The scrim room buzzed with energy—keyboards clacking, headsets crackling, voices sharp and focused. Aarav slid into his chair, trying to steady his breathing. His eyes flicked to the far end of the row, where Rhea adjusted her headset with practiced ease.
She was everything Aarav wasn't—confident, charismatic, and radiating authority. Her jersey bore the Phoenix Strike logo like a badge of honor. When she turned, her sharp gaze locked on him.
"So," she said, voice cool and commanding, "the guy who called us out."
Aarav froze. "I… didn't mean—"
Rhea smirked, leaning against the desk. "Relax. You were right. That rotation was trash." Her tone was blunt, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Not many people catch that."
Aarav swallowed. "I just… watch a lot of games."
"Watching isn't playing," she said, crossing her arms. "You think you can handle the pressure?"
Aarav hesitated. "I… hope so."
Rhea tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle. "Hope doesn't win matches. Skill does." She turned to the team. "Guys, meet Aarav—our new sub."
Zayn grinned from his station. "Rotation Guru in the house!"
The others chuckled, but Aarav felt heat creep up his neck. He wasn't used to being the center of attention.
Rhea slid into the seat next to him, her presence magnetic. "Here's the deal," she said, pulling up the game interface. "We're running scrims. You'll play support. Don't screw up."
Aarav nodded, fingers trembling as he logged in. "Got it."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough for him to hear. "You've got good instincts. Don't let nerves kill them."
Aarav glanced at her, surprised by the hint of encouragement. "Thanks."
Rhea smirked. "Don't thank me yet."
The countdown began. Aarav's heart pounded like a drum. He gripped the mouse, eyes locked on the screen. The match loaded—bright maps, enemy markers, chaos waiting to unfold.
"Stick to me," Rhea commanded through the headset. "Call rotations. If you see an opening, take it."
Aarav's voice cracked slightly. "Okay."
The game exploded into action—gunfire, rapid movements, split-second decisions. Aarav focused hard, calling out positions, tracking enemy patterns. His analytical mind kicked in, spotting a flank before anyone else.
"Nice call," Rhea said, her tone sharp but approving. "Keep that up."
Aarav felt a flicker of pride—but it was drowned by nerves when he missed a crucial heal seconds later.
"Focus!" Rhea snapped. "This isn't casual play."
Aarav clenched his jaw, determination surging. He wouldn't let one mistake define him—not today.