Key Story (1) - Chapter 12
The glow from Raxian's monitor bathed his room in cool blue light, casting shadows that stretched across the cluttered floor. Posters of his favorite esports teams lined the walls, but tonight, they felt like silent judges, watching as he queued up for another game of Ekko.
He adjusted his headset, his jaw clenched tightly as he waited for the loading screen to appear. The familiar, rhythmic hum of his computer usually calmed him, but tonight, a different kind of tension buzzed in the air. His fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, the echo of his last practice match still fresh in his mind.
Victory was nothing new to him—his Ekko plays had become sharper, more refined with each game, but the looming fear gnawed at him like a thorn he couldn't quite pull out. What if Ekko gets banned? The thought had been circling in his head for days, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the one thing he knew how to control: his gameplay.
His monitor flickered to life, the game loading in. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied the matchups. It was his comfort zone, this world of calculations and outplays, where everything made sense. But tonight, even as he danced through the jungle and pulled off a perfect Chronobreak, a nagging voice lingered in the back of his mind.
The match ended with the familiar ping of victory, but the adrenaline that usually followed was missing. Raxian's gaze drifted to the chat log as he exited the game, the empty space a reminder of the real challenge ahead. He couldn't keep dodging the question that loomed over him like a shadow.
What if they ban Ekko? He stared at the champion selection screen, his fingers hovering over the list of mid laners. Names like LeBlanc, Sylas, and Kassadin flashed by, but each one felt like a risk he wasn't ready to take.
Raxian leaned back in his chair, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could still hear AkarisLite's words echoing in his mind—those moments when she'd hinted at the importance of adaptability, of leaning on his team rather than trying to carry every game alone. The memory twisted something inside him, forcing him to confront a truth he'd been ignoring.
Have I been relying on Ekko as a crutch? He clenched his jaw, the thought hitting harder than he'd like to admit. It wasn't just about the champion—it was about what Ekko represented. Safety. Predictability. A way to shield himself from the unknown.
But this tournament was different. This was his chance to prove himself, not just to the people around him, but to himself. And deep down, he knew that playing it safe wouldn't get him where he needed to go.
His fingers twitched over the keyboard, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, he hovered over LeBlanc's icon and locked in a practice match. The loading screen flickered to life, a sense of dread settling in his chest. LeBlanc was tricky—fragile, precise, requiring a different rhythm than the relentless assault he was used to with Ekko.
The game began, and as he stumbled through the early laning phase, frustration bubbled to the surface. His fingers fumbled with the combos, the timing awkward and clumsy. Every mistake felt like a slap, every death a reminder that he was starting from zero again.
But he didn't quit. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep going, even as the enemy mid laner taunted him in chat. A part of him hated this—hated feeling like a novice again—but he pushed that feeling aside. If this is what it takes... he thought, blinking away the frustration as he respawned for the third time.
As the game dragged on, he caught a glimpse of what AkarisLite had meant. In moments when he managed to land a clean chain or dodge a critical skillshot, he felt a flicker of that old confidence. It was shaky, uncertain, but it was there. And for the first time in a long while, Raxian let himself consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way through this—Ekko or no Ekko.
He leaned back in his chair when the match finally ended, closing his eyes for a moment as the afterglow of the game faded. His body ached with exhaustion, but there was a faint ember of determination still burning inside him.
No turning back now, he thought, the words settling into his mind like a promise. As he exited the practice game, he glanced at the clock on his desktop—2:37 a.m. He'd pay for it in the morning, but for now, it didn't matter.
He queued up again, this time hovering over Kassadin's icon, his grip tightening on the mouse. One more game. Just one more. Because if he was going to make this work, he'd have to face his fear head-on.
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Raxian's eyes burned from staring at the screen for so long, but he pushed through the exhaustion, his fingers flying over the keyboard with a sense of desperate urgency. The sun was starting to rise, spilling soft morning light into his room, but he barely noticed. His mind was too focused on mastering the champions he'd never given much time to before.
