Ethan's alarm went off at 6:30 AM—an ungodly hour after three days of tournament gaming and post-loss processing. He groaned, reaching out to silence his phone, and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.
Monday morning. Back to campus. Back to reality.
The tournament felt like a fever dream now—the crowds, the lights, the incredible highs and crushing lows. His body still remembered the adrenaline, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had shaken during champion select. But now, in the quiet morning light filtering through his curtains, it all seemed impossibly distant.
His phone buzzed with messages. The group chat with his team had been active since 5 AM:
**Marcus:** *who needs sleep anyway lol*
**Jake:** *I've been analyzing our game 3 loss. I have seventeen pages of notes.*
**Riley:** *Jake it's 5am*
**Jake:** *Your point?*
**Sophie:** *i can't go to class. everyone's going to stare*
**Riley:** *Deep breaths. We face it together.*
Ethan typed: *See you guys at lunch?*
Three immediate responses of agreement. At least he wasn't facing this alone.
He dragged himself out of bed, showered, and came downstairs to find his mother already dressed in her business suit, coffee in hand, scrolling through her tablet.
"Morning," Margaret said without looking up. "I trust you're going to class today? You've missed three days."
"Yes, Mom."
"Good." She finally looked at him, and her expression softened slightly. "I watched. The finals. Your sister sent me the link."
Ethan froze with his hand on the refrigerator door. "You did?"
"I did." Margaret set down her tablet. "I don't understand half of what I watched, but I understood enough. You were... exceptional, Ethan. I'm sorry you lost, but what you accomplished—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I may have underestimated your commitment."
Coming from his mother, that was practically a declaration of love.
"Thanks, Mom."
"Don't let it affect your grades," she added, the softness disappearing back into business-mode. "You still have midterms in two weeks."
"I know."
"And Ethan?" She picked up her briefcase. "Your sister wants you to call her. Something about 'opportunities.' I don't know what that means, but she sounded excited."
Margaret left for work, and Ethan was alone with his breakfast and his thoughts. He pulled out his phone and saw 47 unread messages, 15 missed calls, and his social media notifications had been muted because they'd exceeded 999.
He opened InstaConnect. His follower count had gone from 234 to 15,789 overnight.
His last post—a casual photo of his gaming setup from two weeks ago—now had 2,341 comments:
*"BRO YOU'RE THE YASUO GUY"*
*"Ethan Cole is HIM"*
*"Following because male gamers need representation"*
*"That game 3 was heartbreaking but you're insane"*
*"Why didn't you just WAIT before dashing in?????"* (That one stung.)
*"Yasuo jungle in FINALS. Legendary."*
He closed the app. Too much. Way too much.
The bus ride to campus was surreal. He kept his hood up, earbuds in, trying to be invisible. But twice, he caught people on the bus watching clips on their phones—clips of his plays, his champion selects, his team's reactions.
At one point, a girl across from him gasped while watching something, then looked up and made direct eye contact with Ethan. Her eyes widened in recognition.
He quickly looked away, pulled his hood lower, and prayed she wouldn't say anything.
She didn't. But she definitely took a photo. He saw the flash.
---
Silvercrest University's campus was already busy when Ethan arrived at 8:15 AM. Students rushing to early classes, groups clustered around coffee carts, the usual Monday morning chaos.
Ethan made it approximately fifty feet onto campus before it started.
"Holy shit, is that him?"
"That's Ethan Cole!"
"The Yasuo guy!"
"No way, he goes here?"
Heads turned. People stopped mid-conversation. Phones came out immediately.
Ethan walked faster, heading toward the Digital Media building where his first class was. But word was spreading like wildfire. By the time he reached the building entrance, there was a small crowd following at a distance.
"Ethan! Ethan, can we get a photo?"
"Dude, that Sylas game was INSANE!"
"Why did you dash forward in game 3?!" (Why did everyone keep asking that?)
"Are you going pro?"
He ducked into the building, but the lobby was worse. At least thirty students were clustered around a large screen that usually displayed campus announcements. Instead, it was showing a highlight reel—his plays from the tournament, set to dramatic music.
Someone had edited together a montage: The first blood against Nebula Rising. The Baron steal against Phantom Edge. The Sylas ultimate steals. The Yasuo pentakill potential that got cut short.
And the final moment—his Yasuo dashing forward, getting caught, dying, the Nexus falling. The video ended with "ETHAN COLE - MIXED BAG - SECOND PLACE SILVERCREST OPEN CIRCUIT" in bold letters.
The crowd watching noticed him.
"IT'S HIM!"
"ETHAN!"
"OH MY GOD!"
Suddenly he was surrounded. Questions flew from every direction:
"How long have you been playing?"
"Can you teach me jungle?"
"Why doesn't anyone know about you?"
"Are you actually Vicky Cole's brother?"
"Did Starfire Academy offer you a spot?"
"Is it true male players have slower reaction times?"
A girl pushed forward—tall, confident, wearing a Starfire Academy fan jacket. "You almost beat them," she said, and there was something challenging in her tone. "Almost. But you choked."
The crowd went quiet, sensing confrontation.
