American Football: Domination

Derrick Henry had always been confident. He had never doubted himself—not even during the past two seasons when he was stuck in a backup role. Not for a second. If anything, he carried a sense of superiority.

But now.

Now, he saw Lance—a rookie who had switched sports mid-career, yet had boldly become the face of the Crimson Tide. And he didn't stop there. In the blink of an eye, he had grown into a cornerstone of an NFL franchise.

Was Henry envious?

A little.

Was he jealous?

Not at all.

Because Henry still believed in himself.

He believed he could do the same. He believed he could carve out a place in the league, make defenses tremble at the mere mention of his name.

He had no need for jealousy or resentment—only focus.

Head high. Back straight. Eyes forward.

As the Arrowhead Stadium crowd roared around him, Henry walked toward Lance.

Lance usually left the field quickly after games. He had a terrible memory for names, so every time an opposing player came up to shake hands and offer their respect, he had to force an awkward yet polite smile—desperately trying not to let them see the confusion in his eyes.

Who is this guy again?

But today was different.

As the Chiefs stormed the field in celebration, Lance was already scanning the crowd for Henry.

Derrick Henry.

From the moment Coach Burns had "tricked" him into playing football, that name had been a towering presence.

Not someone to surpass.

Not even someone to chase.

Just a symbol. A standard.

For all the running backs who came after, Henry was the benchmark.

And he was the first football player Lance had ever truly remembered.

Not Manning. Not Brady. Not even the Hall of Famers.

It was Henry—who, at the time, had just entered the league.

And today, finally.

Lance could stand face to face with the legend who had lived in every coach's speech.

——Here he comes.

Even from a distance, Henry's presence was overwhelming. He moved through the sea of Chiefs and Titans players like a battleship cutting through the waves.

6'3" (191 cm).

247 lbs (112 kg).

Bigger, heavier, and stronger than Lance in every way.

But up close, he wasn't as massive as expected.

Henry's build was lean, compact, pure muscle—not an ounce of excess fat.

Despite the friendly smile on his face, there was an unmistakable edge to him.

Like a blade.

No wonder defenders in college used to get weak in the knees just seeing him.

But something was different. Maybe it was tonight's loss. Maybe it was two years of struggle in Tennessee. But Henry, once the cocky, unstoppable prodigy, now carried himself with restraint.

He wasn't just a force of nature anymore—he was evolving.

Young players flaunted their talent, reckless and proud. But the truly great ones learned to sharpen their skills in silence, waiting for the right moment.

When two warriors meet, the braver one wins.

But when two brave warriors clash, the smarter one prevails.

Finally, Henry stopped in front of Lance—two steps away.

As Lance had been sizing up Henry, Henry had been doing the same.

Just as Lance had heard stories about Henry, Henry had heard stories about Lance.

Two legends of the Crimson Tide.

The past two Heisman winners.

For the first time, face to face.

A hush fell over the surrounding players.

One by one, heads turned.

Even Hill, who was always up to mischief, felt a rare moment of concern. He nudged Kelce.

"Hey, should we back up the rookie?"

Kelce glanced over—then burst out laughing.

"You forget? They're from the same school. This is probably their own little rivalry."

Hill rolled his eyes. "No kidding. That's why I'm asking. What if that second-year guy tries to bully our rookie?"

Houston, who had been quietly watching, snorted. "When has anyone ever bullied our rookie? It's always the other way around."

Then, as if by instinct, everyone's eyes drifted toward Orakpo.

Orakpo: ???

Not just Arrowhead Stadium.

Even in Atlanta, where the Crimson Tide players were watching on TV, all celebrations paused.

Every single one of them leaned in, eyes fixed on the screen.

Clearly, ESPN had caught on.

Normally, at the end of a playoff game, the cameras followed the head coaches and quarterbacks. Those were the stars, the icons. Their postgame handshake was the highlight.

Not today.

Today, when the director saw the bland, meaningless handshake between Mariota and Smith—then between Reid and Mularkey—he made a quick decision.

Forget that.

This was the real story.

In the luxury box, Roger Goodell saw the camera shift and nodded slightly.

Smart move.

Henry hesitated for a moment.

"You're… young."

Young?

What kind of description was that?

Lance, ever polite, simply nodded. "And you… are clean."

Henry blinked.

He actually looked down at himself—confused.

Clean? Really?

But he got the message.

Dropping the formalities, he extended his right hand.

"Hell of a game. Truly, an incredible game."

Lance firmly grasped Henry's hand.

"A great game needs two worthy opponents. The better team won tonight."

Respectful. But not submissive.

Despite the victory, Lance wasn't boastful. He wasn't rubbing it in. He wasn't smug.

Henry saw it in his eyes—a quiet confidence.

And suddenly, he understood why Coach Burns had always told him to watch Lance closely.

A handshake.

Then, Henry tightened his grip.

Lance didn't flinch—he squeezed back.

Henry was surprised.

Lance had never been known for power. But tonight, Henry could feel it.

He was getting stronger.

And if Lance was improving, then Henry had no excuse to stay the same.

The moment passed.

Henry relaxed his grip and let go.

He was about to say something—

But this time, Lance spoke first.

"You're strong. Really strong."

"Coach Burns was right. You still haven't reached your full potential. If you had pushed just a little harder, I would've been in trouble."

Henry froze.

He hadn't expected that level of honesty.

For a second, his tough exterior cracked—and he actually laughed.

Lance kept going.

"So I'm going to keep working hard."

Henry's laughter faded.

He stood up straighter, shoulders squared, meeting Lance's gaze directly.

"…Now you're worthy of carrying the Crimson Tide legacy."

Then, after a pause—

"But don't get too comfortable. I'm not done yet."

"I'll be ready for our next battle."

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Powerstones?

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