"Lance is back on his feet, on his own power. He didn't need the stretcher—it looks like he's okay. For the Kansas City Chiefs, this is good news."
"But Lance is still leaving accompanied by the team doctor—he needs a concussion evaluation. Only if he passes the league protocol can he return to the game."
"Now, all of Arrowhead Stadium is on its feet, applauding their number 23, hoping this sudden turn won't have a lasting effect. This is the first time since Lance entered the league that he's left a game due to injury."
"The referee has just thrown the yellow flag on Baltimore's Mosley—a clear unnecessary roughness call, no controversy. More than that, Mosley's hit shows signs of intent, and the league will review the tape postgame to determine if further discipline is warranted."
"Let's watch the replay again…"
Noise, chaos, uproar.
With the team doctor by his side, Lance walked slowly off the field. The entire Chiefs sideline gathered together, solemnly watching him leave.
The atmosphere was heavy—
Everyone knew injuries and accidents are inevitable in football; and running backs, in particular, suffer the highest attrition rates. "Monthly rental," "seasonal rental," even "annual rental" have become nicknames for the position—it's no wonder their salaries have always lagged.
But still, in this moment, seeing Lance spin like a windmill in midair, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath, unable to help worrying.
No one knew what tomorrow might hold—but everyone at Arrowhead sincerely hoped Lance wouldn't just be a fleeting star.
From both sides of the player tunnel, fans leaned out over the railings, calling out Lance's name, voice after voice, their faces filled with genuine worry and care.
Karen Gray was no exception—her heart twisted as she stared at Lance's figure, then couldn't help glancing at Felix in his wheelchair.
Just moments ago, Felix had been shouting Lance's name non-stop. But now he was quiet, gripping the armrests tightly.
Karen called out gently, "Felix."
But Felix's gaze never left Lance—watching silently as Lance turned, lifted his helmet in his right hand, waved it once, and smiled—a bright, confident smile, as if he was just heading to the locker room for a quick break and a snack.
That calm composure, standing tall even amidst the storm, seemed to knock back fear itself.
The pale winter afternoon sun scattered thinly across Lance's shoulders—but in that confident smile, even the sunlight seemed dim.
Involuntarily, Felix straightened up a little—he believed in him.
Karen thought she heard something but wasn't sure, so she called again, "Felix?"
Felix, eyes fixed on Lance, leaned forward and shouted, "Rookie, I have faith in you!"
Not just belief—a conviction. A faith.
In the midst of the roaring crowd, Lance picked out that voice—slightly different. He paused, looked toward it, seeing nothing but a sea of red at first, then finally spotting the figure in the wheelchair.
And Lance's smile bloomed—like the first green bud of spring breaking through the long winter.
But Felix knew: that was Lance's answer—he's got this. He would be okay.
Behind him, the noise and frenzy of the game continued—but Lance entered the medical room, where a different atmosphere awaited.
Right away, he saw Lilith, the Chiefs representative, approaching quickly with several unfamiliar faces.
Lance glanced at their badges—league officials, unmistakably. Present at every game for one reason only—
In football, beyond the well-known injuries, there is another hidden, deadly risk: concussion.
In 2009, GQ published a medical research paper on "Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy" (CTE).
CTE can lead to memory loss, behavioral issues, and suicidal tendencies. The disease's primary cause? Thousands of repeated impacts to the head.
Specifically: football.
In other words, the constant collisions in football not only cause concussions but can also result in chronic conditions post-retirement: loss of control, violence, suicide. The NFL long ignored the issue.
Studies showed that among 631 examined players, 71% suffered from CTE to some degree.
The worst cases occurred in players who absorbed the most head impacts: defensive backs, wide receivers, and running backs.
After publication, the NFL denied the findings, tried to bury evidence, and even denied that football could cause concussions—becoming the biggest scandal of Goodell's tenure.
After all, if proven true, would parents let their kids risk their lives playing football?
But the truth could not be hidden.
Eventually, the scandal exploded out of control. The story became the 2015 movie Concussion, starring Will Smith, sparking broad public awareness.
In the end, CTE research was confirmed correct—if precautions aren't taken, players face serious health risks after retirement.
Under pressure from the players' union and public opinion, Goodell finally relented, and the league enacted new policies to protect players.
That's why, today, the NFL strictly punishes malicious hits and closely monitors potential concussions.
Any player suspected of concussion must pass a league-administered test and receive official clearance—otherwise they face mandatory shutdown, at least four weeks, potentially longer, until they pass.
This is why, now, with Lance facing possible concussion, the league medical team immediately stepped in to assist the Chiefs' staff.
It's the only way Lance can return quickly.
As soon as they entered the tunnel, the atmosphere changed completely.
Lance couldn't help but crack a joke: "What is this—a Star Wars escort bringing Han Solo to the Death Star?"
Someone couldn't hold back—a laugh slipped out, quickly stifled as they turned away.
The mood immediately lightened.
But Lance noticed one deadly glare: from Lilith.
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