LeBlanc, Kassadin, Sylas... come on, come on, he muttered under his breath, queuing up for yet another game. His back ached, and the stiffness in his shoulders was a constant reminder that he should've taken a break hours ago. But every time he thought about shutting down the computer, he remembered his teammates—the trust they'd put in him, the chance they were all taking together.
It wasn't just about him anymore. He couldn't afford to be the weak link, couldn't let them down. He owed it to Fayne, Raze, Sable, and even Milo—to show them that he could adapt, that he could be more than just an Ekko one-trick. He had to prove it, not just for his own pride, but for the team they were trying to build.
He stumbled through matches, making mistakes that made him grit his teeth, but he didn't stop. Each game was a new lesson, each loss a challenge to learn something different. The timer on his last game hit zero, and the victory screen flashed, but Raxian barely registered it. His head buzzed with exhaustion, and he knew he'd be dead on his feet at the lunch meeting later that day. But for now, he allowed himself a small, tired smile. At least I'm trying, he thought, glancing at the clock—7:14 a.m.
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The midday sun was bright as Raxian made his way to the small diner where he, Sable, and Raze had agreed to meet. His steps were slow, and he could feel the lack of sleep weighing on his shoulders like a leaden cloak, but he forced himself to stay focused. He pushed open the door to the diner, the familiar chime of the bell above the door ringing in his ears.
Sable was already there, sitting in a booth near the window, scrolling through her phone with a focused expression. She glanced up when Raxian walked in, raising an eyebrow at the dark circles under his eyes. "You look like you got run over by a truck," she remarked dryly, though there was a hint of concern in her voice.
Raxian managed a wry smile as he slid into the booth across from her. "Yeah, well, that's what grinding through the night looks like," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Figured it's time I learned something other than Ekko, you know?"
Sable studied him for a moment, then gave a small, approving nod. "About time. You can't rely on one trick forever. How's it going?"
Raxian leaned back, letting out a long sigh. "Rough, honestly. But I'm getting there. Slowly. Just... don't expect anything flashy if Ekko gets banned, alright?"
A faint smile touched Sable's lips. "Noted."
A few minutes later, Raze burst into the diner, his usual energy radiating off him as he waved over to them. "Yo, yo! Sorry I'm late, line was crazy," he said, plopping down next to Raxian. He shot him a sideways glance, then grinned. "Dude, you look like you haven't slept in a week."
"Not far off," Raxian replied, chuckling tiredly. "Let's just say I've been doing some... late-night research."
Raze raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but didn't press the matter. Instead, he pulled out his phone and tapped open a note app. "Okay, so, Fayne couldn't make it, but I promised her I'd take notes. And Milo's, well... you know how he is. But he sent over some suggestions for our champ pool and strats."
Sable nodded, glancing between Raxian and Raze as she folded her arms. "Good. We'll make sure they're caught up later. For now, let's focus on how we're going to cover each other's weaknesses."
As they ordered their food, the conversation flowed back and forth, shifting from light banter to more serious discussions about their upcoming games. Raxian listened intently, forcing himself to stay alert even as his mind threatened to drift from lack of sleep. He could feel a strange sense of unity settling in among the three of them—a feeling he hadn't realized he'd been missing.
They strategized, going over potential picks and bans, discussing how they could handle different scenarios. But through it all, Raxian couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the uncertainty, this was exactly where he needed to be. We're really doing this, he thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest.
As they wrapped up their meeting, Sable glanced at Raxian again, her expression thoughtful. "Keep grinding those champs, Raxian. You'll get there. And if you need advice, you know where to find me."
He nodded, meeting her gaze with a determination that he hadn't felt in a long time. "Thanks, Sable. I'm... I'm gonna make it work."
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The afternoon sun dipped low, casting a warm glow through Raxian's window as he settled in front of his monitor, slipping on his headset. His fingers tapped out a quick message to the team in their chat, feeling the usual rush of adrenaline before a game.
