Chapter 2
The news spread like wildfire through the esports scene.
[Champion Team Disbands at Lightning Speed! Manager and star players jump ship to their arch-rival!]
[Idealism Shattered? Spark's captain Ted Wood could end up losing the most!]
The internet was flooded with comments.
[LMAO, they just won the championship and already broke up? Is Spark just a joke or what?]
[Ted is just all talk. Does he really think passion alone can win in pro gaming?]
[Vivian made the smart move. You gotta follow the money, not some idealist like Ted, or you'll end up starving.]
[Tank and Feather are smart, too. They got their trophy and fame, now they're off to make real money.]
My phone was blowing up. Some people were just calling to laugh at me, others wanted the inside scoop, and a few reporters were trying to interview me—the so-called "abandoned fool."
I didn't pick up any of them.
I put my phone on silent and tossed it aside.
Right now, none of this drama mattered. The only thing I cared about was making it through.
I withdrew all the prize money we won from the championship, after giving the team their share.
Then, swallowing my pride, I hit up my college roommate for a loan.
Finally, I gazed at the gleaming championship trophy sitting in my cabinet.
I wrapped it in a cloth and packed it into my backpack.
Half an hour later, I walked into a second-hand luxury shop.
"Hey, boss, can you tell me how much this is worth?" I asked, setting the trophy on the counter.
The shop owner, a middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses, picked up the trophy and examined the intricate patterns and the inscription on the base.
"Solid gold? Kid, this is a championship trophy. Are you really willing to part with it?" he asked.
"It's just a trophy," I said calmly. "The honor it represents is something I carry inside, not in this piece of metal."
The owner glanced at me, nodded, and said nothing more.
He took it to weigh and run some tests, then quoted me a price.
"100 grand," he said.
"Deal," I replied.
I didn't haggle.
With the cash in hand, I renewed the lease for another three months right away.
The landlord looked at me like I was crazy.
"Why are you doing this, Ted? Everyone's gone. What's the point of sticking around in this empty place?" he asked.
"I'll find people," I replied, holding onto my faith.
I put the rest of the money in my account and stared at the number. At least now, I felt a bit steadier inside.
But honestly, that cash was a drop in the bucket when it came to running a pro team.
We needed new players.
And not just any players—they had to be strong enough to take on Dynasty, the galactic juggernaut of the scene.
But where was I supposed to find them?
All the top talent had already been snatched up by the big clubs.
The only ones left on the market were the scraps nobody wanted.
I holed up in my room for three days and nights, barely seeing the light of day.
I combed through every solo queue leaderboard on every server, and watched game footage from every minor league and academy team out there.
All I ate was bread, and whenever I couldn't keep my eyes open, I'd just pass out right at my desk.
Only one thought consumed me: I had to find them.
I was searching for those who'd been overlooked, underestimated, and cast aside, but still had that spark burning inside them.
Just like I used to be.
On the morning of the fourth day, with bloodshot eyes, I typed an ID onto the screen.
Swift Chris.