Chapter 1

It was the night our team, Spark, won the national championship, and we were at the victory party.

Vivian Feron, the daughter of our sponsor and our team manager, was working the room with a bright smile.

Just then, the ace from our rival team strode over, his gaze fixed solely on Vivian.

"Vivian, congratulations," he said. "But a ragtag team like this doesn't deserve your management skills."

"Come to our club. I promise, your talents will truly shine here."

I watched as Vivian's businesslike smile slipped away.

A hint of hesitation flickered in her eyes, but it quickly turned into steely determination.

The next day, she defected, taking our team's core tactical data and two of our main players with her.

I called her, demanding answers.

"Your idealism is just a prison for all of us," she replied.

"I'm after victory and profit, not playing pretend with you."

Then the line went dead.

*****

The busy signal drilled into my head, relentless and sharp.

The smell of champagne from the victory party still clung to my nose, blending with the throbbing hangover headache—everything felt strangely unreal.

I sat alone in the empty training room, the screen kept replaying yesterday's championship highlights, making everything feel even more surreal.

The commentator was roaring our team name, "Spark!

"It's a miracle! Spark worked a miracle! They started as nobodies and fought their way to the very top, claiming the championship!"

There I was, Ted Wood, captain, hoisting that heavy trophy, teammates cheering wildly behind me. Vivian stood right next to me, her smile outshining everyone around her.

Now, the training room was empty except for me and two clueless backups.

Our main jungler, Tank, and our main marksman, Feather, had defected with Vivian.

They'd joined Dynasty, the club we stomped yesterday, and the richest in the league.

My phone buzzed on the table—it was a message from the team group chat.

Tank: [Sorry, guys. Vivian's got a point. You gotta go where the opportunities are.]

Feather: [Ted, your tactics are amazing, but dreams don't put food on the table. Dynasty offered me triple the pay. No way I could turn that down.]

Then the system notification popped up: [Tank has left the group.]

[Feather has left the group.]

[Vivian has left the group.]

The whole chat went dead silent.

I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

One of our sub supports, Chubby, stammered, "T-Ted, what are we supposed to do now? Next season's sign-ups are about to start, and we can't even scrape together five players."

What are we supposed to do?

I was just as lost.

I built Spark from scratch, picking up players one by one from internet cafes and those solo ladder kings everyone talked about. All our startup cash came from my college savings and whatever I could scrape together from friends and family.

Later, Vivian spotted our potential and talked her dad, our sponsor, into backing us.

I thought we were the perfect mix of dreams and real life.

I handled tactics and training, she ran the business and operations.

We climbed up from the lower leagues together, pushed through endless nights of practice, and shared both the thrill of winning and the sting of losing.

I thought we were more than just teammates. I thought we were partners in every sense, ride-or-die, soulmates.

Guess I was just fooling myself.

"Your idealism is just a prison for all of us."

Her words hit me like a poisoned dart, right where it hurt the most.

The door swung open, and the landlord walked in with a professional, forced smile.

"Ted, congrats on the championship," he said. "So, uh... about the rent for this training facility—are you going to take care of it? Vivian said you'd renew for a whole year after winning, but now..."

He didn't finish, but the message was clear.

With Vivian gone, her dad's sponsorship was gone too.

We couldn't even pay next month's rent.

I got up and walked over to the window.

Down below, a red Porsche was parked by the curb, impossible to miss.

Vivian was leaning against the car, dressed in a sharp business suit. Tank and Feather were right there with her, joking around and having a good time with Dynasty's manager.

She seemed to sense my gaze and glanced up in my direction.

There was no nostalgia, no guilt—just a cool, steady calm in her eyes, and, for a split second... a trace of pity.

Like she was watching some hopeless dreamer who still hadn't woken up.

I pulled the curtains shut.

"Ted?" Chubby's voice quivered, almost breaking into tears.

I turned around, looking at him and the backup top laner—both their faces full of fear.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the anger and despair in my chest, letting it settle into a cold flame burning inside me.

"Not finished yet," I said.

"We're not finished yet. We're going to reclaim everything that belongs to us."