American Football: Domination

Step, step step step.

Kansas City Chiefs defensive end Chris Jones kept shifting his weight before the snap, like revving a motorcycle engine.

Others might not notice, but Jones had his own battle to fight—

The Kansas City Chiefs were a young team, primarily built around second- and third-year players. Lance was already emerging as the next team leader, earning the trust of veterans like Houston and Berry, who led by example and helped reshape the team's culture. The younger players were growing up following Lance's lead.

Just look at third-year cornerback Fowler, who transferred during the offseason.

He had kept his eyes on Lance's back, giving it his all—and finally earned his spotlight moment in the season opener.

Third year. No more time to waste. It was time to prove ability, not just potential. Otherwise, like Fowler, you might face an early transfer risk and start a journeyman career drifting from team to team.

Jones didn't want that.

So he had his battle, too. He wanted to follow in Lance's footsteps—not desperately, not hastily, but steadily, one step at a time. But at the very least, he needed to move forward.

Even just one step.

"Attack!"

Roethlisberger snapped the ball.

Huff.

Jones inhaled deeply, eyes locked on Roethlisberger's movement, attention razor-sharp. The moment he heard the cadence, it was like a starter pistol—he sprang forward, power bursting from his legs, launching his body like a rocket.

Boom, boom, boom.

A flurry of collisions, like fireworks exploding.

"The pocket's broken!"

"The Kansas City Chiefs blitzed—only five rushed, but they tore open the Steelers' pocket protection."

"The ball is... in Conner's hands."

"A running play—Conner is cutting back, the Steelers' line trying to open a lane, but—!"

"Jones! The third-year defensive end for the Chiefs slashes into the pocket!"

"Tackle!"

"Perfect! Precise, clean, and hard-hitting! Jones drives Conner into the ground—no chance for escape. Conner looked rattled, trying to dodge, but his muscles locked up—"

"Oh! The ball's loose!"

"Conner fumbled!"

"Jones forced the fumble with a brutal tackle. Conner clearly lost control, Jones scrambling for the ball, Conner diving back for it too."

Fumble!

Felix shot up from his seat, not even feeling the pain in his legs, fists clenched, eyes glued to the field.

Karen noticed. She tried to tell Felix to be careful, but seeing his radiant, joyful face—full of life—she felt the pulse of vitality herself.

This was her Felix—vibrant and full of hope.

She took a deep breath and turned to the field, feeling her heart pounding, her blood near boiling.

"Possession!"

Felix shouted.

"It's ours—it's ours!"

On the field, chaos turned to clarity in a flash—before anyone had time to breathe.

"Number 59!"

"Kansas City Chiefs linebacker number 59—Reggie Ragland—pounced from the corner and secured possession. Chiefs recover the fumble!"

"Totally unexpected! Who could've seen this coming?"

"The Steelers tried to re-establish momentum on the ground, but the Chiefs went bolder and faster with a blitz that paid off."

"Defensive end Jones with the tackle and forced fumble, linebacker Ragland with the recovery—two third-years combined for the turnover, hitting the Steelers with a brutal blow and keeping the pressure high."

"Since the third quarter, the key contributors to the Chiefs' turnaround have all been second- and third-year players. After being tested, they found their footing and started swinging back—reaffirming the champion's status."

In the swirl of madness, Jones spun dizzyingly, unsure of his location. All he could see were flashes of red and black, frantically scanning for the ball—then he saw it, clutched tightly by a red jersey, the player rolling to his feet.

Ah! Ahhh!

Roars, howls, passion erupting.

It was Ragland.

Because the Chiefs defense had found its rhythm again, and because as a third-year player, Ragland had finally carved out his moment.

Jones understood—completely.

Ragland finished his celebration, grabbed Jones' right hand, hauled him up, and bumped shoulders—a shared celebration for a shared effort.

But Jones didn't shout or cheer.

Because he wasn't satisfied.

He knew the game wasn't over. The Steelers, without Bell, still had threats. The defense could get better—much better.

Just like the last drive—the Steelers adjusted with a run-pass combo. Brown remained a decoy, but the blocking was effective, giving Conner running room. They mixed up plays and crossed midfield.

Fortunately, the Chiefs' blitz stopped them. But that didn't mean Pittsburgh's offense was finished. Roethlisberger wasn't done. Brown was still lurking.

Jones wasn't satisfied—couldn't be.

The fire in his eyes still burned.

But now it was time for the offense to take the field. Jones spotted Lance in the crowd. It was their turn—

The battle was clearly far from over.

With their backs against the wall, the Steelers' defense would surely go all in, facing off again against the Chiefs' offense.

And sure enough—that's exactly what happened.

On the sideline, Tomlin and Reid were locked in a strategic duel.

On the field, the Chiefs' offense and the Steelers' defense clashed head-on, intensity reaching new peaks.

On one hand, Pittsburgh's dual attack—run and pass—opened options. Even though they couldn't keep running trick plays, the Chiefs still had to adjust defensively, creating gaps for Kansas City to exploit.

On the other hand, both teams adjusted and restructured tactics. Chaos ensued. The tempo broke down. Every possession was unpredictable. Fatigue started to show, and the back-and-forth battle became a war of attrition.

As expected, the most intense and gripping phase of the game had officially arrived.

This Chiefs drive was under enormous pressure—more than even the second quarter. But now, they had confidence and composure. Though shaky and on the edge, they kept moving forward—

Time and energy drained together, the Chiefs pushing through the mud, inching past midfield into Steelers territory.

Then—

Without warning, the Steelers' defense surged again, trying to seize momentum, sending a chill through the entire Arrowhead crowd.

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Powerstones?

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