In competitive sports, professional athletes are known for their sharp edges and distinct personalities. Most of them are fiercely competitive and never willing to back down—including Watt and Lance. The difference lies in how they manage their temperament and whether they can separate on-field rivalries from personal life with a professional attitude—
Never bring on-field grudges into personal life.
However, while everyone understands this principle, not everyone finds it easy to follow.
Right now, standing before them was one such person: DeAndre Hopkins, wide receiver for the Houston Texans. Currently one of the league's hottest wideouts, Hopkins led the league in receiving touchdowns this season.
He possessed both speed and strength, along with exceptional route-running and tactical execution skills. Since entering the league in 2013, he had steadily grown into a fearsome receiving weapon.
Last offseason, the Texans signed Hopkins to a five-year, $81 million contract, which included $49 million in guaranteed money and a $7.5 million signing bonus, making him one of the highest-paid receivers in the league.
And Hopkins did not disappoint—his performance in the 2017 season was top-tier, proving his worth with every catch.
To put it simply, he was riding high.
Clearly, Hopkins wasn't planning on giving face to anyone.
The moment he saw Lance, the top-tier receiver rolled his eyes.
"Tch."
Just a glance, and his stance was obvious—he didn't try to hide it at all.
"Hey, guys, look who it is! Isn't that the Super Bowl MVP? My God, let's all bow down and worship, soak up that good fortune! We wouldn't want Roger Goodell putting us in his bad books, would we?"
His sarcasm was sharp and unfiltered, coming out full force.
The amount of information in that jab was... a bit much.
Mahomes: ???
What the heck?
Mahomes couldn't comprehend the hostility radiating off Hopkins. If it was because the Texans lost to the Chiefs in the regular season, that would be too petty. If it was because he felt bad for Watt, the man himself didn't seem to care—so what was Hopkins so upset about? Did he secretly love Watt or something?
Mahomes ran through a list of possibilities in his head but found no answers. He leaned closer to Lance and whispered, "Did you steal his girlfriend or something?"
"Bingo," Lance admitted without hesitation.
Cough, cough.
Mahomes choked on his own saliva, his face full of shock and disbelief. The next second, when he saw the glimmer of amusement in Lance's eyes, he finally understood, letting out a long sigh of relief.
The real answer was simpler: College.
Hopkins attended Clemson University, and Clemson had a blood feud with Alabama. Over the past five years, Alabama's Crimson Tide had crushed Clemson four times, leaving the Clemson faithful bitter and resentful.
A reason?
Who needed a reason? Hopkins just didn't like the sight of Lance.
However—
Lance wasn't one to be pushed around. Faced with Hopkins' aggression, he didn't flinch. Instead, he calmly stood his ground, raised his chin slightly, and cast a condescending glance at Hopkins, a faint smile on his lips.
"I'm waiting."
Everyone: ???
Waiting for what?
Hopkins also looked confused, clearly not following Lance's rhythm.
Lance lightly shook his head, feigning disappointment. Was this guy really trying to talk trash with that level of intelligence?
"Kneeling. Forget it, forget it. You don't have to kneel; just a bow will suffice."
"I'm still waiting."
Since Hopkins sarcastically suggested they bow to the Super Bowl MVP to avoid Goodell's wrath, Lance played right into it, standing there patiently as if he genuinely expected Hopkins to follow through.
Suddenly, Hopkins found himself stuck in an awkward position, unable to move forward or back.
Uncomfortable.
Pfft.
Laughter erupted from the side. Hopkins turned his head with a glare, only to see Cameron Jordan chuckling, meeting his gaze head-on with complete confidence—even puffing out his chest a little.
Hopkins instantly went quiet.
"DeAndre, I told you not to mess with this lot."
From behind came Watt's voice.
Perfect timing—JJ, Derek, and TJ Watt stepped onto the scene. Derek headed toward Robinson, TJ walked up to Lance, while JJ, as the host, took charge.
"I'm not saying this because they're my guests or my friends; I'm saying it because they're not easy to mess with. Even I'm scared."
A bit of humble self-mockery, bringing a wave of laughter.
"If I want to challenge them, I'll do it on the training field or in a game—face-to-face, fair and square. That way, I think I might have the edge."
While he spoke, Watt cracked his knuckles loudly—pop, pop, pop—like fireworks.
"DeAndre, you might want to learn a thing or two."
Hopkins mumbled something under his breath, clearly still dissatisfied and bitter, but ultimately, he turned away, refusing to meet Lance's eyes.
Watt didn't mind, glancing around at the gathered crowd.
"Friends, thank you all for coming out. This offseason is very important to me. Extremely important."
"Derek and TJ are here because they had no choice," Watt chuckled, "But you all coming here—that's my honor."
"Today, we're just getting to know each other. There's no training. This afternoon, I've arranged for a private yacht. We can enjoy the view of the Atlantic, do some fishing, soak up some sun, and have a little party."
"But be mindful of alcohol. Because tomorrow morning, we begin training."
"For the first week, we'll start with the basics. Loosen up and get back into the swing of things. You all need to shake off that vacation mode and get into training mode. I need to shift from recovery mode back into training mode. Just enjoy it; don't stress."
"I heard about Michael Jordan's 'Breakfast Club,' and I thought, hey, why not have a Watt 'Breakfast Club'?"
Cameron Jordan: Huh?
Of all things, he wanted to copy the Breakfast Club?
Mahomes blinked, confused. "Lance, what's the Breakfast Club?"
Lance replied, "It's a movie. Came out in 1985. It's really good."
Mahomes nodded with an "Oh, I see" look.
Watt didn't bother with their little side conversation and just continued, his smile widening.
"Tomorrow morning, training starts at five sharp. The first session is two hours, ending at seven. If we can't finish the scheduled training by seven... well, there'll be no breakfast."
After saying this, Watt flashed a perfectly white grin, clearly delighted.
Mahomes turned to Lance: Wait, what? That's not what you said!
…
Tired. Heavy.
Lance felt like he couldn't even keep his eyes open.
Yesterday afternoon, the guys had poured drinks non-stop, and despite his best efforts to dodge and weave, he still ended up tipsy and woozy.
He ended up sleeping for hours in the yacht's private bedroom.
That night, he didn't drink anymore, but the long nap threw off his sleep schedule. When bedtime came, he just wasn't tired.
Thinking about the intense training that would start the next morning, he forced himself to lie down early, closing his eyes and counting sheep.
But he couldn't sleep. Not until much, much later, when he finally drifted off.
It felt like only five minutes had passed when his phone erupted with a deafening roar—
Like a Howler from Harry Potter.
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Powerstones?
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