Raxian:
Alright, last one before tomorrow. Let's make it count.
He leaned back in his chair, his mind focused. The past few nights had been rough—learning new champions wasn't easy, but he wasn't backing down. His practice with picks like Sylas and Yone had started to pay off, but he knew the real test would come with the feedback from the team. A part of him still worried about dragging them down if Ekko got banned. But he had to push through.
Raze:
Can't believe we're actually doing this. Raze's voice crackled through the headset, a mix of excitement and nerves. Never thought you'd swap from Ekko, man.
Sable:
Better late than never, she chimed in, her tone light but carrying an underlying sense of focus. I'm just glad you're finally adapting, Raxian.
Milo:
Focus, everyone. Let's make sure this practice counts. No slacking just because it's our last one before the tournament.
Fayne:
Yeah, let's do this!
Raxian smirked, a bit of pride swelling in his chest. Yeah, yeah. Let's see if it's enough. He adjusted his mouse, the game loading screen flashing to life in front of him. The whole team was here, ready to give it their all in this final practice session.
As the match loaded up, Raxian glanced at the champions locked in. Everyone was trying something new for this final practice. It wasn't just him who was stepping out of his comfort zone.
Raxian:
Alright, looks like we're all trying something different this game. Let's see if we can make it work.
Fayne had picked Soraka, leaning into her healing capabilities, even though she was still getting used to her range and positioning. Her usual choices like Seraphine gave her more room to engage, but tonight she focused on keeping her team alive through every skirmish.
Raze went with Varus, a champion he rarely picked, known more for his poke and crowd control than for the aggressive plays Raze preferred with Jhin or Kai'Sa. But he was determined to adapt, just like the rest of them.
Sable had taken on Riven, a champion with a completely different playstyle from her usual picks like Camille or Akali. Riven's high mobility and burst damage were appealing, but Sable had rarely leaned into the flashy, combo-heavy champion before. It was a risk, but she was ready to take it.
And Milo, always the backbone of their strategies, picked Sejuani, a tanky, crowd-control-heavy jungler, ideal for initiating fights and setting up his teammates. He wasn't used to playing as the front line, preferring more flexible champions like Nidalee or Lee Sin, but tonight, he wanted to focus on coordinating with the team.
The game began with the usual tension, each of them feeling the pressure to perform well on unfamiliar champions. The first few minutes were rocky—Raxian missed a couple of crucial Sylas combos, and Fayne struggled to adjust to Soraka's slower pace, trying to keep everyone topped up without putting herself in danger.
Milo:
We've got this. Just keep focusing on positioning, Fayne. Raze, don't go in too deep—we'll play off Sable's engage.
His steady voice grounded them, even as he himself adjusted to the slower pace of Sejuani compared to his usual aggressive junglers. They found a rhythm, using Raze's poke to whittle down the enemy, while Sable's Riven baited out crucial cooldowns with her high mobility.
A fight broke out in the river, and for a moment, everything seemed to hang in the balance. Sable's Riven darted forward, using her combos to disrupt the enemy backline, and Raxian followed up with Sylas, diving into the chaos. Milo's Sejuani was right behind, locking down their targets with her crowd control, while Fayne stood further back, casting Wish to heal everyone just as the fight seemed to tip against them.
Fayne:
That should keep you guys in it—don't waste it!
Raze:
Not planning to! He followed up with a well-placed Chain of Corruption from Varus, rooting two enemies and allowing Raxian to secure the kills.
As the last enemy fell, the team's coordination became clear. Despite the unfamiliar picks, they'd adapted, relying on each other's calls and skills.
Raxian:
Not bad, not bad at all, he said, a rare note of pride in his voice. Maybe I'll keep Sylas in my back pocket after all.
Sable:
If you keep landing those combos, it might even be a good idea, she shot back, a hint of a smile in her tone.
The victory screen flashed, and while it was just another practice match, it felt like a win with extra weight behind it. They had taken risks, pushed themselves to adapt, and they had pulled through.
