True Dedication

As a running back, Marshawn Lynch's career accolades were not as numerous as one might think:

NFL rushing leader for 2013 and 2014, five Pro Bowl selections, one First-Team All-Pro, and one Second-Team All-Pro—this summed up his achievements.

For this reason, the system rated both Lynch and McCoy as A-level templates, a notch below Peterson.

Yet, when it came to popularity, fame, viral moments, and broad recognition, Lynch was undoubtedly one of the most celebrated players in the NFL over the past decade. In fact, he was arguably more famous than most quarterbacks and deservedly known as the "King of Headlines" due to his playing style:

Beast Mode.

In the 2010 season, Lynch joined the Seattle Seahawks, and during the regular season, his performance was decent but unremarkable—just a rotating back. However, in the first round of the playoffs against the New Orleans Saints, with 3:39 left in the game and the Seahawks trailing, Lynch unleashed an unbelievable surge of energy.

Starting from Seattle's 33-yard line, he bulldozed through nine defenders, famously tossing aside cornerback Tracy Porter with one arm, storming into the end zone for a touchdown that sealed the Seahawks' victory over the Saints.

Lynch became a legend overnight.

The celebration at the Seahawks' home stadium was so intense that local seismographs mistook it for a minor earthquake.

From then on, Lynch was dubbed "Beast Mode."

During his peak from 2011 to 2014, Lynch's play could be deceptively quiet, but at any moment, he could switch into Beast Mode, unleashing raw, overwhelming power that could singlehandedly change the outcome of a game. He was always the wildcard in any Seahawks matchup.

Lynch's explosive energy and powerful runs made him a social media favorite, even in defeat. A single jaw-dropping play was enough to go viral, earning him immense popularity.

Unfortunately, such a playing style was physically taxing. Lynch's career was plagued with injuries, and he missed most of the 2015 season due to health issues. Then, in an unexpected move during the fourth quarter of Super Bowl 50, as the Denver Broncos played the Carolina Panthers, Lynch stole the spotlight from home—

He posted a picture of his cleats hanging from a wire on social media, announcing his retirement.

Now—

Lynch became the third template in Lance's training system.

The reason was simple: Lance needed to build his physical resilience.

Before Christmas break, Saban and Burns had mentioned that Lance's frame was still too lean. When he entered the NFL, facing the defensive fortresses packed with muscle, he might encounter challenges. The need for strength training was clear, and while tank-like backs existed, Lynch's style was more suited for Lance.

The reward had arrived, and the next goal was set, serving as Lance's prime motivation to continue pushing forward.

So, the day after the Crimson Tide's national championship win and the conclusion of the 2016 NCAA season, Lance stuck to his routine and resumed training.

"Lance, well done!"

"Roll, Crimson Tide! Roll!"

"Good morning."

"Lance, I love you! Ahhhh!"

"Go, Crimson Tide!"

The support was relentless.

For the University of Alabama, this was the morning after a celebratory frenzy. Students, still obliged to attend classes, dragged themselves up with groggy heads, trudging to classrooms or the library. But the sight of Lance wiped away their sleepiness in an instant.

The campus buzzed with excitement—

Undoubtedly, Lance was now the hero of Tuscaloosa. Every household knew his name, and people greeted him warmly from afar. Yet no one disturbed his training; they kept their distance, offering smiles, waves, and shouts of encouragement.

Lance finished his morning workout and returned to his dorm. There, sitting upright at the door, was a familiar figure:

Donald Yee.

Dressed in his usual gray suit, shirt, and tie, he looked like an insurance salesman who had yet to gain entry.

The scene was almost comical.

"Good morning, Donald," Lance greeted first.

Donald stood quickly. "Good morning, Lance."

Donald's calm demeanor hadn't changed—unhurried and composed, as if he had all the time in the world. Lance couldn't resist a joke.

"Sorry, you're late. I signed with an agent yesterday," Lance said, feigning regret. "You should have come earlier."

Donald blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his professional poise. "Even if you've signed, contracts can be voided and agents replaced. I'm prepared to pay any penalties. Besides, I don't believe you've signed yet."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"

Donald couldn't read Lance's expression, but he trusted his understanding of Lance and his own judgment. "I believe that after the game yesterday, countless agents approached you. But you're smart and level-headed enough to know they're just opportunistic hyenas."

"Hyenas? And what about you?" Lance asked, intrigued.

Donald responded, "A cheetah. From a distance, they might look similar, but up close, the difference is clear."

Lance burst into laughter, surprised that Donald could joke.

Indeed, after the game, the swarm of agents that came to see Lance was overwhelming. Business cards piled up, filling half a drawer like snowflakes.

Though NCAA rules barred agents from direct contact with players who hadn't declared for the draft, not making contact at this stage meant missing out entirely. It was as if sharks had smelled blood and swarmed in.

Hyenas?

As unflattering as the metaphor was, it rang true. They were drawn by profit—

But Lance didn't think seeking profit was wrong; everyone was motivated by it, including Donald.

If Donald came preaching dreams, that would be true deception.

So, with everyone driven by profit, what set Donald apart from the others?

Surely, it wasn't just patience and sincerity.

During their last brief meeting, Donald had left a strong impression, but Lance hadn't rushed into a decision.

So today?

Lance looked at Donald and called out, "Hey, Donald, if I told you I've decided to sign with another agent but am giving you a chance to change my mind, what would you say?"

Donald replied, "I would tell you, Lance, that you're making a mistake."

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Powerstones?

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