Challenger.
A rank only the top 0.1% to 0.5% of the entire player base could ever reach—a ladder reserved for the elite of the elite.
Once a player reached this rank, they were no longer considered normal humans.
They stepped into a realm few could even comprehend, ascending beyond limits others couldn't touch…
They became Challenge—Challenge Humans.
Wait… no.
That wasn't quite right.
They didn't just become something new.
…They became legends.
"Triple kill."
Ray's eyes remained glued to the screen, fingers moving across his keyboard in practiced rhythm. Outside his window, thunder rumbled in the distance, the storm growing stronger with each passing minute. Rain began to patter against the glass, but Ray didn't hear it. His world had narrowed to the glowing monitor before him and the clash unfolding on Summoner's Rift.
His champion—Yasuo—weaved through the enemy team, steel flashing in the dim light of his room.
"Quadra kill."
Four down. One enemy left, desperately trying to escape toward their base. Ray's breathing grew heavier. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air from his AC. His hands trembled slightly as he guided his champion forward.
This was it. The game that would finally push him to Challenger.
He'd been grinding for weeks. Months, really, if he was being honest. Ever since he hit Grandmaster, he'd been stuck in this limbo—climbing, falling, climbing again. There was that awful week where he'd been demoted all the way back to Master. He'd nearly given up then, staring at that purple emblem where diamond used to be, wondering if he'd ever make it.
But he'd climbed back. Slowly. Painfully. One game at a time.
And now, after all those sleepless nights, after maintaining his scholarship while grinding solo queue until 3 AM, after sacrificing hangouts with friends and ignoring his graduation preparations—he was one win away.
One win from Challenger. From the dream he'd held onto since eighth grade, when he first installed this game and watched highlight reels of professional players pulling off impossible plays.
Ray's cursor tracked the fleeing enemy. They flashed over a wall. He followed, fingers dancing across his keyboard.
"Chase him..." Ray muttered under his breath. "Kill him..."
He pressed R.
Yasuo's ultimate activated. Last Breath. The enemy was suspended in air as his blade found its mark again and again. The HP bar dropped to zero.
"PENTAKILL!"
The announcement exploded through his headset. Ray's heart hammered against his ribs. For a moment, he just sat there, hands frozen above his keyboard, staring at the icon that flashed across the top of his screen.
A pentakill. His first pentakill in ranked. In his promos to Challenger.
The chat erupted:
GG
GGWP
Ggwp noobs!
Gg Ez as fuck!
holy shit yasuo
Ray barely saw the messages. His eyes were fixed on the minimap, on the swarm of empowered minions pushing toward the enemy nexus. The entire enemy team was dead. Most of his team was dead too. But the Baron-buffed minions didn't need them.
The last turret fell.
The minions surged forward.
"Come on, come on, come on..." Ray's leg bounced under his desk. His mouth was dry.
The nexus's health bar dropped. 50%. 30%. 10%.
Then it exploded in a shower of blue light.
VICTORY!
Ray exhaled hard, slumping back in his chair. His hands were shaking. Actually shaking. He pressed Enter, ready to type every insult he'd been saving for his teammates—they'd nearly thrown that game three times—but the screen flickered before he could start.
The post-game lobby loaded.
Ray quickly skipped through the honor screen. Those idiots didn't deserve honors anyway. If he hadn't made that Baron call, if he hadn't carried that final teamfight, they would've lost.
But none of that mattered now.
His cursor hovered over his profile as the loading icon spun. This was the moment. Years of practice, weeks of grinding, all coming down to this.
Outside, lightning flashed. The storm had grown worse, wind howling against his window.
The screen refreshed.
999 LP
Grandmaster
Ray stared.
His eyes moved to the match results. +23 LP
"What?"
That wasn't right. That couldn't be right.
He'd calculated this. He'd been at 976 LP before this game. His last three wins had all given him +24 LP. That meant this win should've given him +24 too. Should've put him at exactly 1000 LP. Should've promoted him to Challenger.
But the numbers on his screen said otherwise.
