The gaming house was quiet now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day. Most of the team had crashed in their rooms, but Aarav sat alone in the scrim room, staring at the replay on his monitor. Every mistake replayed like a bad dream.
He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping in. I need to get better. Faster calls. Cleaner plays. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he rewound the footage again.
"Still here?" a voice broke the silence.
Aarav turned sharply. Rhea stood in the doorway, hoodie draped over her jersey, hair tied back. She looked different—less intimidating, more human.
"Yeah," Aarav said, clearing his throat. "Just… reviewing."
Rhea walked in, pulling up a chair beside him. "Good. Most rookies don't bother."
Aarav blinked. "You… do this too?"
"Every night," she said, opening her laptop. "That's how you stay ahead."
For a moment, they worked in silence, screens glowing in the dim room. Then Rhea spoke, her tone softer than before. "You've got good instincts, Aarav. But you second-guess yourself."
Aarav sighed. "I'm just… not used to this level. Everyone's so fast."
Rhea smirked. "Speed comes with confidence. And confidence comes from trust—trust in your calls, trust in your team."
Aarav glanced at her. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," she admitted, eyes fixed on the screen. "You think I don't feel pressure? Every match, every stream—people expect me to be perfect."
Aarav frowned. "You… feel that too?"
Rhea chuckled softly. "Of course. I just hide it better."
That surprised him. Beneath her bold exterior, there was vulnerability—a weight she carried alone. Aarav felt a strange connection spark.
He leaned forward, pointing at the replay. "See this rotation? If we'd delayed five seconds, we'd have forced them into a choke point."
Rhea studied the screen, then nodded slowly. "You're right. That's smart."
Aarav felt a flicker of pride. "I… notice patterns."
"That's your strength," Rhea said, turning to him. "Don't lose it trying to play like everyone else."
Her words sank deep. For the first time, Aarav felt like maybe—just maybe—he belonged.
They spent hours dissecting plays, trading ideas, laughing at absurd mistakes. The tension between them shifted—less rivalry, more camaraderie. When the clock hit 2 AM, Rhea closed her laptop.
"Get some sleep," she said, standing. "Tomorrow's another grind."
Aarav nodded, smiling faintly. "Thanks… for this."
Rhea paused at the door, her silhouette framed by the neon glow. "Don't thank me yet," she said with a smirk. "Show me you can use it."
And then she was gone, leaving Aarav with a strange warmth in his chest—and a renewed fire in his veins.