"Pipe down! Golden Mouse is hosting a League of the Ancient tournament, two weeks from now!"
Old Man Jo's voice cut through the café's din like a battle cry, silencing even the most heated matches.
"Five-man teams, thirty-two brackets, single elimination. Prize is $2,500 cash, plus sponsored gear—keyboards, monitors, pro-grade. Entry's $50 per team. Sign-ups open at 8 AM at the match day."
Aiden froze mid-conversation, his tired muscles suddenly alert. The announcement meant something bigger than their recent 3v3 victory—it meant a shot at real money. His gaze drifted to Marcus and Liam, who'd already turned toward him, the same calculation running behind their eyes.
The crowd erupted—shouts, slammed tables, bets already forming. Aiden's pulse jumped. $2,500 split five was $500, nearly half a $1,200 pod. His runes could pull $250, a sponsored keyboard maybe $200. The insurance from his father's crash, gutted by hospital bills, had maybe $100 left in savings. That was $1,050—he'd need $150 more, grindable in two weeks of bets. Eternal Realms was no longer just a fantasy. It was becoming a target.
"We're doing this," Aiden said, locking eyes with Marcus, then Liam. Marcus's grin was all-in, Liam's nod razor-focused.
Elena's voice cut through before they could plan, sharp as her archer's aim. She stood by station 24, gear gleaming, her 1v1 with Aiden still unresolved. "Tournament, Architect?" she said, smirking. "Ambitious for a pickup crew."
"Ambitious enough for you," Aiden countered. "We need five. Me, Marcus, Liam, two more. You in?"
Her eyes flicked over them, skeptical. "I don't play with amateurs. I win, or I walk."
Marcus bristled. "3v3 last night, 600 gold. Took ThunderAxe's squad clean. We're not rookies."
"Against café scrubs," Elena shot back. "I've fought pros. Your shield's sturdy, Fortress, but it's not cutting-edge."
Liam leaned forward, voice low. "Cutting-edge gets sloppy. Run with us, or miss the prize."
Aiden pressed the advantage. "$2,500's real, Elena. Your bow's lethal—I've seen it. We're stronger with you."
She crossed her arms, weighing him. "You're banking big on this."
"Always," Aiden said, steady. "Your call."
Elena's smirk softened, just a hair. "Alright, just temporary. Don't expect me to drag you across the finish."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Aiden said, relief tinged with caution. Elena's skill was a coup, but her loyalty was a question mark.
Jo shuffled up, clipboard in hand. "You lot in? Need a fifth and that $50 by tomorrow."
"We'll have it," Aiden said, picturing Sophia—a healer whose clutch revives had turned a pickup match, her cool head a balance to Elena's spark. "We're good."
Jo squinted, then dropped a bomb: "One thing—Imperial Vanguard's sponsoring the gear. Blackthorn's outfit. They're playing angles."
Aiden's gut tightened. Blackthorn's loss still burned, his threats a cold edge to every win. Sponsoring meant power, maybe traps. Their rivalry, simmering since that night, flared anew.
"Classic," Liam muttered, his scar catching the light. "He'll want to run the show."
"We'll take it from him," Aiden said, voice firm. "Our game, not his."
Jo chuckled, moving off. "Don't choke."
They claimed a table near the exit, screens dark, soda cans cluttering the edge. Aiden started the strategy talk. "Two weeks. What's your edge?"
Marcus went first, grounded. "I'm the rock. Hold the line, eat damage, keep them locked so you can hit."
Liam's shrug was sharp. "I'm the ghost. Flank, disrupt, out. I make chaos."
Elena's tone was clipped, testing. "I'm precision. Long-range, clean shots, high damage. Don't make me cover your messes."
Aiden took it in, seeing the shape. Marcus held, Liam broke, Elena finished. His traps, mana control, and fight-reading would bind them. "I set the field," he said. "Traps, timing, counters. We don't slug it out—we outthink them."
Marcus nodded, but Elena's brow arched. "Pretty words. Better work against Blackthorn's cash."
"It will," Liam said, conviction slicing through his usual reserve. "We're not folding."
Aiden's mind was on the brackets—Blackthorn's Vanguard would be pros, sleek and ruthless. But pros had blind spots, and he'd find them. The $2,500 was his bridge—$500, $250 from runes, $200 from a keyboard, $100 from savings, $150 to grind. It added up, if he stayed sharp.
As they stood, Aiden paused, glancing at them. "You guys chasing Eternal Realms too?" he asked, casual but curious. "$2,500's a chunk. Got ways to make it work?"
Marcus rubbed his neck, half-smiling. "Dunno. Gotta see what shakes out."
Liam's lips twitched. "Maybe. I don't plan that far."
Elena tilted her head, smirking. "I've got my own moves. Don't need a roadmap."
Aiden nodded, letting it lie. Their paths weren't his—not for Eternal Realms, not yet. He'd carve his own, starting here.
He hit station 23, the match queue pulling him in. Blackthorn's shadow hung heavy, but $2,500 was brighter. Marcus, Liam, Elena, a fifth to find—they'd fight for the prize, and Aiden would fight for his pod. One move at a time.