"Dear passengers, we are now approaching LaGuardia Airport in New York. Thank you for flying with us…"
The plane was slowly descending.
Tap tap—someone gently patted Lance's arm. He sat up with a jolt, eyes snapping open on reflex. "I'm up, I'm up."
A sweet voice came from beside him. "Sorry to disturb your rest, sir, but as we're preparing to land, we need you to return your seat to the upright position for safety."
Lance stretched lazily. "No worries. I'm awake now. Could I have a glass of water, please?"
"Of course."
Lance had spent all of yesterday sleeping and had adjusted, but even during time off, he tried to guarantee extra sleep outside of basic training. It was the simplest and most effective recovery—like hibernation.
So, for the under-three-hour flight from Kansas City to New York, Lance had slept straight through.
But now, with the dry cabin air and having just woken up, his throat was parched.
"Sir." The flight attendant handed him the water. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, everything's good." Lance smiled.
As the brief exchange ended, Lance noticed the attendant hadn't left. He thought maybe she was waiting for his cup, so he tilted it back, drained it, and handed it back. "Thanks."
She gave a small bow. "No, it's our honor."
Lance: ?
Something felt a bit… off.
He looked up—and saw a young blonde woman in her early twenties, her bright green eyes sparkling. Her smooth golden hair was tied into a neat bun, and under the dim cabin lights, it shimmered like a waterfall. Her sweet smile carried a trace of shyness.
That was… unexpected.
In North America, flight attendants were typically women in their 30s or 40s, especially on domestic flights. The golden era of air travel—when airlines hired models as flight attendants—was long gone.
Lance had fallen asleep right after boarding and hadn't paid attention to the crew.
That was the beauty of business class.
"Sorry, Mr. Li…"
"Lance," he corrected with a smile. "Just call me Lance."
"Lance…" she hesitated, then smiled bashfully. "Sorry for disturbing your rest."
"I just wanted to say congratulations on making it to the Super Bowl. You guys had an incredible season. Your performance in the divisional game was flawless."
Ah, so that's what this was—
Football was far from a men-only sport. The number of female fans across North America was huge—much more than most assumed.
Lance's smile widened. "Thanks. But I hope this isn't the end." He glanced at her name tag. "Brenda."
Her eyes lit up. There was unmistakable joy and excitement sparkling in her pupils. "Of course! We're all looking forward to the Super Bowl."
"We?" Lance caught the wording.
Brenda nodded, visibly thrilled. "Yes. Me, my coworkers… and the captain."
She glanced forward.
Lance followed her gaze and caught two other attendants sneaking glances his way while pretending to be busy.
They were more typical of U.S. cabin crews—mid-thirties to early forties, slightly plump, warm smiles, low heels.
Brenda didn't notice she'd been caught. "Actually, I wanted to ask… would you mind taking a photo with us? I know we're interrupting your rest…"
"Of course," Lance said with a smile.
Brenda's eyes widened in disbelief. Her joy practically spilled over.
Lance's smile brightened. "It's my pleasure. Thank you for supporting the Chiefs."
This was the first time he'd been treated like this off the field.
All season, he'd been in a strict routine—just bouncing between practice and home. It was hard to feel how things were changing on the outside.
Despite lively press conferences and social media buzz, all that seemed like noise. In daily life, little had changed. So even now, Lance still saw himself as just a regular rookie.
Until now.
And Lance's words had been completely genuine.
Brenda beamed like a sunflower in full bloom. "Actually, I live in New York."
Now Lance was the surprised one.
Seeing his widened eyes made Brenda even happier. "Our captain's a born-and-raised New Yorker. He'd love for you to come to the Giants. Our lead attendant is from Houston, but she loves your games just the same."
"No one can deny how incredible you are."
"Believe me—Chiefs fans aren't just in Kansas City. You've got fans all over. I'll let you in on a secret: there's more than one passenger on this flight wearing your #23 jersey."
Unexpected.
Definitely a small surprise. But now, Lance was starting to feel the scale of his influence in North America.
Not bad at all.
"Heh." Lance chuckled. "Looks like today's my lucky day."
That one quip lightened the mood completely.
Then—
The captain and lead flight attendant came out—leaving the co-pilot alone in the cockpit—to take a photo with Lance in the business class aisle.
Lance had been sitting the whole flight, so no one noticed. But once he stood up, his massive frame filled the space—he looked powerful, solid, imposing.
The captain was almost giddy. "...I'd love to see you come to the Giants, but I don't think now's the time. Let your rookie contract play out. Then let's see what happens."
"Welcome home."
"Of course, no matter what team you're on, when you come to New York—this will always be your home."
Home?
To New Yorkers, Lance, born in the city, was already one of their own. They were ready to welcome him back as a hometown hero.
"Thank you. Really—thank you."
After the smooth landing, the entire cabin crew lined up to thank Lance personally.
Before they parted, Brenda shook Anson's hand—and he felt a slip of paper in his palm. When he opened it outside the plane:
A phone number.
And that wasn't all.
When Lance stepped into the airport, his tall, striking frame drew instant attention. One by one, people began recognizing him—and the terminal buzzed to life.
Lance: ???
Last time he returned to New York, there hadn't been anything like this. Why did it feel like the whole city had just woken up?
"Great game in the divisional round—awesome win!"
"Man, watching you humble New England felt so damn good!"
"Haha, I've been waiting for this day for so long. You're the next Brady-slayer after Eli! Lance, I'm rooting for you!"
Ah. That's why.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates