The next morning hit Liam like a hammer.
The sunlight pouring into the small hotel room was almost offensive after the brutal match against Tusk. His body ached from sitting tense for hours, but the fire inside him hadn't dulled overnight—it had only grown.
Today was the semi-finals.
Today was LAN.
He sat up, rubbing his face. His phone buzzed with a reminder from Coach Nolan:"Meet in lobby. 9:00 AM sharp. Venue transport leaves 9:15."
They were facing Team MFR one of the tournament's deadliest rosters. A squad known for suffocating map control and razor-sharp execution. If they had trouble adapting against Tusk, MFR would be an even bigger storm.
But Liam wasn't scared.
He was ready.
Downstairs, the lobby buzzed with quiet excitement. Players from other teams, coaches, organizers. It was a different energy now: sharper, heavier. This was no scrim, no gaming cafe.
This was real.
Matt, Ava, Clara, and Daniel joined him, all looking more awake than he felt. Coach Nolan gave them a nod as they gathered.
"You earned your spot here" he said, his voice carrying authority without needing to shout. "Now you show them why you belong."
They piled into the transport van still wearing their team hoodies, gear bags slung over their shoulders and drove toward the venue.
The closer they got, the more Liam's heart pounded not from nerves, but anticipation.
The arena wasn't huge by professional standards, but compared to the cramped cafe setup, it might as well have been a stadium. Rows of seats lined up before a massive stage. Huge banners hung overhead MFR on one side, their own team logo on the other.
Everything was polished and professional: lights, cameras, sponsor booths, giant LED screens displaying the team matchups.
And everywhere he looked, there were fans.
Not hundreds. Thousands.
Real people. Cheering. Holding signs. Wearing team jerseys.
Liam's mouth went dry.
This was LAN.
Backstage, their preparation room was smaller than he expected just five gaming setups in a dimly lit room, a table full of energy drinks and water bottles, and a couch shoved against the wall.
Coach Nolan gathered them close.
"MFR's going to test you in ways Tusk didn't" he said. "They won't just counter-strat. They'll suffocate you. They'll cut off your options before you even realize they're gone."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"But listen to me: they're not invincible. They bleed. You just have to find the crack and drive a knife into it."
Matt grinned, bouncing a little on his heels. "Sounds simple when you say it like that."
Coach Nolan gave a rare smile. "It is simple. It's just not easy."
Liam adjusted his headset, feeling the familiar weight settle around his neck. His monitor glowed in front of him, the game client open, the warm-up lobby ticking down.
He closed his eyes for a second.Breathe. Trust yourself. Trust the team.
The production team gave them a five-minute warning.
When Liam opened his eyes again, they were calm. Steady.
Ready.
The walk to the stage felt surreal.
The crowd roared as both teams stepped out MFR first, looking confident, wearing black and silver jerseys. Then their own squad, greeted by a smaller but no less passionate group of fans.
Spotlights followed them. Cameras captured every step. Liam caught a glimpse of himself on the giant screen overhead serious, focused and almost laughed. Is that really me?
They took their seats at the arranged setups, adjusted their keyboards, mice, and monitors.
Casters were hyping up the match through booming speakers:
"A classic matchup MFR's experience versus this hungry new squad!""Will the rookies pull off another upset?"
Liam didn't hear it. Didn't hear the crowd anymore, either.
The world shrank to the screen in front of him. His hands on the keyboard. His teammates' voices in his headset.
The countdown began.
5...4...3...2...1.
Game on.
Map 1: Den
MFR came out swinging.
They dominated the pistol round, crashing onto sites with perfectly timed smokes and flashes. Liam's squad barely got a kill in before being wiped off the map.
Second round: Same story.
Third round: Same story.
0–3.
A knot of frustration twisted in Liam's stomach.They're reading us too easily. We're too static.
He toggled to comms. "Change it up. Play aggressive angles. Early fights."
Ava nodded, immediately swapping to a hyper-aggressive Operator (sniper rifle) setup. Matt and Daniel pushed up with her, not giving MFR the breathing room they were used to.
It worked.
The fourth round, they clawed back control, catching MFR off-guard with their boldness.
They fought tooth and nail, scraping back rounds wherever they could.
