I watched from the sidelines as Nadia's Soraka danced recklessly across the map, positioning herself exactly where the enemy team could see her. Our ADC, Rocket, had been yelling into his headset for the past ten minutes.
"Support, where are you? I need heals!"
Nadia ignored him, chasing after an enemy champion who was clearly baiting her. The result was predictable—Rocket's Lucian went down in flames for the fourth time that scrimmage.
"What the hell, Nadia?" Rocket slammed his keyboard. "You're feeding them my kills!"
I bit my lip, knowing what would happen next. Sure enough, when the team gathered for the replay analysis, everyone's eyes turned to me.
"Your positioning was terrible, Myla," Axe said, his voice cold as he pointed at the screen. "You were distracting comms."
"I didn't say anything," I replied quietly. "I wasn't even playing."
"Exactly!" Nadia chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern. "She was sighing really loudly in the background. It threw me off."
I stared at her in disbelief. The recording showed nothing of the sort, but the team was already nodding in agreement.
"Maybe if you weren't so negative," our coach added, avoiding my eyes, "we wouldn't be struggling."
I looked around the room at the faces of men who had once called me their "little support goddess." Now they couldn't even meet my gaze. I'd seen the way they clustered around Nadia after practice, how they laughed at her jokes that weren't funny, how they accepted the "family tech stocks" she'd promised them.
"Whatever you say," I murmured, gathering my things.
As I left the training room, I heard Nadia's voice drop to a whisper. "She's just jealous because Maddox chose me."
I found myself eating lunch alone in the stairwell, away from their whispered conversations and meaningful glances. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone.
Strike 68, I typed into my journal app.
---
The call came at 2:17 AM.
"Myla." Maddox's voice was barely recognizable, thick with pain. "I need you."
I found him curled on his bathroom floor, hands pressed against his temples. The migraine had hit him hard—his face was pale and sweaty, eyes bloodshot.
"Where's Nadia?" I asked, kneeling beside him.
"She can't..." He gasped as another wave of pain hit him. "She doesn't know how to..."
Of course she didn't. The specific acupressure technique that eased his migraines was one I'd learned over months of practice, memorizing the exact pressure points that could break through the pain.
I positioned my fingers at the base of his skull, applying steady pressure. "Breathe with me," I instructed softly.
As the tension began to ease from his body, Maddox's hand caught mine. His eyes, usually so distant lately, focused on my face with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
"I miss you," he whispered, his voice rough. "I miss us."
For a moment, I allowed myself to believe him. His hand slid up my arm, his lips hovering near mine. The air between us charged with something I'd thought was dead.
Then the intercom buzzed.
"Maddox?" Nadia's voice was small and frightened. "I had a nightmare. Can you come?"
Maddox froze, the connection between us snapping like a thread cut by scissors.
"That's enough," he said, pulling away from me. "Thank you for your help."
I watched him walk out, his steps already quickening with urgency to reach her. The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed in the empty room.
Strike 75, I typed into my phone.
---
I stood in the doorway of the gaming house, staring at the pile of my belongings on the front lawn. My clothes, books, and gaming equipment had been unceremoniously dumped on the grass, still damp with morning dew.
"What's going on?" I asked as Maddox emerged from the house, his face hard as granite.
He thrust his phone toward me. "Explain this."
The screen showed photos of me entering a hotel room—specifically, the hotel where our rival team was staying.
"That's not what it looks like," I said quickly. "I was visiting my cousin. She's sick with pneumonia."
"Your cousin who plays for Team Apex?" His voice was cold with disgust.
"She's not on their active roster. She works in their content department."
Maddox's jaw tightened. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Look at the timestamps," I pleaded. "I was there for less than twenty minutes. If I was sharing strategies, wouldn't it have been longer?"
He refused to look at the timestamps. "You're a traitor, Myla. Get off my property."
The security guard approached, keys in hand. "Ms. Hill's access has been revoked," Maddox informed him. "And she's banned from all strategy meetings until further notice."
I gathered my things from the lawn, dignity the only possession they couldn't take from me. That night, I made a bed for myself in the equipment storage room, surrounded by boxes of team merchandise and spare gaming chairs.
As I curled up on the hard floor, I pulled out my phone one last time.
Strike 77, I typed, tears blurring my vision.
