Benched Before the Finals, Crowned by His Rivals

The night before the Global Finals, Derek Cole proposed a dare with my starting spot on the line.

Tessa Quinn, an academy trainee, and I would take turns answering strategy questions. Every wrong answer meant surrendering a piece of gear.

Once the mouse, keyboard, and headset were all gone, the person sitting in my chair would be tomorrow's starter.

The coach and team manager, Marcus Walsh, were both there, and the session recording light on the wall was on.

Any change to the Finals roster required documentation, and this training room was set to auto-archive.

I thought Derek was joking until he slid my professional account key to the center of the table.

The silver card stopped right beside Tessa's hand. My registered tag, TIME, was engraved in the bottom-right corner.

Derek tapped the table twice.

"First question. What's Radiance's core strategy?"

"Protect-the-carry."

Every championship roster for the past three years had been built around bot lane. The answer wasn't up for debate.

Derek liked to keep bot lane pushed up. I calculated the enemy team's response times so he could chase low-health targets while I sealed off every escape route.

He never looked back in teamfights because I was always right behind him.

Tessa propped her chin on her hand and thought for a few seconds.

"I'd go jungle carry."

"Tessa's correct."

Derek raised his hand first. Joey Bennett and the others followed immediately.

The coach closed his tactics board and avoided my eyes.

"The new patch puts more weight on jungle control. Majority rules."

Three days ago, he'd told me to build the Finals roster around bot lane.

Now Tessa had brought in sponsorship money, Joey's contract renewal was in Derek's hands, and suddenly strategy was something that could be changed by a vote.

Derek held out his hand in front of me.

"Chloe. A bet's a bet."

I unplugged my mouse, and the cable tugged at the old injury on my wrist.

It was a limited edition model, custom-made after our first championship. The manufacturer had adjusted the weight for my hand and shifted the side buttons by about an eighth of an inch.

My name, Chloe Harper, was engraved on the shell.

Derek took the mouse and plugged it into Tessa's computer himself.

Tessa flipped it to the engraved side and covered my name with her palm.

"So light. No wonder you're so steady, Chloe. That gear must do a lot of the work."

"She's got a bad hand injury. She can't use a regular mouse for long."

Derek straightened the cable for Tessa without even asking if my wrist was hurting.

The second question asked who would make the call during a level-one fight in the deciding game.

I answered the shot-caller. Tessa answered the team captain.

Derek declared her the winner, and my mechanical keyboard was carried away.

The third question asked who decided a mid-game strategy change.

I said the shot-caller had instant decision-making authority. Tessa insisted on a team vote.

The others raised their hands again, and my noise-canceling headset ended up in her lap.

Tessa ran her fingers over the three championship stars on the headset.

"Will these count as mine now too?"

"Those are championships I won."

Her eyes reddened instantly.

Derek stepped in front of her, his expression darkening.

"She's playing for Radiance tomorrow. What's wrong with her wearing a championship headset?"

"So you've already decided she's starting?"

No one in the room answered. Derek walked over to my computer and gripped the account key.

"Last question. Who plays in the Finals tomorrow?"

Tessa settled into my gaming chair and spun around to face me with a smile.

"Me."

Derek pulled the key, and my practice account locked instantly.

That card was bound to my identity. Tessa couldn't compete with it even if she had it.

He placed it in her palm anyway, just to show me that this seat was his to give.

"Tess starts in jungle tomorrow. Joey, you're moving to support."

"You're handing a trainee the Global Finals?"

"Radiance has three titles in a row. You think we can't win without you?"

Derek leaned against the table edge, his patience spent.

"Your hand is wrecked and your champion pool's outdated. Sitting one out is the organization doing you a favor."

I looked at Tessa. Her academy evaluations covered only twelve matches, seven of them losses. She hadn't even memorized Radiance's basic callouts.

"She doesn't have what it takes for Worlds."

"Like nobody else ever has an off day?"

Derek squeezed the key.

"Chloe Harper, you're twenty-six. Are you seriously going to fight a nineteen-year-old rookie over a spot?"

Joey piled on.

"We can swap in any support and still win. Don't tell me you actually think Radiance can't function without you."

By now, I finally saw the game for what it was.

They wanted me to surrender shot-calling authority and the starting spot myself, then admit that seven years of championships had nothing to do with me.

Everyone assumed I couldn't bear to leave Derek. No matter how much they humiliated me, I'd stay and clean up their mess.

I pulled the key from Derek's hand and snapped it in two.

A sharp crack. The card split right through my name.

Derek grabbed my right wrist, his palm pressing directly on the old surgical scar.

"Chloe Harper, have you lost your mind!"

Pain shot from the bone up to my fingertips. I pried his hand off and tossed the broken card into the trash.

"Tomorrow's Finals? You can play support for her yourselves."

Derek chased me to the door.

"Walk out of Radiance and what team is going to want a twenty-six-year-old washed-up support?"

"Go ahead and leave, but don't you dare come crawling back!"

I went back to my room, locked the door, and pulled up a message I'd received three days ago.

Nathan Pierce had asked if I'd be willing to call the shots for a team that actually respected me.

I sent back two words.

[Signing tonight.]

The call came immediately.

"Nightfall's starting support has acute appendicitis. The League approved the emergency free agent clause."

"But you still have a year left on your Radiance contract."

I opened the League's evidence preservation portal.

"They'll let me go willingly."

Outside my door, Derek was still soothing Tessa.

"Her tantrum won't last through the night. She'll come crawling back to apologize in the morning."

I submitted the training room recording for evidence preservation.

They wanted more than anyone to prove I was worthless without Radiance.