The next day felt longer than usual.
Eli's alarm went off at noon, but he stayed in bed another hour, staring at the cracks in his ceiling. He could still feel the rush from last night — the laughter, the victories, the quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, they were building something real.
He hadn't felt that in years.
By three, he was back at the café. The place was nearly empty, the air thick with the smell of espresso and dust. Renzo was already there, of course, with his headset around his neck and a half-eaten muffin next to his keyboard.
J.D. arrived a few minutes later, as quiet and punctual as ever. He set his laptop down, adjusted the cord for his mouse, and offered a small nod.
"Ready?" he asked.
Renzo stretched his arms dramatically. "Born ready. Let's scrim."
Eli smiled faintly. "Let's warm up first."
Renzo groaned. "You and your warmups, man. You treat this like yoga."
"It works," Eli said simply, opening Eternal Nexus.
The familiar login chime rang through the café, low and melodic, like the start of a ritual.
They started with drills — 1v1s in custom matches, jungle path simulations, timing tests. Nothing glamorous, just repetition. The kind of grind that carved precision out of chaos.
Renzo, as always, played aggressively — invading early, trying to outplay the map itself. He died a lot but learned faster than anyone Eli had met.
J.D., by contrast, was a ghost — always where he needed to be, never loud about it. His wards painted the map like brushstrokes, quiet and controlled.
And Eli… Eli watched. Not out of pride, but curiosity. The way they moved, the rhythm between their clicks, even the way their voices overlapped in comms — it was starting to sound like music.
They ran through strategies for three hours straight. J.D. called rotations in his calm, steady tone. Renzo joked between plays but obeyed orders almost instinctively. Eli filled the gaps — translating J.D.'s strategy into timing, Renzo's chaos into focus.
At one point, after a perfectly executed mid-to-bot rotation, Renzo leaned back with a grin.
"Tell me that wasn't clean."
Eli smirked. "That was clean."
J.D. just smiled. "We're starting to sound like a team."
The words were simple, but they landed heavy.
As the evening crept in, the café's lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. A few students chatted in the corner, their laughter fading beneath the hum of laptops. Outside, Hollowbrook's streetlights flickered to life one by one.
They queued for a ranked game together — their first as a trio under one voice channel.
Renzo called out paths, J.D. tracked the enemy jungler, and Eli focused on lane control. The synergy wasn't perfect, but it was alive.
When they won, the victory screen didn't even feel surprising — it felt deserved.
Renzo let out a shout that made the barista jump. "Let's go! We're unstoppable!"
Eli laughed. "Easy there. We're not champions yet."
"Yet," Renzo repeated, grinning. "Key word."
They ordered food after that — greasy takeout from the shop next door — and sat around the table like they'd done it a hundred times.
J.D. barely touched his burger. He was too busy analyzing replays, pointing out micro errors with the calm precision of a surgeon.
"You over-committed here," he said, rewinding a clip of Renzo diving under turret. "You had vision on the mid roam. If you waited three seconds, we'd have a free dragon."
Renzo groaned. "You sound like my conscience."
J.D. smiled. "Maybe I am."
Eli couldn't help but laugh. "You kinda are, honestly."
Renzo pointed at Eli. "You're supposed to back me up, man!"
"I'm backing up reality," Eli said.
The three of them cracked up then — real, unguarded laughter that filled the empty café. Even the barista smiled from behind the counter.
For a few minutes, it didn't feel like three strangers chasing a dream. It felt like friends finding something worth holding onto.
When the laughter died down, J.D. grew quiet again, his gaze distant.
"I used to do this a lot," he said softly. "Late-night scrims, cheap food, long talks about dreams that sound impossible."
Eli looked up. "With your old team?"
J.D. nodded. "Yeah. We were supposed to go to nationals. Then… life got in the way."
He paused, turning the plastic cup in his hands. The ice clinked softly. "I thought that part of my life was over. But sitting here… it kind of feels like it's starting again."
No one spoke for a while.
Renzo broke the silence gently. "Then let's not let life get in the way this time."
J.D. smiled, small and genuine. "Deal."
They played one last game before packing up. It wasn't about rank or stats — just instinct. Trust.
Every click, every callout, every small moment of silence between plays — it all blended into something wordless but powerful.
When the final Nexus exploded, J.D. leaned back and whispered, "That's what it used to feel like."
Eli nodded. He knew exactly what he meant.
It was nearly midnight when they finally left the café. The air outside was cool, carrying that electric stillness Hollowbrook always had before rain.
Renzo pulled up his hood. "Tomorrow, same time?"
"Yeah," Eli said. "We'll start building comps for the Circuit."
J.D. nodded, clutching his laptop case. "I'll bring notes. I have a few drafts already."
Renzo groaned. "Of course you do."
J.D. grinned faintly. "Preparation is half the climb."
They laughed again — softer this time, tired but content.
They said their goodbyes at the corner, each heading off into the night with the quiet satisfaction that comes after a good day's work.
When Eli got home, the apartment felt less lonely than usual. He tossed his bag onto the couch, powered on his PC, and checked his messages.
One unread.
No sender. Just a symbol again.
🜂
He clicked it.
The message opened to reveal a single image — a dark stage, lit only by computer screens. Five silhouettes stood side by side. Three were highlighted. Two were not.
Below it, a line of text appeared:
Three seats filled. Two remain. Time is running out.
Eli's heart kicked hard in his chest. He almost replied, then stopped.
Something flickered at the edge of his monitor — like a reflection that didn't belong. He leaned closer.
For just a second, the screen showed a face. Not his.
A man's — hooded, sharp-eyed, half-hidden in digital static.
Then it vanished.
Eli sat back slowly, the hum of his PC filling the silence.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just tired.
But as he stared at the black screen, a single thought wouldn't leave him:
Someone was watching their climb.