Chapter 4: A New Challenger

The assistant brought Mason to me while I was eating cookies.

I was holed up in my office, an open pack of Oreos next to my laptop, half a dozen spreadsheets minimized on the screen. Tanya knocked, fidgeting with a pen, and poked her head in, motioning Mason forward.

The young man kept his head down, voice low: "Hey."

He was tall, all angles and nervous energy, with hands shoved deep in his pockets. He barely looked up, but when he did, his gaze was sharp and direct.

I wiped my hands and pushed up my glasses.

He wore a blue-and-white shirt. Beneath his bangs, his dark eyes stared straight at me.

His posture was stiff, but his fingers—long and quick—twitched like he couldn’t wait to get back to a controller.

I nodded. Picked up the black leather jacket on the gaming chair, stood up, and got ready to watch their scrim.

This was Mason’s first match as jungler for the youth squad, playing against the second squad.

I followed them through the narrow hallway lined with old team photos, the buzz of computers already filling the air from the practice room.

The air reeked of sweat, pizza, and that sharp tang of energy drinks spilled on mousepads.

Mason locked in a mechanically demanding hero. I found myself leaning forward, fingers drumming the armrest, as Mason pulled off a play even Caleb would’ve envied. The match was over in a flash—a total stomp.

Even the seasoned second squad players looked stunned, glancing at each other as if to say, ‘Who the hell is this kid?’

Tanya rushed over, grinning: "Natalie, told you Mason’s insane. Just turned 18, perfect for the age cutoff."

"Redfield just drafted a ringer—rookie of the year, calling it now. Caleb doesn’t have to worry about a successor."

Successor?

I smiled, indifferent.

Without the rose-tinted glasses, Caleb didn’t seem so godlike to me anymore.

He has talent. But over the years, I’d arranged countless scrims for him, even used the Evans family’s connections to get him league resources. Doesn’t that count for something?

After thinking a moment, I said, "Let Mason move straight to the second squad."

"Give him priority for both coaching and living support."

"But Natalie…"

"Do as I say."

Seeing how firm I was, Tanya agreed, snapping her gum once more.

I turned to leave, but glanced back one more time at Mason, still reviewing with his teammates.

Opportunities should go to the right people. Even if someone’s been stuck in the second squad for ages, in e-sports, being weak is a crime. If you’re strong, nothing else matters.

That’s how it goes here—no legacies, no guarantees, just results and grit. I almost wanted to warn Mason, but he already looked like he knew.