Huff, huff.
His chest was burning, every cell in his body screaming in protest; yet, fully immersed in the adrenaline rush flooding his system, Lance felt none of it.
On the sidelines, Burns asked Lance about his condition, ready to substitute Hunt in for rotation.
Lance waved his hand, flashing a wide smile in response. Though drenched in sweat, his bright eyes still burned with energy.
Burns knew Lance well—the more difficult, the closer to the limit, the more Lance thrived on the challenge. So, Burns nodded to Reid in affirmation.
Lance stayed on the field.
The Kansas City Chiefs had now advanced to the Patriots' 37-yard line, barely outside field goal range.
A touchdown would be ideal, but even if they couldn't reach the end zone, in such a tight, cutthroat game with the two-minute warning approaching, a field goal could still tilt the game decisively in their favor.
In other words, the moment the Chiefs entered field goal territory, they regained the initiative to win.
Of course, Belichick understood this better than anyone.
Instantly, the Patriots' defensive intensity and tempo ratcheted up by two levels.
Though nearly 30 yards from the red zone, New England treated this spot as a do-or-die battleground, going all-in on defense.
Not an inch given.
The sudden spike in tempo and intensity made it feel like the Patriots had lured the Chiefs in on purpose, biding their time before unleashing a full-blown counterattack.
Of course, that was unlikely—even Belichick wouldn't gamble that recklessly. But it did show how ferocious New England's defense had become.
With overwhelming physicality, they forcibly disrupted the Chiefs' offensive rhythm—a three-man gang tackle stopped Lance cold, then a double-team snuffed out Kelce.
Kansas City's two deadliest weapons were neutralized through pure, direct confrontation.
Before the Chiefs could even catch their breath, they found themselves in a third-and-seven predicament.
Third-and-seven.
The situation was deadlocked, both teams drenched in sweat, legs trembling with exhaustion—there wasn't even enough energy left for trash talk.
Why waste energy jawing when they needed every ounce of strength for head-to-head combat?
In moments like these, the Patriots' pedigree shone through. Despite enduring a tumultuous offseason, Belichick had once again righted the ship post-kickoff, guiding the team back to elite form.
But the Chiefs weren't weaklings either.
Reid adjusted his personnel—
Hunt entered the field.
With Lance still present, the Chiefs deployed a two-running back formation, fully utilizing Lance's versatility while preserving the option for their infamous "Chiefs Special."
The atmosphere instantly tensed.
From body language to facial expressions, the air was thick with killing intent.
The Chiefs calmly arranged themselves, ready for the snap.
Mahomes barked his signals, but suddenly froze, straightening up.
Whoa.
Gasps rippled through the stadium. Even the players' nerves tensed—one false move, and the Patriots risked an offside penalty.
In football, only non-lineman players can shift pre-snap. Any premature movement by linemen—even a slight lean—draws a flag and costs the team five yards.
No one was better at drawing these penalties than Green Bay's Rodgers, who'd perfected the fake snap to bait defenses and steal easy first downs.
But was Mahomes trying the same trick?
No.
Lance, stationed on the left, stood up and motioned across the formation, settling to the right behind Hunt and Kelce.
Hunt and Kelce lined up ahead, left and right, with Lance trailing behind, forming an inverted triangle.
In other words—the Chiefs had switched up their offensive strategy.
The Patriots' defense, vigilant and disciplined, didn't jump. They avoided gifting the Chiefs five yards, which would have transformed third-and-seven into third-and-two—a game-changing difference.
But the defensive unit still had questions:
Why did Lance shift positions?
Lance's and Hunt's alignment suggested Hunt would be used as a receiver—but if that was the plan, why not just field another wideout? Why the two-running back set?
The "Chiefs Special" was famous league-wide, forcing the Patriots to stay on high alert. The tension climbed higher.
This time, linebacker Kyle Van Noy tracked Lance's movement, unlike before when Bentley had struggled against him. Belichick switched to the veteran Van Noy for the matchup.
But was this a calculated trap—or a defensive strategy?
It was clear—the coaching chess match between Reid and Belichick was in full swing.
All held their breath. Players reset their stance, knees bent.
The air froze. For a brief second, it felt as though Earth itself stopped spinning—time paused, hearts ceased beating. Even Gillette Stadium fell eerily silent.
The tension stretched to its absolute limit.
Then Mahomes uttered the signal—
"Hut!"
Suddenly, boom, boom boom boom—the line of scrimmage erupted in a flurry of collisions.
Immediately, the Chiefs unleashed their peculiar shotgun formation with two backs—
Left side: Watkins and Hill.
Right side: Hunt, Kelce, and Lance.
Five receiving threats, all surging forward—but each on a different route.
Watkins streaked along the sideline. Hill cut across the middle.
Kelce feinted toward Jason McCourty, then curved diagonally across the field, tracing a "Z" like Zorro's mark. Along the way, Kelce and Hunt crisscrossed—Hunt firing up the slot, Kelce overlapping with Hill to create stacked crossing routes.
Dizzying. Deceptive.
This was Reid's passing game at work. Even the routes themselves sowed chaos, upending defensive reads.
Zone or man coverage, the defense had to burn immense energy just to keep pace.
Belichick opted for man coverage—it required less energy than zone and amped up the pressure. But Van Noy realized a problem—
Where was Lance?
Wait… could it be—?
The "Chiefs Special"?
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Powerstones?
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