The Axiom Netcafe sat tucked between a ramen shop and a convenience store on Harlow Street, its neon sign flickering in the fading daylight. From the outside, it looked unremarkable—just another gaming cafe in a city full of them. But Ethan could feel the energy even from the sidewalk, the low thrum of dozens of computers running, the muffled sound of game audio and excited voices.
A metal staircase led down to the basement entrance. Ethan descended, each step echoing in the narrow passage. The door at the bottom was heavy, industrial, with a hand-painted sign: **"AXIOM - Where Legends Are Forged."**
He pushed it open.
The space inside was larger than he expected—a sprawling basement with low ceilings, exposed pipes painted matte black, and row upon row of gaming stations. The walls were covered in posters of pro teams and tournament results, but Ethan noticed something immediately: most of the faces staring back were female. Championship winners, MVP awards, hall of fame inductees.
The air smelled of energy drinks, instant noodles, and that particular electronic scent of overworked computers. About thirty people filled the space, most already at stations, fingers flying across keyboards. The ambient noise was a symphony of mechanical clicks, game sounds, and occasional shouts of triumph or frustration.
But there was something else—a spectator area. Rows of seats facing three massive projection screens mounted on the far wall. Maybe forty people already gathered there, some taking notes, others with phones out recording. Tournament watchers, scouts, gaming enthusiasts looking for the next big upset.
"Yo! Ethan!"
A hand waved from the back corner. Ethan recognized the blond hair immediately—Marcus Reid, looking exactly like his profile picture. He was lanky, probably six feet tall, with an easy smile and a Legends of Aetheria hoodie that had seen better days.
Ethan made his way over, weaving between stations. Two other people sat with Marcus—a serious-looking Asian guy with wire-frame glasses, and a woman with short dark hair and athletic build.
"Fashionably late as always," Marcus said, grinning. "Thought you were gonna bail on us."
"Traffic," Ethan lied smoothly. "Sorry."
"No worries. You remember Jake and Riley, right?" Marcus gestured to the others.
Jake Hwang looked up briefly, gave a curt nod, then returned his attention to his screen where he was practicing last-hits in a custom game. His movements were methodical, precise—every click deliberate.
Riley Tanaka smiled warmly and extended her hand. "Good to see you, Ethan. Marc says you've been on fire in ranked today."
Her grip was firm, confident. Up close, Ethan could see the intelligence in her eyes—sharp, assessing. This was someone who thought three steps ahead.
"Just got lucky," Ethan said, sitting down at the empty station between Marcus and Jake.
"Three straight wins with 80% kill participation isn't luck," Riley said, pulling up a chair. "I checked your match history. Your pathing was clean, your ganks were timed perfectly, and your objective control was actually insane. What changed?"
Ethan felt a moment of panic. What could he say? *Oh, I'm actually from a parallel universe where I spent thousands of hours grinding this game?*
"Just... focused, I guess," he said carefully. "Decided to take things more seriously."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. "Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. We need that energy tonight. You see the bracket?"
He turned his monitor to show a tournament bracket. The Silvercrest Open Circuit—Mixed Division. Sixteen teams, single elimination. Prize pool: 5,000 credits for first place, 2,000 for second.
Not huge money, but for an underground tournament, it was respectable.
"Mixed division means we're competing against..." Ethan trailed off, already knowing the answer.
"Mostly female teams," Riley finished. "There are only two other teams with male players in the entire bracket. And one of them has a guy as support, which..." She made a face. "Let's just say he's there because his girlfriend is the mid laner."
"But we're legit," Marcus said, defensive pride in his voice. "We've been grinding together for months. We know each other's playstyles, our shot-calling is getting better, and now with Ethan actually showing up..." He punched Ethan's shoulder lightly. "We might actually win a game or two."
"We'll win more than that," Ethan said quietly.
The confidence in his voice made all three of them look at him.
