The automatic glass doors of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport slid open.

Jorden pushed his heavy luggage cart into the chaotic arrival hall.

He was suffocating inside a black windbreaker, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and a black surgical mask covering his face.

He kept his head down, his long legs eating up the distance across the linoleum floor.

Despite the layers, his six-foot-three frame stood out like a beacon.

A girl standing near the baggage claim narrowed her eyes. Jorden reached up to adjust the collar of his windbreaker, briefly pulling down his black surgical mask to take a breath of the stuffy airport air. The sharp angle of his jawline and his distinct, cold eyes were exposed for just a fraction of a second. The girl gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief as she recognized the profile from countless championship streams. Then, her gaze dropped and locked onto the custom silver SG logo embroidered on his backpack strap, confirming her wild suspicion.

She let out a piercing, high-pitched scream.

The sound ripped through the hall.

Dozens of people turned their heads.

A mob of teenage girls holding neon signs suddenly surged forward, their sneakers squeaking against the floor.

Four airport security guards sprinted past Jorden.

They threw their arms out, forming a human barricade to hold back the crushing weight of the fans.

Jorden's jaw tightened.

He didn't break his stride.

He turned his shoulder, angling his body toward the VIP exit corridor.

Camera flashes exploded in his peripheral vision, the bright white lights stabbing at his tired eyes.

People were screaming his game ID, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings and drilling into his skull.

He pushed through the heavy fire doors, shoving them open with his shoulder.

He stepped out onto the curb.

The cold, damp Seattle wind hit his face, carrying the smell of rain and exhaust fumes.

The chill helped clear the heavy fog of jetlag in his brain.

A black Mercedes sprinter van was idling by the curb.

Daisy, the team manager, slid the side door open and waved her arm frantically.

Jorden shoved his cart forward.

He grabbed his massive suitcase by the handle, his biceps flexing as he hurled it into the trunk.

He climbed into the back of the van, his long legs cramping as he dropped into the leather captain's chair.

Daisy slammed the door shut.

The heavy thud cut off the screaming fans instantly.

The van smelled like expensive leather and air freshener.

Jorden ripped the mask off his face.

He let out a long, ragged exhale, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

He closed his eyes, the muscles in his neck screaming in protest.

Daisy reached over and pressed a cold bottle of Evian water against his arm.

"Your popularity is worse than a Hollywood actor's," she joked.

Jorden didn't smile.

He took the bottle, twisted the cap off, and downed half of it in three massive gulps.

His Adam's apple bobbed sharply against his throat.

A violent vibration against his thigh made him flinch.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his personal iPhone.

The screen lit up with the caller ID: Eleanor.

His mother.

Jorden pressed his thumb against his temple, a dull headache starting to throb behind his eyes.

He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Mom," he said, his voice raspy from sleep deprivation.

"Are you on the ground?" Eleanor demanded, her voice sharp and loud.

"Yes."

"Good. You are going to the Corbett house this weekend. No excuses."

Jorden squeezed his eyes shut.

"Mom, the team just moved back to the States. We have to set up the entire base."

"I don't care about your video games," Eleanor snapped. "Martha took care of you when you were little. You owe them a visit."

Jorden's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

He knew he couldn't win this argument.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll go buy a gift and spend half a day there."

"And dress nicely! Don't look like a homeless person!"

Eleanor hung up.

Jorden tossed the phone onto the empty seat next to him.

He turned his head, staring blankly out the tinted window at the dark green pine trees blurring past.

The name Corbett echoed in his head.

A memory surfaced: a little girl with pigtails, always crying, always following him around the yard.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint, tired smile.

He wondered what the crybaby looked like now.

Suddenly, a second phone-a dedicated black Android device he used strictly for his gaming affairs-buzzed inside his inner jacket pocket.

He pulled it out.

The screen lit up with a Discord notification.

It was a priority message from Aetheria.

Jorden's eyes darkened, the exhaustion bleeding out of his gaze as he stared at her name.

Jorden unlocked the screen, his thumb hovering over the Discord icon.