Raxian took a deep breath, glancing over the names on the victory screen: Fayne, Raze, Sable, Milo, and his own. The team that had slowly but surely come together.
Raxian:
Tomorrow's the real deal. Let's bring this energy with us.
The call ended, but the feeling lingered—each of them knowing that, win or lose, they'd found something worth fighting for in this team.
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Raxian leaned back in his chair, the glow of the victory screen fading from his monitor as he logged off of the client. The familiar darkness of his room wrapped around him, but tonight it felt different—lighter somehow, as if the tension that had been knotted in his chest for so long had finally begun to ease.
He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts drifting back to the game they'd just played. It had been rough at first—missing skill shots, mistiming engages—but they'd found a way through it together. He could still hear the echoes of their voices in his headset: Fayne's quiet determination, Raze's cocky banter, Milo's calm guidance, and Sable's sharp, confident calls.
I'm not carrying this alone anymore, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The realization was strange, almost unfamiliar, but he didn't try to push it away this time. Instead, he let it settle, warming him from the inside.
He opened the team chat on his phone, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. There was so much he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure if he could put it all into words—not yet. He thought about what AkarisLite had said to him during their one-on-one, about learning to trust others, about letting himself rely on his team.
With a small sigh, he tapped out a message, keeping it simple but sincere.
Raxian:
Hey, just wanted to say… thanks for sticking with me through all this. Tomorrow's a big day, but I think we're ready. Let's show everyone what we've got.
He hesitated for a moment, then added another line before sending it.
Raxian:
I'm proud of us.
The words felt a little awkward, but they were true. He didn't know how the others would react—maybe Raze would tease him, or Milo would send back a sarcastic thumbs-up—but he meant every word.
He set his phone down on his desk, staring at the dim glow of the city outside his window. Tomorrow, everything they'd worked for would be put to the test, and he could feel the familiar stirrings of anxiety in his chest. But underneath that, there was something else—something that felt like hope.
No matter what happens, I'm not doing this alone, he reminded himself, and for the first time in a long while, the thought brought him a sense of peace. He took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the room settle around him, and allowed himself to imagine what might come next.
Raxian:
Let's make tomorrow count.
With that, he turned off his monitor, letting the darkness fill the room. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but for now, he let himself hold onto the quiet, letting his thoughts drift toward the new possibility of a future he hadn't imagined before.
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The glow of a monitor lit up Raze's face as he leaned in close, fingers flying over the keyboard. He had one more practice game queued up, his eyes scanning the screen with focused intensity. He switched from one champion to another, trying out combos and mechanics, muttering to himself as he adjusted his movements.
"Can't afford to miss a single skill shot tomorrow," he murmured, a determined grin playing on his lips. His usual cocky attitude was still there, but now it was tempered with a sharp focus. This wasn't just about showing off—it was about proving that he could hold his own, that he was more than just a flashy ADC. As the game loaded, he let out a breath, forcing himself to relax. Gotta give it my all.
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Across town, in her quiet room, Sable sat at her desk, surrounded by a series of notes and strategies she'd scribbled down over the past week. Her main account, Akaris, was logged into a custom game as she tested out different builds and combos, mentally running through potential scenarios for the tournament.
Her gaze flicked to the screen, then to a notebook where she'd jotted down notes on other top laners she might face. Know your enemy, she thought, her expression sharpening. She flipped to a new page, adding a few lines of thoughts about Raxian's strengths and weaknesses, a small smirk tugging at her lips as she considered his recent progress. You better be ready, TimeWarped. No excuses.
She closed the notebook, glancing out at the city lights beyond her window. Despite the seriousness of the tournament, she felt a spark of excitement she hadn't experienced in a while—a thrill that came with the promise of competition. For the first time, she wasn't just playing for herself. She was playing for something bigger.
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In his small, dimly lit apartment, Milo sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through open tabs on his computer. The screen displayed a mix of forum threads, scouting reports, and clips of potential opponents. His eyes moved quickly, analyzing gameplay patterns, looking for any hints of weakness or habits the other teams might have.
Milo paused, leaning back in his chair, a faint smirk on his lips as he clicked through a clip of one team's overly aggressive playstyle. "They're way too eager to dive," he muttered to himself, making a mental note to warn Raxian about it. His analytical side kicked into high gear, piecing together strategies like a puzzle.
He rolled his shoulders, letting out a breath. As much as he enjoyed the solo grind, this was different. This was a chance to see how far they could go as a team, and it stirred something in him—a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in a long time. Alright, Raxian. Let's see if you've got what it takes.
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Back at her home, Fayne sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop resting in front of her as she watched a few support guides on YouTube. The soothing voice of the content creator played through her headphones, explaining positioning and timing. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to calm the nerves fluttering in her chest.
She glanced over to the small, potted plant on her windowsill, a gift from her mother, and reached out to gently adjust a leaf. Just like caring for this plant, she thought, a small smile tugging at her lips. Patience, attention, and a little bit of support can make all the difference.
She straightened up, focusing on the game footage again, her fingers idly mimicking the movements of key abilities. Her mind drifted back to Raxian's message from earlier, and she felt a small flicker of warmth in her chest. She wasn't sure if things between them were completely mended, but they were getting there, step by step. And that was enough for now. We've got this, she thought, her determination settling in. We've come this far, and I'm not going to let them down.
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Each of them, in their own way, prepared for the challenge that awaited them. They weren't just players with their own goals anymore—they were a team, bound by a shared determination to face whatever came next.
As the night deepened, the city buzzed quietly outside their windows, a world of possibility lying just beyond the darkness. Even though they were miles apart, they all felt the same anticipation, the same hope for what the next day would bring.
And when morning came, that anticipation turned into reality.
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Milo stood a little ways off from the entrance to the event hall, adjusting the hood of his oversized hoodie and tugging it over his head a bit more, as if it might shield him from the outside world. His hazel eyes darted around, taking in the bustling scene—the excitement of players setting up, the scattered laughter and banter, the ambient hum of the event hall as the tournament atmosphere buzzed around him. He swallowed hard, his chest feeling tight.
He wasn't used to this. He hadn't stepped into such a crowded place in ages, let alone with the intention of being around people for the next several hours. The isolation of his apartment had become his world, and stepping outside of that safety felt like he was exposing himself to the chaos. But he was here. For Fayne. And maybe, if he was being honest, for himself too.
As if on cue, a familiar voice called out to him. "Milo!"
He looked up to see Fayne waving, her expression warm and welcoming. She was dressed in her usual casual style, but her presence carried a comforting steadiness. Her smile reached her eyes as she made her way over, weaving through the small crowd until she stood in front of him.
"I didn't think you'd actually make it," she said softly, a touch of relief in her voice.
Milo managed a small smile, though it wavered. "Yeah, well... didn't have much of a choice, did I? Can't let you guys face all this alone."
Fayne's smile grew, her posture relaxing as she offered him a nod of understanding. "We've got this, Milo. And you too. It's going to be okay." Her voice carried a confidence that seemed to make the noisy event hall a little less overwhelming.
Milo took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening a bit as he met her gaze. "Yeah... Thanks, Fayne. It means a lot." He shifted slightly, his hands tucked deep in his hoodie pockets, finding comfort in the familiar fabric.
As they stood there, Raxian, Raze, and Sable joined them, the rest of the team catching sight of the pair. Raxian walked over first, his usual confident grin softening as he took in Milo's slightly tense posture. He clapped a hand on Milo's shoulder, the gesture friendly but firm.
"So, you're the famous Pathfinder," Raxian said with a smirk. "Glad you finally decided to step outside."
Milo shrugged, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," he muttered, trying to keep things casual despite the nerves bubbling beneath the surface.
Raze followed behind, his dark blue-streaked hair catching the overhead lights. He looked Milo up and down, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Gotta say, wasn't expecting you to look like such a—" he paused, searching for the right word, "...hermit."
Milo snorted, a short, genuine laugh escaping before he could stop himself. "Guess I fit the stereotype then," he replied, a hint of humor breaking through his guarded tone. He glanced at Fayne, who smiled encouragingly back at him.
As Sable approached, she took in the scene with a slight, knowing smile. Her green eyes lingered on Milo for a moment, taking in the way he kept adjusting his hoodie and the nervous energy that clung to him. "Milo," she greeted, her voice calm and measured. "Or should I say, Pathfinder?"
Milo met her gaze, feeling a bit more grounded with Fayne by his side. "Milo's fine," he said, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
The moment lingered, a strange mix of awkwardness and acceptance. But then, Raxian cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well, we're all here now. Let's show them what we've got."
Raze cracked his knuckles, glancing over at the tournament setup. "Yeah, let's do this. And hey, Milo—if you get nervous, just think of it like one of your late-night solo queue games. No pressure."
Milo smirked faintly, his fingers still trembling slightly as he stuffed them into his pockets. "Sure, Raze. No pressure at all."
Fayne shot Milo a reassuring look as they made their way deeper into the event hall. Her presence beside him felt like a steadying force, and he found himself relaxing, just a little. They might have been meeting face-to-face for the first time, but they shared a purpose now—one that felt more tangible than ever.
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Raxian walked in with his team close behind, the noise of the event hall growing louder with each step. He kept his shoulders squared and his head held high, but inside, his heart raced. The transformation from the quiet, empty hall into a bustling tournament venue was a sight to behold. Rows of computers lined the center, each station buzzing with eager players warming up, while organizers moved through the crowd, checking on setups.
He glanced back at his teammates, catching the quick look of awe on Fayne's face as she took in the scene. Raze's usual smirk softened as he took a deep breath, and even Sable seemed to take in the atmosphere with a quiet intensity. Milo, though quieter than the rest, kept pace with them, his eyes scanning the surroundings from beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Look at this place," Raze muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with excitement. "This is gonna be wild."
"Stay focused," Sable replied, but a slight smile curved her lips. "We're not just here to enjoy the scenery."
Raxian smirked at the exchange, the familiar banter easing some of the tension building in his chest. "She's right. We've got work to do." He pushed open the door leading into the main area, and they stepped forward together, a wave of energy washing over them.
As they moved deeper into the venue, Raxian caught sight of the large tournament brackets displayed on screens overhead, showing team names and match schedules. He felt the weight of the moment settle in—a mixture of anticipation, nerves, and the fire of competition. He turned to his teammates, the noise around them dimming in his mind as he focused on their faces.
"Let's find a spot to warm up before our first match," he said, his voice steady. "We've put in the work, and now it's time to see what we're made of."
Raze clapped a hand on Raxian's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Yeah, let's make this count."
Fayne nodded, her hands tightening around the straps of her bag. "We've got this, Raxian."
Sable, her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow at him. "Just keep your cool, Captain. And don't forget—this is about more than just winning."
Raxian met her gaze, the weight of her words settling in his chest. He nodded, a determined look crossing his face. "I know. It's about showing that we're more than just a bunch of solo players."
Milo, standing a step behind the others, spoke up quietly but firmly. "No matter what happens, we're in this together."
Raxian glanced back at the screen displaying the brackets, then at his team. A sense of calm settled over him, cutting through the nerves. This was it—the culmination of all their late-night practice sessions, the arguments, the victories, and the lessons learned. Whatever happened next, they'd face it as a team.
"Alright," Raxian said, a small but confident smile tugging at his lips. "Let's get to work."
With that, they moved toward a quieter corner of the hall, finding a spot to set up and go over their final preparations. As Raxian pulled out his laptop, he felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. It wasn't just about him anymore; it was about all of them, stepping onto the stage together. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
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The team settles into their corner of the event hall, each member focusing on their own preparations. As Raxian adjusts his headset, he glances around, taking in the scene—the buzz of other players, the flickering screens, and the tension-filled air. The excitement is palpable, but so is the pressure.