"Damn, he's serious," Marcus said, eyebrows raised. "I like this energy."
Jake finally spoke, his voice flat and analytical. "Confidence is good. Overconfidence gets you killed. Our first match is against Nebula Rising—they placed third in last month's qualifier. Their ADC, LunaStrike, averages 8.2 CS per minute and has a 4.1 KDA. Their jungler, Artemis07, is aggressive, favors early game champions like Riven the Bladedancer and Zara the Huntress. We'll need to play smart."
"You did research?" Riley asked, impressed.
"I always do research." Jake pushed his glasses up. "Information is advantage."
Ethan felt a surge of respect. In his old world, he'd played with too many people who just winged it, who relied on mechanical skill alone. Having a teammate who actually studied opponents was invaluable.
"Good," Ethan said. "What else do we know?"
For the next twenty minutes, they went over the bracket together. Jake had dossiers on at least half the teams—player statistics, preferred champions, common strategies. Riley added tactical insights, suggesting pick and ban priorities. Marcus kept the mood light with jokes and observations about the cafe's increasingly crowded atmosphere.
More teams were arriving now, claiming stations, warming up. The spectator area was filling up too—easily sixty people now, some wearing team jerseys, others with notebooks and analysis tools. Ethan noticed the dynamic immediately—the confidence in the all-female teams, the way they moved with practiced assurance. And the few mixed-gender teams, the subtle defensiveness, the way they clustered together like they had something to prove.
Because they did.
"Ten minutes to check-in," announced a voice over a loudspeaker. "All teams to the main desk."
They stood as a group. Ethan grabbed his headset from his bag—a decent mid-range model, nothing fancy but functional. Marcus slung an arm over his shoulder as they walked to the front.
"Whatever happens tonight," Marcus said quietly, "I'm glad you're here. For real. Last few weeks, you seemed... I don't know, checked out. Like you didn't believe in this anymore."
Ethan felt a pang of guilt—guilt for a version of himself he'd never been, for disappointments he'd never caused. But also gratitude that these people—strangers, really, but teammates—had stuck with him.
"I believe now," Ethan said. "I promise."
The main desk was organized chaos. A woman in her thirties with purple-streaked hair and multiple monitors managed the check-in process with efficient authority. Her name tag read "Diana Rivers - Tournament Coordinator."
"Team name?" she asked when they reached the front.
"Uh..." Marcus looked at the others. "We never actually decided on one, did we?"
"You're registered as 'Mixed Bag,'" Diana said, not looking up from her screen. "That's what you put on the application."
"Right. Yeah. Mixed Bag. That's us." Marcus tried to sound confident and failed.
Diana's eyes flicked up, scanning their group. Her expression remained neutral, but Ethan caught something there—a hint of skepticism, maybe pity. She'd seen this before. Mixed teams with big dreams and small chances.
"You're in Bracket A, first match starts at 7:30. Station twelve. Your game will be on the center screen." She pointed to the massive projection displays. "Don't be late." She handed Marcus a paper with their schedule. "Next."
"Wait, center screen?" Marcus said. "That's usually for featured matches."
Diana finally looked up properly. "We rotate. Everyone gets screen time. Makes it fair." Her tone suggested the conversation was over.
They moved aside, letting the next team check in—five women wearing matching jackets with "Starfire Academy" embroidered on the back. They looked young, maybe college age, and moved with synchronized confidence.
"They look scary," Marcus muttered.
"They're in Bracket B," Jake said, checking his phone. "We won't face them unless we both make finals."
"If we make finals," Riley corrected gently.
"When," Ethan said.
They all looked at him again.
"When we make finals," he repeated. "Think it into existence."
Marcus grinned. "Hell yeah. That's the spirit."
As they walked back to their station, Ethan heard whispers from the spectator area:
"That's the team with three guys?"
"Mixed Bag? Seriously? What kind of name is that?"
"I give them fifteen minutes before they get stomped."
