Spoiled By The Ruthless Esports Captain

Jorden unlocked the screen, his thumb hovering over the Discord icon.

Before he could tap it, the Mercedes van slammed on its brakes.

Jorden's chest jerked forward against the seatbelt.

The phone slipped from his grip, sliding off his thigh and dropping into the dark gap between the seats.

Jorden let out a frustrated breath.

He bent over, his ribs pressing against his knees, trying to wedge his hand into the tight space.

"Sorry, boss," the driver called out from the front. "We're here. The new Bellevue base."

Jorden stopped reaching. He let out a sharp breath of frustration.

He shifted in his seat, turning his body sideways. He wedged his hand into the narrow gap between the seat and the door frame, his knuckles scraping against the metal bracket. The tips of his fingers brushed against the edge of the phone case. He pinched it and pulled it free.

He held the device up, checking the screen—no cracks. He clicked the side button; the screen lit up. Still functional.

He shoved the backup phone deep into his jacket pocket.

Then, he glanced at the empty seat beside him. His personal iPhone was still lying there where he had tossed it earlier. He picked it up, clicked it into his other pocket.

He sat up, unbuckled his seatbelt, and shoved the van door open. He stepped out onto the wet driveway.

A massive, ultra-modern mansion loomed in front of him.

The exterior walls were made almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass, reflecting the gray, overcast sky.

The team bus pulled up right behind the van.

The air brakes hissed loudly.

The five starting players of SG spilled out of the bus, their voices loud and chaotic.

Jax, the youngest player, let out a loud whistle.

Behind him, Julian and Rhys tumbled out, still mid-argument about something that had started on the plane. Julian, broad-shouldered and perpetually grinning, was insisting his solo-queue win-rate had finally overtaken Rhys's. Rhys, quieter and sharper, adjusted his glasses and muttered a dry rebuttal that made Julian laugh even louder.

"Holy shit," Jax yelled, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This is way better than that basement we had in Seoul!"

Caleb, the vice-captain, adjusted his glasses.

"The rent for this place could buy our old organization." Caleb said, his voice flat.

Daisy clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and authoritative.

"Stop staring and grab your gear! Get your peripherals inside!"

Jorden ignored the noise.

He walked straight up the concrete path to the massive wooden double doors.

He punched the security code Daisy had texted him into the digital keypad.

The lock beeped, and the heavy door clicked open.

Jorden pushed it wide.

The entire first floor had been gutted and transformed into a state-of-the-art training facility.

Five custom-built PC towers sat on a massive, curved desk, their internal RGB lights pulsing in a slow, breathing pattern.

Jorden walked straight to the center seat.

He pulled out the ergonomic chair and sat down.

He grabbed the mouse.

He dragged it across the massive mousepad, feeling the friction, testing the weight of the shell against his palm.

He reached forward and pressed the power button on the tower.

The monitor flared to life.

He opened the command prompt, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed a ping test command to the North American servers.

The numbers popped up.

Single digits. Perfect stability.

The tight muscles in Jorden's jaw finally relaxed a fraction.

The rest of the team flooded into the room, dropping heavy bags onto the hardwood floor.

They immediately started arguing over who got the master bedroom upstairs.

Daisy walked over to Jorden, holding a stack of printed papers.

She dropped a schedule on his desk.

"Logistics and meal prep times," she said.

Jorden scanned the paper, his eyes darting across the columns.

He tapped his index finger against the edge of the desk.

"Move the dinner delivery back an hour. It interrupts the evening scrim block," he ordered.

Daisy scribbled a note with a red pen.

"What about PR? We need a campaign for our return to NA."

Jorden's eyes went cold.

"No PR," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "We win the Aegis Cup next month. That's the only PR we need."

He pushed his chair back.

The wheels scraped loudly against the floor.

He stood up, his height towering over the desk.

He slammed his open palm against the wood.

The loud crack echoed through the massive room.

Every single player froze. The arguing stopped instantly.

Jorden stared them down, his gaze heavy and oppressive.

"Ten minutes. Tactical meeting in the conference room. Don't be late."

The players swallowed hard, the fear evident in their wide eyes.

They scrambled toward the stairs, grabbing their bags and sprinting up to claim their rooms.

Jorden stood alone in the quiet room.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his backup phone.

He opened Discord.

Aetheria had sent a massive wall of text.

She was furiously complaining about her mother forcing her to clean the guest room for some arrogant, annoying guy she hated from her childhood.

Jorden stared at the screen.

A low, genuine laugh rumbled in his chest.

He tapped the screen, bringing up the keyboard, ready to reply to his angry little student.