999 LP. One away from 1000.
Ray refreshed his profile. The page reloaded. Still 999 LP.
"No..." His voice came out quiet. Strained. "No, that's... that's not..."
He rechecked the match results. +23 LP. Just one less than usual. Just one less than he needed.
His chest tightened.
One League Point. A single LP separated him from his dream.
"W-wait, this can't be happening..."
Thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make him flinch. His window rattled. Then, with a sudden gust of wind, it burst open. Rain poured into his room, immediately soaking his curtains and splashing onto his bed.
Ray didn't move. Didn't turn around.
Water droplets hit his monitor, running down the screen in thin rivulets. He watched them slide past those three glowing numbers.
999.
"ONE FUCKING LP?!" Ray slammed both fists on his desk. His monitor shook. His keyboard jumped. "This can't be— how is this—"
His mind raced. He checked the clock in the corner of his screen. Thirty-two minutes until midnight. Thirty-two minutes until the season officially ended. But ranked queue disabled an hour before to prevent issues.
He still had time. Barely. If he could get into a game right now, finish it in under twenty minutes—
Ray clicked Find Match.
The button didn't respond.
He clicked again. Nothing.
Ranked queue has been disabled in preparation for end of season maintenance.
No.
Any ongoing matches must conclude before the season ends.
No, no, no.
Ray clicked the button repeatedly, desperately, even though he knew it wouldn't work. Even though he could see it was grayed out. Even though the message was clear.
Ranked was closed. He couldn't queue. Couldn't play another game.
His last chance was gone.
Ray's hands fell away from his keyboard. He stared at his screen, at the 999 LP that mocked him. At his match history showing that pentakill game. At the Grandmaster emblem that should've been Challenger.
Weeks of grinding. The sleepless nights. That horrible demotion to Master and the painful climb back. The friends he'd blown off. The graduation prep he'd ignored. His mother asking if he was okay because he looked so tired all the time.
All of it. Everything.
For 1 LP.
Ray felt something break inside his chest. Not his heart—something else. Something that had been holding him together these past few weeks, keeping him going through the losses and the toxicity and the exhaustion.
It snapped.
He stood up abruptly, his chair rolling backward and hitting his bed. His socks squelched on the wet carpet as he walked toward the open window. Rain immediately pelted his face and soaked through his shirt. The wind whipped his hair. Lightning flashed across the black clouds, illuminating the dark sky for just a moment before plunging everything back into shadow.
Ray stood there in the downpour, water running down his face, and looked up at the storm.
At the clouds that had ruined his setup. At the rain that had broken his window at the worst possible moment. At the sky that seemed to be laughing at him.
All the frustration, all the anger, all the bitterness of the past few weeks rose up in his throat.
"FUCK YOU!" Ray screamed at the sky, raising both middle fingers toward the clouds. "Fuck your 1 LP! Fuck this game! Fuck everything! FUCK YOU, RIO—"
The lightning didn't give him time to finish.
It split the sky with a sound like the world tearing apart. For one impossible moment, Ray felt every hair on his body stand on end. Static electricity crackled across his skin. The air smelled sharp and metallic.
Then the bolt struck.
White. Everything turned white. Pure, blinding, all-consuming white.
Pain exploded through Ray's chest. Not hot—beyond hot. His muscles seized. His heart stopped. He couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Electricity coursed through every nerve ending, every cell, burning everything in its path.
The smell of ozone mixed with burning flesh. His flesh.
Ray felt himself falling. Or maybe flying. He couldn't tell. The world had stopped making sense.
His vision went dark at the edges, black creeping in to swallow the white.
Then nothing.
Silence.
In those final fractured seconds, as his consciousness slipped away, Ray's last thought wasn't about Challenger. Wasn't about the pentakill, or his graduation, or the job offers on his desk.
It was simpler than that.
One LP...
Of course.
Of fucking course.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
[COMPATIBILITY CONFIRMED]
[CHAMPION ARCHETYPE LOADING...]
[WELCOME TO YOUR SECOND CHANCE, SUMMONER]
Huh? Wtf?