The room was quiet, but Liam's mind was anything but. His thoughts were a storm of frustration, regret, and anger. The match against Lucas kept replaying in his head, every mistake more vivid than the last.
His hands rested on the keyboard, motionless now. The adrenaline had faded, but the sting of failure remained. He couldn't shake the sound of Lucas's voice from his ears.
The words had cut deeper than they should have. Liam had told himself he was over the past. But clearly, the past wasn't done with him.
He logged off and stared at the screen, watching as the lobby faded into darkness. His team had already disconnected. Only Matt had stayed back for a bit, but even he knew when to give Liam space.
Liam didn't say a word. He just sat there, eyes unfocused, thoughts spiraling. His ego, the one thing he had tried to keep in check, had snapped loose.
He pushed back from the desk slowly. The chair creaked beneath him, echoing in the stillness. His room felt colder now, emptier.
Pacing felt like the only thing that made sense. He needed movement, needed to burn off the storm inside. But no matter how much he walked, the thoughts didn't leave.
It wasn't just the match. It was what the match meant. Lucas had gotten to him—again.
He grabbed his phone, scrolled through old texts, and found one he hadn't dared to delete. It was from the night of the NOTA Grand Finals. A single line: "Still think ego wins games?"
That had been the breaking point. A former coach, disappointed in Liam's recklessness. The memory returned with a sharpness he didn't expect.
Liam remembered the final moments of that game. How he'd thrown away a lead by pushing too hard, trying to humiliate Lucas instead of playing smart. He'd been humiliated instead.
He had been the golden boy of NOTA once. Flashy, brilliant, unstoppable until he wasn't. That fall from grace had changed him.
Or so he had believed.
A knock at his door brought him back to the present. It was Matt, holding two cans of soda. "Thought you could use one," he said simply.
Liam took it without a word. The cold of the can grounded him, if only for a second. Matt sat on the bed, waiting for him to say something.
"I lost it" Liam finally muttered. "He got to me. Again."
Matt nodded. "I know. I saw it happen."
Liam laughed bitterly. "Of course you did. Everyone probably did."
Matt took a sip of his soda before replying. "You know what I saw? A guy who's still carrying too much weight from something that should've been let go."
Liam stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're still playing like you've got something to prove to someone who doesn't matter."
Liam didn't respond. The words stung more because they were true. Matt always knew how to hit where it hurt but not to wound, to wake him up.
"I've been there, man" Matt continued. "I used to chase wins just to shut people up. Never worked. Just made me bitter."
Liam looked away. "It's different with Lucas. He makes it personal."
"So what?" Matt shrugged. "Let him. He wants to play mind games? Let him play alone."
The words lingered in the air. Liam wanted to believe them. But part of him wasn't ready to let go of the grudge.
That night, sleep didn't come easy. Liam lay in bed, eyes on the ceiling. His mind was a battlefield of what-ifs and regrets.
Eventually, he sat up and turned on his monitor again. But this time, he didn't log into Vanguard. Instead, he opened his VODs.
He watched the match. Slowly. Each round, each decision, each mistake.
There was no Lucas here, no voice in his ear. Just gameplay. Just facts.
He saw where his aim had slipped. Where his positioning had been off. And more importantly where his decisions had been fueled by anger.
Liam scribbled down notes on a pad nearby. Words like "greedy," "overcommitted," and "no comms" filled the page. He underlined the word ego three times.
Hours passed without him realizing. The sun was peeking through his curtains. And yet, for the first time since the match, Liam felt clear-headed.
He stepped out for a walk, hoodie on, earbuds in. The chill morning air helped ease the tension. He wasn't running away from the loss anymore he was walking toward understanding it.
Back home, he messaged the team group chat.
Liam: "Morning. I watched the VOD. Let's run practice later I've got stuff to fix."
Matt responded almost instantly.
Matt: "There he is."
The others chimed in with thumbs-up emojis and short, supportive lines. No one brought up Lucas. They didn't need to.
Liam grabbed a protein bar and went back to his setup. He cleaned up his desk. Tidied his space. It felt like clearing the battlefield.
Later that day, they played a ranked match against a strong team and Liam didn't play like a man possessed he played like a man in control.
He took fights when they made sense. He backed off when the odds weren't in his favor. He listened more, talked less.
The team noticed. Matt smiled during a timeout. "Told you you were better now."
Liam just nodded. He wasn't playing to prove anything today. He was just playing to play well.
That night, as he lay in bed, the doubts started creeping in again. But this time, he didn't spiral. He faced them.
He didn't need to beat Lucas to validate himself. He needed to beat his past self. That was the real opponent.
He opened a new note on his phone.
Checklist for the Tournament:
1. Patience > Pride.
2. Strategy > Emotion.
3. Team > Ego.
He read it twice. Then added a fourth line.
4. Win the right way.
The notification buzzed again. A new message from Lucas.
Lucas: "Guess that performance was your version of a comeback? Cute. Let's see if you last in the tournament."
Liam stared at the message. Then turned off his phone without replying.
He didn't need to say anything. His focus wasn't on Lucas anymore. It was on the path ahead.
And this time, he was walking it with purpose.