Chamber: An Esports Romance

Clifton pushed open the soundproof door of the private training room on the second floor. The central air conditioning of the hallway hit him instantly. The sudden blast of cold air made him shrink his neck back into the collar of his oversized hoodie.

He raised his left hand. Through the thick fabric of his sleeve, his fingers dug hard into the joint of his right wrist. He squeezed, trying to crush the familiar, glass-like splintering pain radiating deep inside the bone.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.

Clifton immediately shoved his right hand into his hoodie pocket. He straightened his spine, his face hardening into the cold, untouchable mask of a god.

Delmus, the team manager, walked toward him holding a thick stack of evaluation reports. Delmus was already complaining, his voice loud in the empty hall, bitching about the astronomical electric bill the base racked up this month.

Delmus flipped a page. He casually mentioned that a new batch of trainees had arrived in the basement boot camp. He suggested Clifton, as the team captain, should go down there and put some fear into the new kids.

Clifton opened his mouth to refuse. But a sudden, sharp throb pulsed in his right wrist. It was a brutal reminder of his own vulnerability. The thought of new blood replacing him filled him with a cold dread. He gave a single, cold nod, deciding to face the threat head-on.

They walked toward the stairs, one after the other. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor, the blinding Los Angeles sun poured in, creating a harsh contrast with the dim, artificial lighting of the interior.

Clifton walked down the spiral staircase. The sound hit him before the sight did. The frantic, dense clattering of dozens of mechanical keyboards being smashed simultaneously echoed up from the basement.

He stopped outside the half-open double doors. Through the gap, his cold eyes scanned the room. Dozens of young boys in identical gray t-shirts sat hunched over their desks.

The rookies felt the heavy, oppressive presence at the door. One by one, they stopped moving their mice. They turned their heads, their eyes wide with a mix of absolute terror and worship for the esports legend standing in the doorway.

Clifton felt a wave of disgust at their pathetic, awe-struck stares. He turned his body, ready to walk away and get a coffee from the kitchen.

Then, his eyes locked onto a corner of the room.

A boy sat there, wearing a faded black baseball cap. His back was facing the door. He was the only one who hadn't turned around.

The boy's posture was incredibly rigid, his shoulders pulled tight. The movements of his mouse were microscopic in distance but terrifyingly high in frequency. That specific, frantic muscle memory made Clifton's stomach drop hard.

Clifton took a step forward without thinking. His leather shoe hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, shattering the silence in the room.