The next morning, Aarav woke up to the sound of keyboards clacking and voices echoing through the gaming house. He dragged himself out of bed, still replaying yesterday's clash with Rhea in his head. Her words—"You want to be here? Prove it."—burned like fire.
He walked into the scrim room, where Zayn was already grinding on a practice map. "Morning, rookie," Zayn said without looking up. "Ready for round two?"
Aarav forced a smile. "Yeah. I guess."
"Guess?" Zayn chuckled. "You better be sure. Rhea's in full drill-sergeant mode today."
As if on cue, Rhea strode in, headset around her neck, eyes sharp. "Alright, team," she said, voice crisp. "We've got six hours of practice. No excuses."
Aarav swallowed hard. Six hours. His brain screamed help, but he nodded silently.
The first scrim started, and Aarav focused like never before. He called rotations early, tracked enemy patterns, and tried to keep his nerves in check. But every mistake felt magnified under Rhea's gaze.
"Push mid!" she barked. "Aarav, heal Raj—NOW!"
Aarav fumbled, missing the timing by a second. Raj went down.
"Damn it!" Rhea slammed her desk. "You can't afford delays!"
"I—sorry," Aarav stammered.
"Stop apologizing and start fixing it!" Rhea snapped.
The words stung, but Aarav gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to break. Not now.
Hours passed in a blur of matches, drills, and relentless feedback. Aarav's head throbbed, his fingers ached, but he kept pushing. Every mistake became a lesson. Every harsh word from Rhea became fuel.
During a short break, Zayn tossed him a bottle of water. "You're holding up better than most," he said with a grin. "Rhea's tough, but she respects grinders."
Aarav managed a tired smile. "Feels like she hates me."
"Nah," Zayn chuckled. "If she hated you, you wouldn't be here."
Aarav nodded, sipping water. Deep down, he knew Zayn was right. Rhea wasn't trying to break him—she was testing him.