhere—
Though the spotlight was elsewhere, the entire stadium's gaze gravitated toward them.
The cries sliced through the air, devouring even Lance.
Donald extended his hand, flashing a Paddington Bear-like goofy grin. "Hell of a game."
Lance clasped his hand, the two giving each other a shoulder bump amid the roar, needing to lean in close just to hear.
"Hell of a game. You earned this win," Lance said.
"Hell of a performance. You made me look like an arrogant rookie."
Direct, sincere, self-mocking without hesitation.
Donald chuckled. "I'll never tell you my knees are shaking right now. It's taking all I've got just to stay standing."
"But you're still standing. You went up against our whole team by yourself. Damn, I'm a little wounded," Lance shot back.
Donald burst out laughing.
Lance grinned. "Hey, man. You deserved this win. Next time, I'll give everything I've got to flip it around. Count on it."
Upright, forthright, no flinching.
The conviction in those words stirred even Donald's blood. He gave Lance a hearty slap on the back. "I won't stand still either."
They exchanged a glance, then without lingering, released their grip and parted ways.
Donald stood watching as Lance strode away, head high, shoulders square. Something inside Donald surged to life—a new kind of exhilaration.
Even though they'd won tonight, more than the thrill of victory, Donald was already craving the next clash: with Lance, with Mahomes, with the Chiefs. He was practically itching for it.
If they met again this season, it wouldn't be a "Midseason Super Bowl"—
It would be the real Super Bowl. And Donald was eager.
The Chiefs would need to push forward. The Rams couldn't afford to falter.
In that instant, Donald's chest burned with fresh ambition.
On the other side, Lance had slipped seamlessly back into his captain's role—
One by one, comforting and encouraging teammates.
Any loss stings. There's no such thing as a joyful defeat.
And for the Chiefs, this was the second bitter pill of the season: another heart-wrenching defeat in a clash of titans, watching victory slip through their fingers.
It didn't get easier just because they'd been through it once.
If anything, it was worse.
Defensive end Chris Jones was deep in self-blame, convinced he hadn't pressured Goff enough, that he'd let the Rams' QB throw too comfortably—especially compared to Donald's performance. Jones still felt raw, like he hadn't lived up to his own standard.
Cornerback Kendall Fuller, who had shone brightly early in the season, was struggling too. His weaknesses had been exposed as the season wore on, leaving him furious and frustrated.
One after another, these second- and third-year players were still learning.
Then, Lance saw Mahomes.
After finishing an interview, Mahomes stood alone, hands on his hips, gazing silently at the roaring Coliseum crowd, his silhouette faintly tinged with loneliness.
"Hey, Sherlock, not crying this time, are you?" Lance teased.
Mahomes turned—and his eyes were already brimming with tears.
Lance let out a helpless laugh. "Want my jersey to wipe your face? Blow your nose while you're at it?"
Mahomes couldn't hold back a laugh.
Lance kept going. "Don't worry, the cameras are still on Travis. Your tough-guy image's safe."
"Haha…" Mahomes burst into laughter, blinking back the tears.
Lance patted his shoulder. "You do realize you were the MVP of this game, right?"
Mahomes let out a long sigh. "And yet I still couldn't bring home the win. I think… I finally understand the pressure you're under."
From last season to this one, all the lights had been fixed on Lance—
The expectations, the criticism, the relentless pressure, both on and off the field.
Now, Mahomes had gotten his first real taste.
"Rookie," Lance said softly, "I used to think going through it once would make it easier the second time, that I'd handle it better."
"I hate this feeling. I despise this feeling."
"God, it sucks so bad. Damn it."
The usually sunny, easygoing Mahomes—finally, he couldn't help but spit out a curse.
Lance nodded. "Good. Hate it. That means it matters. Burn this feeling into your bones—so you don't forget it when you heal. So you don't go through it again next time."
Mahomes sucked in a sharp breath. "Next time?!"
Just imagining it, Mahomes couldn't stop himself from swearing again.
Lance grinned. "Of course. You saw for yourself—they're good enough to win the Super Bowl. One of the very best teams in the league."
"If we meet again, they can beat us again. So if you don't want to relive this gut-wrenching pain, remember exactly how this feels right now."
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