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.

Saturday morning.

The Seattle sky was surprisingly clear, the sunlight cutting through the wooden blinds of Jorden's second-floor bedroom.

The light cast sharp, striped shadows across the hardwood floor.

Jorden stepped out of the master bathroom.

His dark hair was dripping wet, the water running down his chest and soaking into the white towel wrapped low around his waist.

He pulled open the heavy doors of his walk-in closet.

He stared at the rows of monochromatic clothing-blacks and grays, mostly sharply tailored athletic jackets, soft solid-color t-shirts, and official team uniforms. It was a wardrobe that perfectly reflected his disciplined, almost militaristic lifestyle.

He grabbed a hanger holding a black SG hoodie, then stopped.

He remembered his mother's screaming voice.

He let go of the hoodie.

He reached further back into the closet and pulled out a soft, navy-blue cashmere sweater.

He grabbed a pair of tailored black slacks.

He dropped the towel, pulled the clothes on, and walked over to the full-length mirror.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

The man in the mirror didn't look like an esports tyrant.

He looked like an Ivy League graduate.

He grabbed his leather wallet and his car keys off the nightstand.

He walked down the stairs.

The massive house was dead quiet.

The only sound was the hum of the blender in the kitchen.

Daisy was standing at the counter, pouring a thick green vegetable smoothie into a glass.

She looked up, her eyes widening as she took in Jorden's outfit.

She let out a loud, obnoxious wolf-whistle.

"Going on a blind date, boss?" she teased.

Jorden felt a flash of irritation.

He glared at her, his eyes cold.

"I'm executing a political mission for my mother," he said flatly.

Daisy laughed, taking a sip of her terrible green drink.

"Enjoy your day off. Tomorrow at 8 AM, the fourteen-hour hell begins."

Jorden gave a curt nod.

He walked to the entryway, slipped his feet into a pair of pristine white leather sneakers, and pushed the front door open.

The crisp morning air hit his face.

He walked to the garage and pressed the unlock button on his key fob.

The headlights of a sleek, black Audi SUV flashed twice.

Jorden pulled the heavy door open and slid into the driver's seat.

He hit the ignition button.

The engine purred to life.

He typed the Corbett address into the dashboard navigation screen.

He backed out of the driveway and merged onto the highway heading toward downtown Seattle.

Twenty minutes later, the navigation told him to take an exit near a high-end shopping district.

Jorden flicked his turn signal and pulled off the highway.

He parked the Audi in front of a small, vintage-looking French bakery.

He pulled the keys out and stepped onto the sidewalk.

He pushed the bakery door open.

A bell chimed loudly.

The air inside was thick with the smell of melted butter and vanilla.

Jorden walked up to the glass display case.

He stared at the colorful, delicate pastries, feeling completely out of his element.

He remembered the little girl crying in the dirt.

Girls liked chocolate, right?

He pointed a long finger at the glass.

"I'll take the biggest Black Forest cherry cake you have," he told the cashier.

The girl behind the counter smiled and carefully placed the massive cake into a bright pink box.

She tied a shiny silver ribbon around it.

Jorden paid, grabbed the box by the ribbon, and walked out.

He felt ridiculous holding the bright pink box against his dark cashmere sweater.

He opened the passenger door of the Audi and set the box down gently on the leather seat.

He got back behind the wheel and put the car in drive.

The tall glass buildings of the city slowly faded away, replaced by massive oak trees and sprawling suburban lawns.

Jorden's chest felt tight.

He rolled down his window, letting the cold wind whip against his face.

He started rehearsing what he was going to say to Martha.

"In five hundred feet, your destination is on the right," the robotic GPS voice announced.

Jorden pressed his foot against the brake pedal.

Up ahead, a massive black iron gate blocked the road, attached to a stone security booth.