The Grand Final
Beneath the massive dome of the arena, intersecting lights carved the stage into starkly defined territories.
The roar of the crowd surged in endless waves, numbing the eardrums. The media zone was already bristling with cameras; countless red recording lights blinked in the darkness. This was the grand final of the Luchuan Major, and the air was thick with the smell of dry ice, overheated electronics, and a suffocating sense of tension.
At the caster’s desk, Wanjiji had already unleashed his signature, infectiously raspy voice. His words punched through the giant speakers suspended from the ceiling, slamming into every corner of the arena: “Alright, ladies and gentlemen! After a grueling journey, we have finally arrived at the grand final of the Luchuan Major! No matter who lifts the trophy today, they will leave their legend in this very arena!”
On the colossal main screen dominating half the venue, a deep electronic bass drop accompanied the sharp, green metallic falcon logo of Team Falcons as it slashed across the display. Immediately after, the broadcast feed cut flawlessly to the player booths on the left.
The camera panned across. Dialogue sat expressionless on the far edge.
He kept his head down, ignoring the lens. His knobby fingers deftly routed his mouse cable through the bungee, while his keyboard was tilted at a wildly exaggerated angle—a habit he had kept for years. Finally, he checked his audio interface one last time and pulled the tactical headset’s microphone close to his lips.
Today, wearing the black-and-green jersey of Falcons, he sat in a seat that drew the eyes of the world.
Directly across from him, separated by brilliant pillars of stage lights and thick soundproof glass, was ZBG.
“Now, the feed switches over to ZBG!” came the voice of another caster through the earpiece.
Dialogue slightly raised his eyes, his gaze piercing through the boiling atmosphere to sweep over that all-too-familiar row of desks across the stage.
The red lights of the broadcast cameras flickered between different angles. In ZBG’s booth, he saw DeepSea wearing his headset, adjusting his slightly reflective glasses just like the old days; he saw Spiral impatiently yanking at his peripheral cables, seemingly cursing and complaining to the referee; and he saw Creeper going over tactics with his teammates.
His eyes swept past the three of them, one by one, before uncontrollably drifting toward the very edge of their booth.
There was an empty seat.
No team jacket draped over the chair, no glowing peripherals, and no one sitting there. On a stage as monumental as a Major final, that unlit, vacant spot felt jarringly out of place, even blindingly harsh.
Dialogue’s gaze lingered on that empty chair for two brief seconds.
“Both teams are ready!” Wanjiji’s voice spiked again, cracking slightly with thrilling intensity. “Let’s take a look at today’s final lineups!”
Dialogue pulled his gaze back and said nothing. He simply grabbed the soundproof headset from his desk and clamped it firmly over his ears.
The instant the foam pads sealed around him, all the noise, shouts, and blinding lights were completely shut out. Only a faint static hum and the sound of his teammates discussing tactics in English remained in his ears.
The broadcast camera pulled back from the Falcons, turning into a beam of light that instantly slashed toward ZBG on the opposite side.
The countdown lit up in the center of the screen.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Time roared backward, sweeping past countless battles and glories, returning to many years ago.
