As mentioned before, due to historical reasons, the New England Patriots have always been at odds with the general fanbase. Despite being the undisputed powerhouse of the league since the turn of the millennium, their fan base is mostly concentrated in the New England region. Outside of that, the Dallas Cowboys, dubbed "America's Team," reign supreme with diehard supporters scattered across the country.
At the same time, the New England region's arrogance and pride make them look down even on North America's largest city, New York. This has led to a long-standing and intense rivalry between New York and Boston, especially in professional sports leagues.
Naturally, the NFL is no exception.
During the Patriots' decade-long dominance, the New York Giants have consistently been their Achilles' heel. They met twice in the Super Bowl—in the 2008 and 2012 seasons—and both times, the Giants defeated the Patriots to claim the title.
Eli Manning earned both of his championship rings by beating Tom Brady, earning the nickname "Brady Slayer."
In the 2016 season, an Olympic year and the next in the four-year cycle, Giants fans and others believed the magic might return. Hopes were high that New York could topple the Patriots again and lift the Lombardi Trophy.
Unfortunately, no miracle occurred.
Not only did it not happen, but fans also witnessed the Patriots pull off a historic comeback against the Atlanta Falcons to win the Super Bowl—creating a new chapter of glory.
It was agonizing for New Yorkers.
Luckily, they didn't have to wait too long—
This season, Lance—born in New York—delivered a stunning, jaw-dropping performance in the Divisional Round, leading a miraculous comeback to eliminate the Patriots and complete a double takedown of Brady in both the regular season and playoffs.
So naturally—
Celebration! Parties!
The entire city was immersed in joy. Even though the game was two weeks ago, the happiness still lingered in the air.
"Good luck in the Super Bowl! Haha, don't worry—we're all behind you!"
Even taxi drivers were full of passion, clenching their fists in excitement, faces glowing with joy as they cheered for Lance.
The noise and enthusiasm followed Lance all the way from the airport to Chinatown, giving him the full hero's welcome.
Clack.
Car door closed. Lance looked at the storefront in front of him and froze—
Was the address wrong?
He hadn't messed up last time he came home. But now? Was this the wrong place?
He couldn't recognize it.
The familiar store from his memory was gone. The entire outer wall had been repainted bright red, adorned with traditional Chinese wooden lattice windows and paper-cut decorations of the number "23." Lanterns hung above, evoking the atmosphere of the approaching Lunar New Year.
On the left side of the storefront, a massive white "23" was painted on the wall, roughly three people tall. Looking closer, the number was made up of hundreds of small screenshots—each one capturing Lance in action on the football field, pieced together to form his jersey number.
A small crowd had gathered in front of the mural—
Lining up to take photos.
It had clearly become a trendy hotspot for the younger generation.
Lance didn't quite understand it. He had no concept of what it meant for young people to "check in" at places like this. Chasing trends blindly seemed pointless. If someone didn't even like football, what was the point of coming here for photos?
Plus, it was just the number 23. Wouldn't most people mistake it for the Bulls' #23 instead?
If someone tried to join the trend and ended up mixing up the reference, wouldn't that be even more embarrassing?
All of this...
Lance had always kept his distance from the overwhelming tides of social media. Though he had an account, it was managed by Donald Yu. He knew the frequency and intensity of online buzz could easily become a distraction, disrupting his focus.
But now, Lance hesitated slightly:
Maybe completely ignoring it wasn't ideal. Had he already been left behind by the trend?
"Excuse me, could you take a photo for us?"
The voice came from up ahead. Lance looked around—clearly, the request was directed at him.
He smiled wryly but nodded. "Of course."
He stepped forward, accepted the phone, and took a picture of the young couple.
"Three, two, one—cheese!"
After snapping the photo, Lance checked it himself, then gave a slightly regretful smile. "Lighting's not great. The effect's so-so. Want to check it?"
New York winters were always gray, with no sunshine and biting cold, like drifting aimlessly through an endless ocean.
"Oh, this is great, really great, no problem, thanks…" The girl was mid-sentence, glancing from the phone to Lance's face, about to thank him—when she suddenly grabbed her boyfriend's arm and started shrieking, "Babe! Babe!"
The sporty-looking young man looked confused. "Was it that bad?"
He looked up—and nearly dislocated his jaw. Staring at Lance, he stammered, unable to speak a single word.
Lance, on the other hand, was a bit surprised: that mixed-race face had clearly visible Asian features.
After two years in the football world, Lance had come to realize that not many Asian kids, like his past self, were completely unfamiliar with the sport. But still, it was rare to see Asian kids deeply interested in football.
So seeing a possibly Asian face here was a small surprise.
Lance smiled. "Was it really that bad?"
The boy finally snapped out of it, took a deep breath, and blurted out, eyes fixed on Lance, "No, no, no—oh God, I mean—Lance, I can't believe I'm seeing Lance right here."
Lance shrugged. "Well, since you're standing here, maybe it's like making a wish to a genie."
The couple followed his gaze—and only now realized where they were standing. Embarrassed, they both smiled.
The boy turned back to Lance, took another deep breath. "Lance, you're amazing. Oh my God, you're seriously amazing. I want to be like you one day. The Heisman. The Draft. And of course, the Super Bowl." He tried hard to stay calm, but his words kept tumbling out.
Lance raised an eyebrow. "You play football?"
"Yes! Absolutely. And—I'm Chinese too, like you." More excited babbling.
Seeing he was about to go off again, Lance raised his right hand to gently motion him to calm down. "Breathe. Breathe. I'm not going to disappear like a genie. We've got time. You are…?"
The boy noticed Lance's cue, quickly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, then extended his hand and introduced himself energetically: "Taylor. Taylor Rapp."
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Powerstones?
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