A Leader’s Charisma

"Lance!"

Patrick Mahomes' shout rang across the field, but he was a fraction of a second too late.

"Damn it," Childress swore under his breath, his voice rising sharply, "Stop standing around! Pull that guy off him! Move, now!"

The field erupted into chaos. Bailey, blinded by rage, had already lost control, charging like a rampaging bull. Coaches and players scrambled, but no one was fast enough to intercept him.

Except Lance.

Facing Bailey head-on, Lance instantly registered the wild look on his opponent's face—sweat dripping down his grimy features, his bloodshot eyes brimming with anger. In that instant, Lance could almost hear the snap of Bailey's rationality breaking like a brittle string.

Did Lance dodge? Did he retreat?

No.

Instead, he took a step forward.

With a sudden burst of explosive power, Lance surged to meet Bailey, his arms raised in a defensive stance. He caught Bailey's shoulders mid-charge, locking Bailey's arms and keeping his fists at bay. The two collided with the force of a freight train.

"Strength versus strength."

Bailey faltered.

Caught off guard by Lance's bold move, he instinctively opened his fists and braced his arms against Lance's shoulders, entering a battle of pure physicality.

Logically, Lance shouldn't have been able to hold his ground.

Bailey was nearly a third heavier, his hulking frame packed with raw power. Standing in front of Bailey, Lance seemed diminutive, his lean frame dwarfed by the mountain of muscle.

But this wasn't about logic—it was about variables.

Bailey's rage had left him unbalanced. His emotional instability, combined with physical exhaustion, had robbed him of precision and focus.

Even so, his sheer mass and experience kept him steady enough to withstand Lance's first push. The two locked into a stalemate, their muscles straining, faces taut with effort.

Lance gritted his teeth. He could feel Bailey's strength pushing back, steadily eroding his advantage.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Lance unleashed every ounce of remaining energy.

"Ugh—rah!"

From the depths of his core, Lance channeled one final surge of force. His timing was impeccable, catching Bailey just as the bigger man's footing began to shift.

With a decisive shove, Lance tipped the balance.

Bailey's eyes widened in disbelief.

In a split second, the tables turned. Lance's unexpected power rocked him backward. Momentum took over, and before Bailey could recover, his massive frame lifted off the ground.

Bailey's 288-pound body arced through the air like a ragdoll.

For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time had slowed. The world seemed suspended as Bailey's bulk hung weightlessly in the air. Then—

Crash!

Bailey hit the turf with a resounding thud, his body skidding along the ground and bowling over several defensive players like a pile of fallen dominoes.

Meanwhile, Lance wasn't unscathed.

The sheer force of his maneuver sent him stumbling backward. Momentum and recoil made it nearly impossible to stop, and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him.

But Mahomes and Kelce were already moving.

"Got him!"

Together, they caught Lance, cushioning his fall and helping him regain his footing on the padded edge of the ring. Lance staggered but didn't collapse, managing to steady himself on wobbly legs.

For a moment, the field fell silent.

No one could quite process what had just happened. Even Childress, who had been charging forward to intervene, froze mid-step.

Did Lance just flip Bailey?

The sheer absurdity of the situation left everyone dumbfounded.

"Holy…"

Childress swallowed hard, his wide eyes darting between Lance and Bailey. Had he really just witnessed that?

Lance, still panting heavily, nodded briefly at Mahomes and Kelce, silently thanking them for their help. Then, with determined steps, he walked back toward the ring.

His movements were unsteady—his legs trembling slightly under the strain—but his posture remained upright, his back straight.

Lance returned to Bailey, who was sprawled out on the turf, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Childress tensed.

What's Lance going to do? Provoke him? Mock him? Escalate things further?

No one was prepared for what happened next.

Lance extended a hand.

Bailey, disoriented and still seeing stars, blinked up at Lance. The outstretched hand and the confident smile on Lance's face seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of the chaos that had just unfolded.

For a moment, Bailey didn't move.

Then, Lance spoke, his voice steady and good-natured.

"Sorry I threw you so hard," he said, his tone light but sincere. "But hey, anytime you want to get me back, I'm game. I'll still give it my all, though—I won't make it easy for you."

His words weren't condescending. They weren't boastful.

They were genuine.

Lance's openness, his willingness to embrace competition without malice, radiated a sense of camaraderie and sportsmanship that was impossible to ignore.

Bailey hesitated, shame and embarrassment creeping over him. His earlier outburst now felt foolish, his emotions laid bare for all to see.

Swallowing his pride, he reached for Lance's hand.

But as soon as Bailey began to rise, Lance let go.

"Woah!"

With a startled yelp, Bailey fell back onto the turf, his arms flailing as he tried to regain his balance. The surrounding players gasped in shock, their eyes darting to Lance.

For a split second, the tension was palpable.

Then Lance bent down again, his grin widening.

"Oops, slipped. My bad."

He grabbed Bailey's hand again and, this time, helped him to his feet in one smooth motion.

Bailey's stunned expression gave way to a rueful chuckle. "You're a piece of work, rookie."

Lance shrugged, his smile never fading.

The field erupted in laughter, the tension dissipating like a fog burned away by the morning sun. Even Childress found himself smirking, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Damn," Kelce muttered, clapping Lance on the back. "That's how you make a first impression."

Reid, watching from the sidelines, allowed himself the faintest of smiles. For the first time, he truly understood why Alabama had trusted this young man to lead the Crimson Tide.

Leadership wasn't about brute strength or bravado—it was about earning respect.

And in that moment, Lance had earned it.

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Powerstones?

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