Ethan met her eyes. "Yeah. I choked. Still made it further than you've probably ever been."
"Oooooh," the crowd reacted.
The girl's face flushed. "I'm just saying, maybe there's a reason male players don't usually compete at that level. One mistake in the finals? That's not championship mentality."
Before Ethan could respond, another voice cut through: "Back off, Melissa."
A girl pushed through the crowd—athletic build, short dark hair, an air of authority. She wore a varsity esports jacket for Silvercrest University. Her name tag read "Captain - Olivia Chen."
"He got second place in a major underground tournament with a pickup team," Olivia said. "What have you done? Oh right, you got cut from tryouts."
Melissa's flush deepened. She opened her mouth, closed it, then pushed through the crowd and left.
Olivia turned to Ethan. "Sorry about her. Some people can't handle seeing their worldview challenged." She extended a hand. "Olivia Chen. I captain the university's esports team. We should talk."
"Uh, maybe later?" Ethan said, acutely aware of the crowd still pressing in. "I have class."
"Right. Sure." Olivia handed him a card. "My number. Seriously, call me. We have a spot opening up on our team and you'd be perfect."
She left, and the crowd finally started dispersing as the 8:30 class bell rang. Ethan practically ran to his Digital Marketing classroom, slipped in just as Professor Helena Chang was starting her lecture.
Every single head in the classroom turned to look at him.
Professor Chang paused mid-sentence. "Mr. Cole. How nice of you to join us. I trust your three-day absence was for something important?"
"Yes, Professor. I had—"
"I know what you had," she interrupted, and there was the slightest hint of a smile. "The entire faculty watched your tournament this weekend. It was quite impressive."
Wait, what?
"I must admit," Professor Chang continued, "I judged you harshly last week when you were gaming in my class. I thought you were wasting your time on a hopeless hobby. Clearly, I was wrong. You have genuine skill."
The class murmured in agreement. Ethan noticed several students had their phones out, probably recording this.
"However," Professor Chang's voice sharpened, "you still have a midterm in two weeks, and you're behind on coursework. Talent doesn't replace discipline. Take your seat."
Ethan quickly sat in the back row. The girl next to him—someone he'd never talked to before—immediately leaned over.
"Oh my god, you're the Yasuo jungle guy," she whispered. "That was insane. Can I get your autograph?"
"I... what?"
"Autograph! For my friend. She's a huge fan." The girl pulled out a notebook. "Can you sign 'To Jenny, from Ethan Cole'?"
This was surreal. He signed the notebook, and immediately three other students turned around with their own papers to sign.
Professor Chang cleared her throat. "Mr. Cole, if you're done with your autograph session, I'd like to continue teaching."
"Sorry, Professor."
The lecture resumed, but Ethan couldn't focus. His phone kept buzzing with messages. People kept glancing back at him. Someone in front was live-tweeting his presence in class.
When class ended, Professor Chang called him to her desk.
"Ethan," she said quietly, "I meant what I said. You have talent. But this campus is going to eat you alive if you're not careful. Fame is intoxicating and destructive. Don't let it derail your actual life."
"I won't, Professor."
"Good. Now get to your next class. And turn in the assignment you missed."
---
Lunch at the campus cafeteria was chaos.
Ethan arrived to find Marcus, Riley, Jake, and Sophie already sitting at a corner table, and they all looked equally shell-shocked.
"Bro," Marcus said as Ethan sat down, "this is INSANE. I've been stopped seventeen times. Seventeen! People want photos, autographs, gaming advice. One girl asked if I was single!"
"Did you get her number?" Riley asked.
"I panicked and said I had a girlfriend. Which I don't. I'm an idiot."
Jake was systematically eating his lunch while scrolling through his tablet. "Our team page on the tournament website has had 89,000 views since Saturday. That's more traffic than most regional pro teams get."
"My little brother's friends think I'm famous," Sophie said quietly. "They keep asking me to introduce them to Ethan."
"Why me specifically?" Ethan asked.
Sophie gave him a look. "Because you're a guy. In esports. Who's actually good. That's like finding a unicorn. You're going to get this reaction everywhere now."
Riley nodded. "She's right. I've been following the social media discourse. You've become a symbol—whether you want to be or not. 'Male player proves he belongs,' 'gender barriers broken,' all that. It's a lot of pressure."
"I just wanted to play games," Ethan muttered.
"Too late for that," Marcus said cheerfully. "We're celebrities now! Well, you're a celebrity. We're celebrity-adjacent."
A group of girls approached their table—five of them, all in matching campus esports club jackets.
"Um, hi," one of them said nervously. "We're from the Women's Gaming Initiative club. We just wanted to say... what you guys did was really inspiring. Like, we've always been told that mixed-gender teams can't compete at high levels because guys hold us back or whatever. But you proved that's not true."
Riley smiled. "Thanks. We appreciate that."
"Especially you," another girl said, looking at Ethan. "A lot of male players give up before they even try because the culture is so discouraging. You didn't. That takes guts."
They left after taking a group photo, and Ethan felt slightly better. Maybe this attention wasn't entirely terrible.
Then another group approached. Three guys, all wearing aggressive expressions.
