The professional league was never a single, unified block—there were always cracks between opinions, and gaps between interests where opportunities could slip through.

Hunt believed that Bell's holdout had indeed shaken the league's network of shared interests, giving new space for differing views on the running back position and sparking widespread debate.

At the same time, this season's running backs had been exceptional—almost an across-the-board breakout. Todd Gurley of the Rams, Ezekiel Elliott of the Cowboys, Saquon Barkley of the Giants, Christian McCaffrey of the Panthers, Derrick Henry of the Titans—one after another, they had their shining moments.

It was obvious that running backs, whether openly or quietly, had begun to understand the hidden meaning behind Bell's holdout. One after another, they seized the moment to explode in performance, holding tight to their chance to prove the position's value to football.

And of course, there were the Chiefs' own two backs—Lance and Hunt. Across the league, it was a blooming garden for the position.

Because of this, Hunt believed the time had come—

The time to negotiate for a restructured contract.

Objectively, he knew two things. First, he was the team's number-two back, and the one with the real clout in the league right now was Lance.

Second, they were both only in their second season. They had signed four-year deals when they entered the league, and talk of extensions or restructures normally wouldn't come until after the third season—meaning the 2020 offseason. Right now was far too early.

But Hunt had his own plan.

First, if they wanted to restructure after year three, they couldn't let the team lead them around by the nose like Bell's cautionary tale. They should start laying the groundwork now, preparing for the future and avoiding the same fate.

Second, Hunt knew his role. As the number-two back, he wasn't expecting a record-breaking salary. He aimed for a contract appropriate to that role. Compared to someone in Lance's spotlight, a second-stringer with modest demands might have an easier time in negotiations.

Finally, if he wanted this to succeed, he needed momentum—he needed to use the league's current situation to his advantage. And that meant he couldn't leave Lance out of it.

So, during the bye week, Hunt approached Lance to talk about it.

From Hunt's perspective, Lance was riding high—no sophomore slump, two seasons of elite production, and arguably the hottest player in the league. Surely, if Hunt brought up contract restructuring and Bell's crisis, Lance wouldn't refuse.

But—

Lance refused.

To Lance, the time wasn't right.

If they were veterans, or third-year backs like Elliott or Henry—right at the renewal window—then grabbing the moment to both defend the running back position and secure personal benefits would make perfect sense. Lance would be one hundred percent behind it.

But as second-year players? Starting to angle for a restructure now wasn't savvy—it was greedy.

The reason was simple. Not just for running backs—this applied to quarterbacks and every other position.

The NFL is brutal. Injuries and accidents are everywhere. Players have to prove their stability and consistency over more games and more time. That is what wins big contracts.

Look at what happened this past offseason to quarterbacks like Cousins and Keenum.

For a second-year player, with the season not even over, to start stirring things up now—it was far too early.

That was why Hunt was so confident.

If talks with the Chiefs went well, perfect. If not, he didn't mind leaving after year three for another team.

On the surface, he pulled Lance in with a "we're in this together" stance.

In reality, he was using Lance's presence as cover—fox borrowing the tiger's might.

So when Lance refused, Hunt was furious—more than that, he was embarrassed. He put on the high-and-mighty face of "I'm doing this for your good, for the good of running backs everywhere, and you don't appreciate it," then spun on his heel and left under Lance's steady, seeing gaze.

An unpleasant end.

In the following weeks, nothing stirred in the team. Lance assumed Hunt had given up—at least for now—maybe saving it for the offseason.

But then—today.

Hunt hadn't given up. He'd gone underground.

If Lance guessed right, Hunt's agent had gone to GM Veach.

Judging from Clark's reaction, Veach might really have been swayed, seriously reconsidering the running back's place in the team's tactical system.

The problem was, Lance had no way of knowing what Hunt—or his agent—might have said about him.

So what next?

Would Veach or Reid come to him for confirmation?

On the practice field, Reid and the coaches were in place. From a distance, Reid looked as focused as always—no hint of anything unusual.

Then a figure approached quickly. Lance pulled his attention back, wary.

He turned—and there was Hunt.

Hunt grinned, tapped his temple. "Be smart. I've laid the groundwork."

Before Lance could respond, Hunt had already jogged off, light on his feet, laughter in his voice. Anyone could see his good mood.

Could it be… Hunt had already made a deal?

Lance's eyes went back to the coaches.

Reid was the same as ever, but the others, led by Childress, had no smiles.

On the surface, it was normal—focused on their work. But for a light recovery day, they were wound far too tight.

Unless… Hunt's agent had convinced them that Lance, too, was unhappy and starting to test the team's intentions.

If it looked like Lance was thinking differently in midseason, with the playoffs ahead, the chain reaction could go far beyond this.

A small ripple, left unchecked, could become a crashing wave.

With the Chiefs, Lance already had enough weight to shake the locker room—or even the whole team—inside and out.

This was no small matter.

It was the unknowns, and the endless possibilities, that let the unease creep in.

Lance: Sitting at home, and somehow the pot drops from the sky onto my head.

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Powerstones?

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