In truth, Revis had only been with the Kansas City Chiefs for less than two months. He was basically a mercenary, unfamiliar with most of the team.
And Berry?
A complete stranger.
They hadn't trained together, hadn't played together, hadn't even formally introduced themselves. If you said Revis trusted or respected the defensive captain, even Berry himself would probably laugh it off.
But in this moment, none of that mattered.
Revis stepped behind Lance.
He knew the pain of injury. He knew the bitterness of an aging veteran's silent pride. He knew the agony of choosing between retirement and one last fight.
He had been there. Was still there.
And that's why this show of support from Lance and the team meant so much more.
Back then, Revis had needed someone too. But no one came. He had to find his way through the darkness alone.
Now...
Revis looked at Lance—standing tall, alone at the front—and felt a strange mix of envy for Berry and admiration for Lance.
If only he'd had a captain like this. Maybe his reputation as a locker room problem would've turned out differently.
One by one, two, three, four…
The entire Kansas City Chiefs roster stood behind Lance. And not just Berry—Coach Childress himself was moved by the sight.
Lance's eyes remained steady and clear in the sunlight.
"And let me tell you what else is going to happen," he said.
"You'll wrap your heel and roll up to Minneapolis in a wheelchair. You'll watch us win the Super Bowl. You'll itch to get on the field but can only glare at us as we mock you while you roll across the stage to collect your ring."
"You'll start rehab. You'll push through the longest, hardest ten months of your life. And then you'll come back. And we'll fight together to defend that title."
"No one said it would be easy. Especially for a thirty-year-old vet. The league will write you off. In a few days, no one will even talk about this anymore."
"But…"
"Do you remember who won the 2015 Comeback Player of the Year?"
Berry blinked.
That award was given to players who returned from setbacks—injuries, illness, decline—and rose again.
In December 2014, Berry had been diagnosed with lymphoma. He missed the rest of the season for treatment.
In 2015, he came back stronger than ever—earning a Pro Bowl nod and All-Pro honors. He was the undisputed Comeback Player of the Year.
It had only been three years since that nightmare.
Now, Berry had to stand tall again. Not just to chase a ring. But to feel the turf under his feet. To run. To hit. To let adrenaline roar through his blood again.
"Eric Berry," Lance said.
"The name is Eric Berry."
"If there's one person on this team who can defy injury and age to write a comeback story—it's Eric Berry."
"Because he's the man who once escaped death."
"We'll wait. We'll wait for the man who gives everything for the game—and for life."
"And when we're back on that Super Bowl stage again, that's when you can give me this coin. I swear—it's my bet, I'll take it then. It won't run away."
Berry couldn't hold it in anymore.
He laughed.
But behind that laugh, bitterness lingered. He looked at Lance, thoughts churning in his head, nose tingling, vision blurring. He hastily looked up at the sky to hide it, changing the subject.
"So confident we'll win the Super Bowl, huh? You sure?"
Lance nodded. "Yeah."
Straightforward. Certain.
Berry was stunned.
So were the rest of the team.
Lance smiled. "If the whole world doubts us, we should still believe in ourselves."
"Even if we're alone—we believe."
"I haven't read the news. I don't care if people are rooting for the Eagles or for us. What matters is—we believe. We believe we'll fight to the last second. That our story isn't over."
"So Eric, come watch us. Fight with us."
Berry: …
He hadn't expected to be this emotional. He wanted to respond, but his throat tightened. His eyes welled up again. He lowered his head, rubbing his eyes, trying to explain—but the words were jumbled.
Houston noticed. And teased mercilessly: "Didn't someone say they hate crybabies the most?"
Laughter.
Berry wiped his cheeks fast and snapped back, "Screw you."
Houston smiled too. "That's settled, then. Anyone who disagrees? Don't bother. Get out."
Laughter again.
Revis never thought he'd grow to like Kansas City.
He started with the Jets. Even returned. But never got the respect he deserved. The locker room chaos, the front office mess—constant turmoil.
Yes, the Jets gave him his career. But he never loved them.
Then came stints with the Patriots and Bucs. New England gave him his only Super Bowl ring—but he hated Belichick's militant style. Tampa? He was just a hired gun for one year.
People called Revis one of the greatest corners of the 2010s—but he'd never found a home.
Yet now, in Kansas City… he felt something. A warmth. A sense of belonging.
Was it real? Or just age making him soft?
Either way, Revis admitted—this moment gave him the peace he'd searched for, for a decade.
Berry's eyes still glistened. Through the tears, he looked at Lance. Lance's gaze was steady, unwavering.
Slowly, Berry closed his palm around the coin. Tightened his grip.
This time… he wasn't going to miss his chance.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates