Les sat at a small, outdoor café, enjoying a quiet moment as the city buzzed around him. The air was crisp, and the hum of distant traffic provided a low, steady rhythm to the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. He picked at his food, his thoughts elsewhere. His mind was already churning through the mental notes from his last training session—where he could improve, what he needed to focus on next. His defeat against Jason had opened his eyes, but it had also ignited a fire in him that pushed him to keep evolving.
He was mid-bite when he heard someone clear their throat beside him.
"Leszar."
Les froze, his hand hovering above his plate as he slowly looked up. Standing before him was Arin De Lamar—his cousin, sharp-dressed as always, and wearing the family's unmistakable air of superiority. His slicked-back hair, tailored suit, and that ever-present condescending smirk. Arin always looked like he was about to close some high-stakes business deal.
"What do you want, Arin?" Les asked, his voice tinged with weariness. He hadn't spoken to his family in months, not since everything had fallen apart.
Arin pulled out the chair across from him and sat down uninvited. "Relax, cousin. I'm not here to start anything. I just… heard about your little venture in Ancient Arena Online and figured you could use some help. You've been quiet for a while, and well…" He gestured vaguely to the rundown part of the city where the café was located, "I can see why."
Les's jaw clenched as he set his fork down, the familiar sting of family expectations creeping into the back of his mind. "I'm fine. I don't need your help."
Arin raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Leszar, don't be stupid. The family can pull some strings, help you get back on your feet. Maybe even set you up with a real team—one that has a chance of actually making something of itself."
Les shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "You know what happened last time, Arin. I'm not interested."
Arin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, the smirk widening. "Ah, yes. The last time." His tone was patronizing, almost mocking. "You mean the time when you thought you could make it on your own, manage a team of nobodies, and lead them to victory in The Hub?"
Les's stomach churned, the words pulling him back to a time he had tried hard to forget.
Flashback
It was 2075, and Les stood nervously in front of the expansive marble desk that dominated his father's office. The entire room screamed of wealth and power, from the luxurious leather chairs to the glistening trophies on the walls, all representing the family's dominance in business, sports, and gaming. His father, Anton De Lamar, was an imposing figure—towering, with silver-streaked hair and cold eyes that weighed every failure like a ton of bricks.
And next to him stood Arin, ever the golden child in their father's eyes, already well on his way to running one of the family's VR sports conglomerates.
"You want to manage a team, Leszar?" Anton's voice was low, but it cut through the air like a blade. "In The Hub?"
Les nodded, his palms sweating. "Yes, Father. I've studied the game. I know the mechanics, the strategies. I've analyzed every top team for months. I can do this."
His father's eyes narrowed. "If you want to use the De Lamar resources, then this team must win. Not just participate. Not just compete. It must win."
Les swallowed hard, the weight of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I will make them the best."
Anton leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "If you can't make this team the best in this game, then don't use the De Lamar surname again, Leszar. You will have no place in this family."
Arin had stood by, arms crossed, his smug expression a mirror of his father's disdain. He hadn't said anything back then, but the look in his eyes had said it all. He didn't believe Les could do it. None of them did.
Still, Les had left that office determined to prove them wrong. He threw everything into managing his new team, a group of amateurs that showed promise. They trained hard, they pushed themselves to their limits, and for a while, it seemed like they were going to break through. They were rising in the ranks, taking down bigger, better-funded teams. Les had thought he was finally on the path to making a name for himself—separate from the family, yet worthy of their respect.
But then the betrayal happened. One of his star players, fueled by jealousy and ambition, framed Les for mismanaging funds. The accusations spread like wildfire through the gaming community. It didn't take long for the sponsors to pull out, the team to crumble, and for Les to be cast out in disgrace. His name, his reputation—everything was shattered in an instant.
His father's words echoed in his mind as he packed up his things and left that world behind.
"Don't use the De Lamar surname again, Leszar."
And he hadn't. Not since.
Present Day
Les blinked, pulling himself out of the memory. He stared down at his food, suddenly losing his appetite.
Arin was still sitting there, watching him carefully. "I get it, cousin. You've been through a lot. But the family's willing to forgive. We can help you. All you have to do is—"
"Stop," Les interrupted, his voice firm. He looked Arin dead in the eyes, no longer the uncertain young man who had stood in that office years ago. "I'm not interested. I don't need your money, your strings, or your deals."
Arin frowned, clearly not expecting the pushback. "Leszar, don't be an idiot. You're scraping by in the lower city, barely making ends meet. The family can—"
"I said no, Arin," Les cut him off again, his voice harder this time. "I'm not doing this for the family. Not anymore. I'm done with all that."
Arin stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. "Fine," he finally said, standing up and adjusting his suit. "But don't come crawling back when this little dream of yours falls apart again."
Les didn't respond, watching as Arin walked away, disappearing into the crowd of pedestrians bustling through the city streets.
He let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. The weight of his family's expectations had been suffocating him for years, but now… now it felt like he could finally breathe. He didn't need their approval, their help, or their name. He was going to build something on his own, something that wasn't tied to the De Lamar legacy.
Les picked up his fork again, his appetite slowly returning as he dug into his food. This time, he wouldn't let anyone—family or otherwise—stand in his way.
He was done running. From now on, he was forging his own path.