Raze stretches out his fingers with a few quick, practiced movements, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. Fayne takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to calm her nerves, before running through a few last-minute notes on support positioning and vision control. Sable, sitting nearby, scans through notes on their opponents, her expression sharp and focused. Milo, ever the analyst, is quietly flipping through a notebook filled with scribbled strategies and counter-picks, his eyes darting over the competition as if mentally cataloging each possible threat.
Sable leans over toward Milo, speaking low enough for only him and the others to hear. "Their mid-laner's known for aggressive plays. We need to keep the pressure on him and not let him snowball."
Milo nods, adjusting his glasses. "Right. I'll focus on getting vision around the jungle entrances early. If their jungler's as proactive as I've heard, we'll need to keep tabs on him."
Raze gives a casual smirk, but his tone is serious. "I'll stay back and play safe in lane. We don't need any hero plays, just solid positioning."
Fayne, glancing over at Raxian, offers a small, encouraging smile. "We'll be fine, Rax. We just need to focus on what we've been practicing. If we play our game, we've got a real shot."
Raxian absorbs their words, feeling the sense of unity in the group. He might not be leading the strategy—he knows that's Sable and Milo's strength—but he doesn't have to. They're all in this together. "Yeah, we've got this. Let's give them a game they won't forget."
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As they head out for a quick break before their next match, Raxian catches sight of their upcoming opponents—Zenith's team. They're seated a few screens away, discussing their previous game with an air of focus. Zenith glances over, meeting Raxian's eyes with a smirk that radiates confidence. The look lasts only a second, but it's enough to ignite a spark of determination within Raxian.
Sable follows Raxian's gaze, her expression sharpening as she spots Zenith and his team. "That's Zenith's crew. They've built a reputation for being tough, especially with him leading the charge."
Milo stands beside her, arms crossed as he studies their rivals. "They're known for aggressive plays and tight coordination. We'll need to stay adaptable, but our prep has been solid. We can handle this."
Raze's usual bravado gives way to a more serious determination. "Let's see if they can keep up with us."
Fayne takes a deep breath, looking from one teammate to the next, her expression a mix of nerves and quiet determination. "We've made it this far. Whatever happens next, we've got to stick together."
Raxian's gaze shifts between them, feeling the weight of the upcoming match, but also the reassurance of having his team beside him. "Yeah, no matter what, we fight as a team. Let's show them what we're made of."
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As the time for their match against Zenith's team draws closer, the tension rises, but so does their focus. Milo pulls up their draft notes, scanning through potential counter-picks and adjustments, while Sable highlights key moments from Zenith's previous matches, sharing her insights on their playstyle.
Milo's tone is analytical as he points to the screen. "If they ban your Ekko, Raxian, stick with what we've practiced. It's not just about the champion—it's about how you play with the team."
Raxian nods, a flicker of nerves crossing his face. The thought of being without his comfort pick still stings, but he knows he's put in the work. He glances at his teammates, seeing the determination in their eyes. Just gotta trust them—and myself.
Sable adjusts her headset, her voice steady with a quiet confidence. "We adapt, we play our game, and we keep them on the back foot. This match is ours if we stay sharp."
The team returns to their seats as the match begins, the screen shifting to the draft phase. The atmosphere in the event hall feels dense with anticipation, the hum of voices fading as the countdown begins. Yet beneath the pressure is a thread of unity—a sense that, no matter what happens, they're facing this challenge together.
With one last deep breath, Raxian settles in, hands steady over the keys. He takes in the focused expressions of his teammates—Raze's intense concentration, Fayne's calm focus, Milo's calculating gaze, and Sable's unwavering determination. A surge of resolve fills him as the draft screen comes to life, revealing the champions they've chosen and the countdown to the match.
Here we go, Raxian thinks, fingers gripping the mouse. No turning back now.