As the breakout star of the 2017 NFL season, Lance had experienced scenes like this more than once.
But—
They usually happened at stadiums. When playing away games, opposing fans who recognized Lance's talent never held back in their attacks.
Or in Kansas City, where this young team lacked a top-tier superstar, Lance was rapidly filling the void as the city's new idol.
But today was different. Not Kansas City. Not a football field. Just standing on the street—yet completely surrounded. The situation was unfamiliar. Lance's guard was down.
In the end, his time in the league had been too short. He still wasn't used to this level of attention.
Before he realized it, he was engulfed in a sea of people.
Taylor Rapp and Dani were just the same—slow to realize the crowd was growing. And before they could react, the circle tightened. They were slowly squeezed out until—
They found themselves standing outside of the crowd altogether.
Taylor froze. The rush of the moment cooled just slightly, and the solid ground beneath his feet brought him back to reality.
Even so, he couldn't suppress his joy. Fists clenched, he roared like a Super Saiyan.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Cheers and laughter followed, Dani's bright laugh cracking like thunder, drawing glances from all around. Taylor didn't care. He kept jumping and pumping his fists, his joy infectious—even for those who didn't know why.
One second. Two seconds.
Then everyone's eyes returned to Lance.
"Hey, Lance!"
"Champion! Champion!"
"Keep going! Don't stop!"
The shouts built quickly. Lance, tall and strong, stood out easily in the throng. Amid the handshakes, high-fives, and hugs, he finally broke through the tide of people and entered a building.
Once inside, the space and view opened up again—only for all eyes in the small restaurant to zero in on him.
Keep smiling!
Lance lifted the corners of his mouth, nodded politely, and scanned the room. The decor hadn't changed. The familiar surroundings confirmed he was in the right place.
He exhaled lightly and glanced around. Sue wasn't at the register, so she was probably helping out in the kitchen.
Just then, a customer in the corner shot up and hurried to the front. "Table 14. How much do I owe?"
Without hesitation, Lance stepped behind the register, quickly checked the screen. "$26.98, thank you. Card or cash?"
"Credit card."
"No problem."
But—
Lance waited patiently. The card never came. He looked up to prompt the customer—only to see the man frozen, stunned, eyes wide.
Lance couldn't help laughing. "Sir, is your jaw alright?"
"You… you're…"
Lance shook his head, serious-faced. "People always say I look like him. I don't really see it myself. But that's not important. What is important is—I'm not him. Really, I'm not."
The whole statement was roundabout and vague—never even saying who he was supposed to look like.
The customer blinked, dazed. "You're really not…"
"I'm really not Leonardo DiCaprio," Lance deadpanned.
The customer: …
The absurdity of the moment broke the tension. Everyone nearby chuckled.
Then Lance repeated, "$26.98. Thank you."
This time, the customer handed over the card. Lance smoothly processed the transaction, handed back the receipt and card.
"Thanks for coming. Hope to see you again."
But the customer, halfway to the door, stopped and looked back at Lance, confusion written all over his face.
The bill was paid. They'd exchanged polite goodbyes. It should've been a clean end.
Yet the man didn't move. Lance looked up and saw that same puzzled look—as if the guy was pondering a math theorem. He couldn't help but chuckle.
Then came the question.
"Excuse me, uh… are you… Lance?"
"Shhh." Lance didn't confirm or deny. He just gave a mysterious look.
The man stood there, paralyzed. Should he ask for an autograph? A photo?
Eyes blinking rapidly, his brain froze.
But Lance didn't wait. He casually stepped away from the register and began clearing tables like he'd done it a hundred times.
The customer wandered outside in a daze. He glanced at the line out front, then back into the quiet restaurant. Looking up at the sky, he still had no idea what had just happened.
That was… kind of weird.
He turned to someone in line. "Was that Lance who just went in?"
The fan at the door looked just as baffled. "You didn't see it?"
The two stared at each other, neither able to help.
Not just them—the rest of the diners inside were also asking the same thing—
Was that really Lance? The same rookie running back from the Kansas City Chiefs who had crushed it in the AFC Championship just two days ago? The one who rewrote regular-season history and powered his team into the Super Bowl?
And now… he was here, in a tiny restaurant—ringing up bills, clearing tables, greeting customers?
He looked like just another student working part-time to earn some extra cash. Nothing to do with football at all.
Wait a minute…
There had been rumors. Some said Lance used to work here. Some said it was his favorite place. Others claimed he invested in it. Some even whispered the owner was a close family friend…
So seeing Lance here should've made perfect sense. That was the whole reason so many fans came.
And yet—when they actually saw him—everyone froze.
Was this the classic case of "the man who feared dragons being shocked when one appeared"?
The biggest shock was the timing.
Only 48 hours had passed since Lance stood center stage under the brightest lights of the AFC title game. And now, here he was—back in this everyday, ordinary spot.
The contrast was so sharp it made people question reality.
Even though Lance looked completely calm and collected, the bystanders couldn't handle it. One after another began to panic. Some even started to doubt their own eyes.
Could someone please explain what the hell just happened?
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Powerstones?
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