But MFR's fundamentals were brutal.Even when they lost a fight, they traded efficiently.Even when they fell behind in numbers, they played like a unit.
By halftime, it was 4–8.
Coach Nolan's voice came through their mics during the break:
"You're in this. They're not gods. They're just players. Make them bleed."
Second half, they stormed back.
On attack side, Liam's calling shined. Quick rotations. Misdirection. Double fake executes that left MFR scrambling.
Ava pulled off a jaw-dropping 1v3 clutch that had the crowd screaming.
Matt hit two back-to-back headshots to win a crucial eco-round.
The momentum shifted.
8–9.
9–9.
10–9.
But MFR didn't panic. They tightened up, slowed the pace, forced mistakes and capitalized.
Final score: 10–13. MFR takes Map 1.
The team sagged in their chairs, but Coach Nolan immediately jumped into the comms.
"Eyes forward. Reset. Next map."
No anger. No blame.
Just focus.
Map 2: Zephy Grounds
Three sites. Endless possibilities.
MFR expected a standard split control. Liam gave them chaos.
He called for fast rushes one round, then a triple lurk the next. Constantly changing speeds, constantly throwing weird setups at them.
It worked.
They stunned MFR with aggression and creativity.
Daniel, usually the quiet support player, had a monster game anchoring sites with almost surgical precision.Clara's smokes cut off MFR's sightlines at just the right moments.Matt's aim finally caught fire, hitting crucial opening duels.
The crowd roared louder every round they won.
6–3.
7–4.
8–4 halftime.
Liam could feel it they were in MFR's heads now.
Second half started rough. MFR swung back hard, winning two quick rounds with coordinated executes.
But this time, Liam didn't panic.
He called a risky mid-stack. And it worked three kills in seconds.Next round, a trap play with a late lurk. Another win.
11–6.
12–7.
Match point.
One more round.
One more chance to force a third map.
Liam called for a fake-heavy setup: sell a hard push C site, then flood into A.
The team executed perfectly.
They planted. They held.
Final scoreboard:13–7.Map 2 won. Series tied 1–1.
Map 3: Decider - Townage
Everything on the line.
Winner to the Grand Finals.
Loser goes home.
Liam's hands shook slightly as he gripped his mouse. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply.
He wasn't scared.
He was alive.
The first few rounds were brutal.
MFR fought like animals. Trades, clutches, impossible retakes.
4–4.
5–5.
Neither side could pull away.
The crowd was on the edge of their seats with every shot.
Coach Nolan called a timeout.
His voice was low, calm.
"You want this? Take it. It's right there."
Simple.
But powerful.
They returned to the server with fire.
Ava pulled off a critical 2v4 clutch.Daniel had a round-saving defuse by milliseconds.Matt cracked open sites with fearless entry frags.
8–6 halftime.
Switch sides.
Now defense.
MFR struck fast. Hard executes. Brawls in the middle of bomb sites.
8–8.
9–8.
9–9.
Liam's heart hammered, but he stayed calm.
"Trust the setups. Trust the trades."
They leaned into their teamwork, baiting and punishing MFR's aggression.
10–9.
11–9.
But MFR refused to die. They won a desperate thrifty round pistols against rifles and suddenly it was 11–11.
One mistake now could cost the match.
One hero play could win it.
Liam took a risk: he pushed solo down mid, catching two MFR players rotating carelessly.
Ava locked down B site with her sniper.
12–11. Match point.
Last round.
Final round. Nerves jangling. Every shot mattered.
MFR tried a desperate fast push A site.
Daniel was ready he dropped one with a grenade.Matt traded another.Clara dropped her ultimate, forcing MFR off their plant.
Scrambling. Chaos.
Liam moved like instinct perfect crosshair placement, perfect timing.
He gunned down the last two players trying to flee site.
Victory.
Final scoreboard:13–11.
They'd done it.
The crowd exploded.
Their names chanted.
Cameras flashing. Casters shouting.
Liam ripped off his headset, jumping up as the team surged around him, laughing, shouting, hugging.
They had made it.
Grand Finals.
From underdogs, from scrim leaks, from nearly falling apart against Tusk—
They were here.
The dream was alive.
And tomorrow, they would fight for the championship.