Before he could tap it, the Mercedes van slammed on its brakes.

Jorden's chest jerked forward against the seatbelt.

The phone slipped from his grip, sliding off his thigh and dropping into the dark gap between the seats.

Jorden let out a frustrated breath.

He bent over, his ribs pressing against his knees, trying to wedge his hand into the tight space.

"Sorry, boss," the driver called out from the front. "We're here. The new Bellevue base."

Jorden stopped reaching. He let out a sharp breath of frustration.

He shifted in his seat, turning his body sideways. He wedged his hand into the narrow gap between the seat and the door frame, his knuckles scraping against the metal bracket. The tips of his fingers brushed against the edge of the phone case. He pinched it and pulled it free.

He held the device up, checking the screen—no cracks. He clicked the side button; the screen lit up. Still functional.

He shoved the backup phone deep into his jacket pocket.

Then, he glanced at the empty seat beside him. His personal iPhone was still lying there where he had tossed it earlier. He picked it up, clicked it into his other pocket.

He sat up, unbuckled his seatbelt, and shoved the van door open. He stepped out onto the wet driveway.

A massive, ultra-modern mansion loomed in front of him.

The exterior walls were made almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass, reflecting the gray, overcast sky.

The team bus pulled up right behind the van.

The air brakes hissed loudly.

The five starting players of SG spilled out of the bus, their voices loud and chaotic.

Jax, the youngest player, let out a loud whistle.

Behind him, Julian and Rhys tumbled out, still mid-argument about something that had started on the plane. Julian, broad-shouldered and perpetually grinning, was insisting his solo-queue win-rate had finally overtaken Rhys's. Rhys, quieter and sharper, adjusted his glasses and muttered a dry rebuttal that made Julian laugh even louder.

"Holy shit," Jax yelled, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This is way better than that basement we had in Seoul!"

Caleb, the vice-captain, adjusted his glasses.

"The rent for this place could buy our old organization." Caleb said, his voice flat.

Daisy clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and authoritative.

"Stop staring and grab your gear! Get your peripherals inside!"

Jorden ignored the noise.

He walked straight up the concrete path to the massive wooden double doors.

He punched the security code Daisy had texted him into the digital keypad.

The lock beeped, and the heavy door clicked open.

Jorden pushed it wide.

The entire first floor had been gutted and transformed into a state-of-the-art training facility.

Five custom-built PC towers sat on a massive, curved desk, their internal RGB lights pulsing in a slow, breathing pattern.

Jorden walked straight to the center seat.

He pulled out the ergonomic chair and sat down.

He grabbed the mouse.

He dragged it across the massive mousepad, feeling the friction, testing the weight of the shell against his palm.

He reached forward and pressed the power button on the tower.

The monitor flared to life.

He opened the command prompt, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed a ping test command to the North American servers.

The numbers popped up.

Single digits. Perfect stability.

The tight muscles in Jorden's jaw finally relaxed a fraction.

The rest of the team flooded into the room, dropping heavy bags onto the hardwood floor.

They immediately started arguing over who got the master bedroom upstairs.

Daisy walked over to Jorden, holding a stack of printed papers.

She dropped a schedule on his desk.

"Logistics and meal prep times," she said.

Jorden scanned the paper, his eyes darting across the columns.

He tapped his index finger against the edge of the desk.

"Move the dinner delivery back an hour. It interrupts the evening scrim block," he ordered.

Daisy scribbled a note with a red pen.

"What about PR? We need a campaign for our return to NA."

Jorden's eyes went cold.

"No PR," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "We win the Aegis Cup next month. That's the only PR we need."

He pushed his chair back.

The wheels scraped loudly against the floor.

He stood up, his height towering over the desk.

He slammed his open palm against the wood.

The loud crack echoed through the massive room.

Every single player froze. The arguing stopped instantly.

Jorden stared them down, his gaze heavy and oppressive.

"Ten minutes. Tactical meeting in the conference room. Don't be late."

The players swallowed hard, the fear evident in their wide eyes.