"Twenty credits says they don't make it past first round."
Marcus heard it too. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Riley's expression remained calm, but Ethan saw her hands clench briefly. Jake seemed oblivious, already running calculations in his head.
---
Station twelve was near the back, a cluster of five computers arranged in a semi-circle. The setup was clean—high refresh rate monitors, mechanical keyboards, gaming mice with customizable DPI. Not pro-level equipment, but more than adequate.
Ethan sat in the jungle position, middle of the formation. Marcus to his left, Jake to his right. Riley at the far right as support, a headset with a professional microphone already positioned. Their fifth member, Sophie—a quiet mid laner they'd recruited last month—sat at the far left, already warming up her mechanics.
"Comms check," Riley said, pulling up the team voice chat. "Sound off."
"Marcus here, loud and clear."
"Jake. Confirmed."
"Ethan. Good to go."
"Sophie. All set."
"Riley. Perfect." She pulled up a notepad on her second monitor. "Okay, game plan. Ethan, you're our carry tonight. Your early game has been phenomenal in ranked. We're going to prioritize getting you ahead."
"What about Jake?" Ethan asked. "ADC usually scales better into late game."
Jake shook his head. "My mechanics are consistent, but I'm not a playmaker. You are. Riley's right—if you get ahead, you can create pressure that opens up the map for all of us."
It was a mature assessment, one that put team success over personal glory. Ethan appreciated it.
"Alright," he said. "Then I need Marcus to be aggressive with me early. Invades, counterjungling, making their jungler's life hell."
"Say less," Marcus said, cracking his knuckles. "I live for chaos."
"And I need vision," Ethan continued, looking at Riley. "I can't make plays if I'm blind. Deep wards, tracking their jungler, pinging their movements."
Riley nodded. "Already my job. I'll keep you informed."
The spectator area had grown to over seventy people now. Ethan could feel their attention, hear the low murmur of conversation. On the center projection screen, the bracket appeared, highlighting their match.
**BRACKET A - ROUND 1**
**Mixed Bag vs. Nebula Rising**
Someone in the crowd laughed. "Mixed Bag? Are they serious?"
"Look, three guys. This is gonna be a massacre."
"At least it'll be quick. I want to see the Starfire match."
Diana's voice came over the loudspeaker. "First matches starting in two minutes. Players, load into your lobbies."
Ethan's heart rate picked up. The familiar pre-game adrenaline, the tightness in his chest, the heightened awareness. But unlike his old world, where this feeling often came with anxiety and self-doubt, now it felt clean. Pure. Excitement without the baggage.
The game client loaded. Their opponents appeared in the lobby—Nebula Rising. Five player names: Artemis07, LunaStrike, StarWeaver, FrostQueen, VoidWhisper.
The chat box remained silent. No BM, no trash talk. Professional.
But Ethan could hear the spectators:
"Nebula Rising took third last month. This should be easy for them."
"I feel bad for Mixed Bag. They seem like nice kids."
"Why do guys even bother? Just stick to casual play."
"Champion select starting," Riley announced, her voice cutting through the noise. "Remember the plan. We're blue side, so we get first pick advantage."
The draft phase began—a careful dance of psychology and strategy. The center screen showed their picks and bans in real-time, and Ethan could feel the weight of dozens of eyes.
Riley called the bans: "Banning Riven the Bladedancer—that's Artemis07's signature. Also banning Seraphine the Siren and Darius the Warlord. All early game threats."
Nebula Rising banned three meta picks in response: Thresh the Chain Warden, Jinx the Loose Cannon, and Syndra the Dark Sovereign.
"Interesting," Jake murmured. "They're banning traditional comfort picks. They think we're going to play safe."
"We're not," Ethan said.
First pick. Riley hovered over several champions before locking in **Kaelen, the Shadow Assassin**.
A ripple went through the spectator area.
"Wait, they're giving their jungle Kaelen?"
