Pat pat pat pat.
Josh was nodding like a bobblehead, afraid even the slightest delay or half-hearted gesture wouldn't fully express how much he agreed. His eyes were wide and shining, his whole face practically glowing with joy and excitement.
Lance burst out laughing. "See? When someone's as straightforward as Jack, things are much simpler."
Josh dramatically clasped his hands in prayer and looked to the sky. "Hallelujah! Santa, I swear I'll be good this year!"
With that, the tension completely vanished. No one exchanged glances, but even Alan and Sue couldn't help the subtle upward twitch of their lips. Josh's eyes darted playfully as he suddenly sprang to his feet, raised his arms high, and broke the lingering stiffness with a joyful shout.
"Hey! Guys! It's the Super Bowl! The freaking Super Bowl! Can we get excited here?! We're not only going to see it live—we're gonna see Lance play in the damn game!"
"Ohhh yeah!"
The loud, ecstatic yelling ignited the atmosphere. The restaurant buzzed with laughter again, and even Alan struggled to keep a straight face as he fought off a smirk.
Finally!
Lance seized the moment. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the No. 23 jersey he had worn during the AFC Championship, holding it up for all to see.
"Look! I had to fight Brady to keep this one. He nearly snatched it from my hands. You should've seen it…"
Brady: ???
Josh gasped. "Finally! We're putting up a real, signed game jersey in the restaurant!"
But then—an untimely voice cut in.
"If we're gonna hang something, it should be the jersey from your next win."
Wait a second—was that a prediction?
A Super Bowl championship?
All heads turned toward the voice. Every eye locked on Alan.
He sat there, calm and unbothered, like he had said the most natural thing in the world.
…
The night shimmered and roared around them, New York's energy charging through steel and glass. Between the skyscrapers, noise and velocity collided in waves, dazzling and hypnotic. It was like being pulled into another world.
New York nights had their own kind of magic.
Not just different from Kansas City—different even from New York's days. It was like dancing beneath the wings of a dark angel, the lights and shadows blending into a surreal dreamscape.
In the heart of Manhattan, Madison Square Garden stood like the center of the universe. Once again, the lights stayed on late. Once again, it was party night. Painted faces, party horns, goofy hats—fans from every direction converged, making the night come alive.
A sleek black stretch limo rolled to a gentle stop at the Garden's VIP entrance. Curious fans and passersby turned their heads in unison—
Who could it be?
This wasn't the Hollywood-laden Staples Center in LA, but MSG still had its share of stars. You could often spot celebrities court-side here too.
As the crowd leaned in, a sharply dressed man stepped out and opened the rear door.
Out came a long leg in jeans and white Nike sneakers, instantly catching everyone's eyes. Their gaze followed upward, jaws slowly dropping open—
Wait, was that—
"Lance!"
"Oh my God, it's LANCE!"
"No way—LANCE is here?! I can't believe this!"
Even though this was Madison Square Garden and an NBA game, Lance was instantly recognized. The crowd couldn't help but erupt.
Lance looked toward the shouts and smiled, waving back.
The screams and cheers grew even louder, like someone had hit the "Max Volume" button. His popularity was off the charts. It was hard to believe someone not from New York could get this kind of reaction here.
Lance turned away from the crowd and followed his security escort into the arena. This was his first visit to the legendary New York landmark.
He had just arrived in New York, thinking he'd spend a quiet holiday with family. But then Donald Yu told him—
James Dolan had invited him to tonight's game.
Who's James Dolan?
Executive Chairman of Madison Square Garden. Owner of the NBA's New York Knicks and NHL's New York Rangers.
In short: a billionaire.
The whole thing had come out of nowhere. Lance was bewildered—he never expected an invitation from Dolan to watch the Knicks play.
As Donald put it: "You're a VIP in New York now."
The Knicks weren't doing well this season. Though ticket sales weren't a concern at MSG, the home crowd energy was weak. Playoff hopes were slim. Like the NFL's New York Giants, the Knicks badly needed a morale boost.
And Lance, being the city's current golden boy, was the perfect answer—a real-life Batman to energize the arena.
Judging by the crowd's response, Dolan had played a smart move.
But Lance was still confused.
He thought he'd meet Dolan. Maybe have a chat, talk shop about running a team.
Instead, he was quietly ushered to a court-side VIP seat—first row, right beside the action.
Players were still warming up.
So… he was really just here to watch?
No other reason?
Suddenly, Lance felt like… a mascot.
He looked around. Compared to football, he recognized more faces in basketball. Back in Asia, "Slam Dunk" and the rise of the NBA—especially a certain iconic player—had caused a cultural storm. But even now, though he recognized faces, the names escaped him.
Should he go say hi?
Just then, a player finished warming up and started walking toward him.
"Hey, congrats on making the Super Bowl!"
Lance turned toward the voice and saw a bright, handsome baby face. He was chewing on a mouthguard, flashing perfect white teeth with a dazzling grin—
And wearing the visiting Golden State Warriors jersey.
Wait, Lance definitely knew this one. The name was right on the tip of his tongue. He knew it. He was sure of it. It was just—
"Hey… Little Guy!"
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Powerstones?
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