They scrambled toward the stairs, grabbing their bags and sprinting up to claim their rooms.

Jorden stood alone in the quiet room.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his backup phone.

He opened Discord.

Aetheria had sent a massive wall of text.

She was furiously complaining about her mother forcing her to clean the guest room for some arrogant, annoying guy she hated from her childhood.

Jorden stared at the screen.

A low, genuine laugh rumbled in his chest.

He tapped the screen, bringing up the keyboard, ready to reply to his angry little student.

Jorden locked his phone and shoved it deep into his pocket.

He pushed open the heavy glass door of the first-floor conference room.

The room was freezing, the air conditioning blasting from the ceiling vents.

He walked to the center console and plugged his tactical tablet into the cable.

The massive wall-mounted screen flickered on.

It displayed a paused video frame of SG's final loss at the Seoul Invitational.

Exactly ten minutes later, the four players rushed into the room.

They were panting, their chests heaving as they dropped into the leather chairs around the oval table.

Jorden didn't look at them.

He pressed play.

The video started moving at half speed.

Jorden picked up a laser pointer.

A sharp red dot appeared on the screen, resting directly on Jax's character just before it died.

"You broke the cover formation," Jorden said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion.

Jax flinched as if he had been struck.

He dropped his head, his hands twisting together under the table. He didn't dare speak.

Jorden moved the red dot.

It landed on the dark area of the minimap.

"Caleb. Your vision control failed here. You let them flank us."

Caleb pushed his glasses up his nose, his fingers trembling slightly.

"I thought they were rotating to the objective," Caleb argued, his voice tight. "It was a psychological read."

Jorden tapped his tablet.

A dense spreadsheet of win-rate probabilities and pathing algorithms replaced the video.

"Your read was wrong. The math proves it. You gambled and got us killed."

The air in the room felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Even Julian, the team's loudest and most irrepressible player, sat perfectly still, holding his breath. He usually had a quip for every situation, a joke to crack the tension, but under Jorden's frozen glare, his mouth stayed firmly shut. Beside him, Rhys stared fixedly at the table, his fingers nervously adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

Jorden placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the projector.

"Starting tomorrow, we are on the NA schedule," Jorden announced. "Fourteen hours of practice a day."

A collective, pained groan slipped from the players' throats.

Jorden's eyes snapped to them, silencing the noise instantly.

"NA teams play dirty and fast," Jorden said, his voice sharp. "We will crush them with absolute mechanical superiority."

He turned and slammed his knuckles against the whiteboard, right next to the Aegis Cup logo.

"If we don't win this, you all pack your bags and go back to the academy roster."

The brutal lecture dragged on for two agonizing hours.

The tension only broke when Daisy pushed the glass door open.

She was carrying a tray of iced Americanos.

"Lunch is here," Daisy said, setting the tray down. "They need to eat, Jorden."

Jorden glanced at the heavy Rolex Submariner on his left wrist.

He gave a single, sharp nod.

"Dismissed."

The players shot out of their chairs, practically sprinting out of the room to escape the pressure.

Jorden picked up a plastic cup of iced Americano.

He took a long drink.

The bitter, freezing liquid burned down his throat, soothing his dry vocal cords.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside, the Seattle rain had started to fall, blurring the glass.

His shoulders dropped a fraction.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his backup phone.

He opened the Discord chat with Aetheria.

His fingers moved quickly over the glass screen.

"Just pretend to be sick," he typed, channeling Hex's cold, dismissive persona. "Treat the annoying guy like he doesn't exist."

He hit send.

He pictured Aetheria sitting in her room, smiling wickedly at the screen.

A soft warmth bloomed in his chest.

Suddenly, a calendar notification dropped down from the top of his screen.

It was a reminder: Visit the Corbetts.

Jorden groaned, rubbing his thumb hard against his temple.

He closed Discord and opened Google Maps.

He typed in the address Eleanor had sent him.

The app calculated the route. Forty minutes away.

He locked the phone, shoved it back into his pocket, and turned away from the window, heading to the kitchen to force down some food.