"That's a mechanical champion. High skill cap."
"Bold choice for a guy..."
Ethan heard it. So did his team. Marcus's grip on his mouse tightened. Riley's expression remained focused, but Ethan saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
"Ignore them," Ethan said quietly. "Watch me work."
The draft continued. Marcus picked **Malphite the Stone Titan**—a tanky top laner with game-changing engage potential. Jake selected **Ezreal the Prodigal Explorer**—a safe, scaling ADC with built-in mobility. Riley grabbed **Nautilus the Titan of the Depths**—support with crowd control and peel. Sophie chose **Orianna the Lady of Clockwork**—a control mage with wave clear and team fight presence.
Nebula Rising's composition came together on the other side. Their jungler took **Zara the Huntress**—aggressive, early game focused. Their composition was clearly designed to punish mistakes and snowball leads.
"They're going to try to end before twenty-five minutes," Jake observed. "We need to survive the early game without bleeding too much."
"Or," Ethan said, studying their composition, "we make them bleed first."
The game loaded. Summoner's Rift materialized on five screens—and on the massive center projection. The familiar terrain that Ethan had navigated thousands of times. But seeing it now, on the big screen, with seventy-plus people watching, with everything on the line—it felt different.
The spectators settled in. Ethan heard snippets:
"Okay, let's see what they got."
"I'm recording this. Might be funny."
"Five minutes. That's how long I give them before first blood."
"Alright team," Riley's voice came through comms, calm and centered. "Remember, this is just one game. We're here to learn, to compete, and to prove we belong. No pressure. Just play our game."
"And kick some ass," Marcus added.
"That too," Riley agreed.
The thirty-second countdown began. Ethan bought his starting items—Hunter's Machete, Rejuvenation Bead, two Health Potions. His fingers flew across the keyboard with muscle memory precision. His champion—Kaelen, the Shadow Assassin—appeared in the fountain, dual blades gleaming with ethereal purple energy.
In his old world, he'd played Kaelen thousands of times. High skill cap, unforgiving of mistakes, but capable of game-winning plays in the right hands.
Time to show them what the right hands looked like.
Ten seconds.
Five.
The gates opened.
"Let's go," Ethan said.
And the game began.
---
The first three minutes were a feeling-out process—both junglers completing their initial clears, both teams establishing vision, both sides probing for weaknesses without committing to aggression.
Ethan moved through his jungle with practiced efficiency. Blue Sentinel, Gromp, Murk Wolves, Crimson Raptors. His clear speed was noticeably faster than it should be—the result of thousands of hours of practice optimizing every auto-attack animation cancel, every ability timing.
On the projection screen, his movements were displayed for everyone. A few spectators started paying closer attention.
"His clear is... actually clean?"
"Animation cancels on point. Huh."
"Maybe he's not completely terrible."
"Still early. Wait till team fights."
At 3:47, Riley's voice came through comms: "Their jungler just showed top. I have vision on them. They're doing Gromp."
Ethan checked the map. If Artemis07 was top side on Zara the Huntress, that meant their bot side jungle was vulnerable.
"Marcus, can you push your wave?" Ethan asked.
"Already on it."
"Jake, Riley, play safe for thirty seconds."
"Confirmed," Jake responded.
Ethan moved. Not toward his own jungle, but into enemy territory. The vision Riley had provided showed the enemy jungler's position—which meant Ethan knew exactly where they weren't.
On the projection screen, his path into enemy jungle was visible to all. The spectators leaned forward.
"Wait, is he invading?"
"That's risky. If he gets caught..."
"Zara is top side. He's safe for now."
"But their bot lane will rotate. This could go bad fast."
Ethan slipped into the enemy jungle, moving toward their Red Brambleback. It was still alive, health bar full. He started taking it, abilities weaving together in optimal sequence—**Q: Phantom Strike** for the dash and damage, auto-attacks perfectly timed between cooldowns, **W: Shadow Veil** for the damage and slow on the buff.
The spectators watched in real-time as his mechanics displayed on screen.
"Okay, that's actually impressive."
"His ability sequencing is clean."
"But they're coming. Bot lane is rotating."
"He's going to die. Classic male overconfidence."
Riley's warning came through: "They're coming. Their ADC and support, both rotating to you."
"Let them come," Ethan said calmly, securing the Red Brambleback with a final Smite. The buff transferred to him, red aura surrounding Kaelen.
Two enemy champions appeared through the jungle entrance—LunaStrike on **Caitlyn the Sheriff of Piltover** and FrostQueen on **Lux the Lady of Luminosity**, coming to defend their jungle.
The crowd murmured. "He's trapped. Two versus one."
"Should have backed out when he had the chance."
"At least he got the buff before dying."
But Marcus had followed Ethan's play. Malphite appeared from the other direction, cutting off their retreat.
"I'm here," Marcus said. "Let's go."
The spectators' murmur grew louder as they realized what was happening.
What followed was textbook execution displayed in high definition on the center screen.
Marcus engaged with **Seismic Shard**, launching a rock that slowed FrostQueen. Ethan immediately followed up, dashing in with Phantom Strike, his damage amplified by the Red Buff he'd just stolen. His blades flashed—auto-attack, **E: Death Mark** applying stacks, another auto-attack perfectly weaving between ability cooldowns.
FrostQueen tried to bind him with **Light Binding**, but Ethan's Shadow Veil created a brief moment of untargetability, dodging the skillshot by mere frames.
"Did he just—?"
"That's a frame-perfect dodge!"
"Okay, that's actually skilled."
LunaStrike tried to auto-attack him, but Ethan was already on her. The damage output was calculated perfectly—accounting for her armor, her health, her escape options. When she tried to use **90 Caliber Net** to dash away, Ethan predicted it, flashing to follow and securing the kill.
**First Blood!**
"FIRST BLOOD!" Marcus shouted over comms, finishing off FrostQueen with a **Brutal Strikes** combo. "LET'S FUCKING GO!"
The spectator area erupted—not in cheers, but in shocked exclamations.
"Wait, what?"
"Did Mixed Bag just get first blood?"
"On the female team?"
"That wasn't luck. Those were clean kills."
"Did you see that flash prediction? That was... that was pro-level."
On screen, the kill notification flashed: **Mixed Bag Ethan (Kaelen) has slain Nebula Rising and I can't believe what I saw"
"Is this really a male player? This is pro-level"
"Vicky Cole's brother might be even better than her"
Riley checked the bracket on her phone. "If we win our next match, we're in the semifinals. Top four teams."
"Who are we playing?" Sophie asked quietly.
"Shadow Protocol. They're 1-0 as well. They just won their match 2-0." Jake pulled up statistics. "Their team is strong. All female, established synergy, they've been playing together for over a year."
"Let them come," Ethan said. "We'll be ready."
As they prepared for the next match, Ethan pulled out his phone and saw the message again from earlier:
"Saw your game. Not bad for a first round. -C"
And a new one:
"The crowd noticed. Good. Now show them it wasn't a fluke."
Ethan frowned, but before he could respond, the message thread disappeared again.
The buzzer sounded.
"Second round matches starting in five minutes. Center screen will continue featuring Mixed Bag versus Shadow Protocol."
The spectator area, which had briefly emptied, flooded back with people. The seats filled rapidly-every single one taken, with people standing at the back and sides. Easily 120 people now, all focused on the center screen.
Ethan heard the whispers:
"Is this the team that just dominated?"
"I want to see if it was a fluke."
"Shadow Protocol is good. This will be the real test."
"Come on, Mixed Bag. Prove it wasn't luck."
Ethan cracked his knuckles, pulled on his headset, and smiled.
Round two. The real test.
Time to show them this was just the beginning.