"So you're the dude who almost beat Starfire," the tallest one said. It wasn't a compliment.
"Uh, yeah?"
"Must be nice," the guy continued, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Getting all this attention just because you're a guy who's decent at games. Girls work twice as hard and get half the recognition. But a guy shows up and suddenly everyone's losing their minds."
Ethan bristled. "I didn't ask for attention. I just played."
"Right. Sure." The guy leaned in. "But you're going to ride this wave, aren't you? 'Look at me, I'm breaking barriers.' Meanwhile, actual skilled players—girls who've been grinding for years—get ignored because they don't have your sob story."
Marcus stood up. "Back off, man."
"Or what?" The guy turned to Marcus. "You going to defend your token male player?"
Riley's voice cut through, cold and sharp: "He got second place in a major tournament against teams that included pro-level players. What have you accomplished? Because I checked—you're not even ranked in solo queue."
The guy's face turned red. His friends pulled him away before it could escalate, but he shot back: "Diversity hire" as a parting shot.
Ethan felt the sting of it. Diversity hire. Token player. The implication that his skill didn't matter, only his gender.
"Ignore him," Jake said calmly. "Statistically, there will always be people who can't accept evidence that contradicts their worldview. You can't change everyone's mind."
"I don't want to be a symbol," Ethan said. "I just want to play."
"Then play," Riley said firmly. "Ignore the noise. We know what you are—a damn good player who happened to help us reach finals. That's all that matters."
Sophie nodded. "We're a team. Whatever happens, we face it together."
The rest of lunch passed with constant interruptions—people asking for photos, autographs, gaming advice. It was overwhelming but also weirdly validating. For every person like that confrontational guy, there were three more who were genuinely excited and supportive.
---
Ethan's afternoon class—Game Theory and Design—was better. The professor, a middle-aged woman named Dr. Sarah Kim, actually incorporated the tournament into her lecture.
"This weekend, one of our own students participated in what's being called one of the most exciting esports tournaments in regional history," she announced. "Ethan Cole, would you mind if I used your finals match as a case study?"
Ethan shrank in his seat. "Uh, I guess?"
For the next hour, Dr. Kim broke down the game three draft, analyzing Mixed Bag's risky champion selections, Starfire Academy's adaptation strategy, and the crucial moments where the momentum shifted.
"Notice here," she pointed to a clip of Ethan's fatal dash forward at 23:00, "this is what we call 'ego-death' in competitive gaming. The player becomes overconfident, makes an unforced error, and the opponent capitalizes instantly. It's a psychological phenomenon as much as a mechanical one."
Watching his mistake analyzed frame-by-frame in front of forty classmates was excruciating. But it was also educational. Dr. Kim broke it down without judgment, purely from a game design perspective.
"The beauty of esports," she concluded, "is that games of this caliber teach us more through failure than victory. Mr. Cole's team demonstrated exceptional skill and creativity. Their loss demonstrated that even the best still have room to grow. That's the nature of competition."
After class, Dr. Kim asked Ethan to stay behind.
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," she said. "But that match was genuinely fascinating from a pedagogical standpoint. You made bold choices under pressure. That's rare."
"Thanks, Professor. I think."
"I also wanted to mention—I coach the university's esports team as a faculty advisor. Olivia Chen mentioned you might be interested in trying out?"
"I don't know," Ethan admitted. "This is all happening really fast."
"Understood. But think about it. You have talent, Ethan. Raw talent. With proper coaching and consistent practice, you could go far. Don't waste it."
---
By the time Ethan got home at 5 PM, he was exhausted. Not physically tired—mentally drained from constant attention, questions, photos, and analysis.
His phone had 200+ new messages. His social media followers had increased to 23,000. Someone had created a fan page for him. There were already memes about his game three dash.
He collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
His door opened. Vicky stood there, still in her Valkyrie Esports training gear.
"Rough day?" she asked.
"Everyone knows. Everyone's talking about it. I can't go anywhere without people recognizing me."
Vicky sat on his desk chair. "Welcome to my life for the past three years."
"How do you deal with it?"
"Honestly? You don't. You just adapt." She leaned forward. "But here's the thing—you have something I didn't have when I started. You have proof. One tournament, and you proved you belong. That's huge."
"I also proved I choke under pressure."
"You proved you're human," Vicky corrected. "Every pro player has that moment. The throw that cost them everything. It's what you do after that defines you."
Ethan sat up. "Did you really watch all the games?"
"Every single one. I cancelled practice Saturday night to watch the finals live." Vicky smiled. "I'm not going to lie—when you picked Sylas in game one, I thought you were trolling. When you picked Yasuo in game three, I nearly had a heart attack."
"But?"
"But you made it work. That's the sign of real talent—taking unconventional picks and executing them at the highest level. You didn't win, but you earned respect. That's worth more in the long run."
She stood to leave, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Ethan? Three teams have reached out to me asking about you. Real teams. Pro organizations. They want to know if you're interested in tryouts."
Ethan's heart skipped. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. I told them you'd need time to think about it. But the opportunity is there." She grinned. "Who knows? Maybe one day we'll be competing against each other at championships."
After Vicky left, Ethan lay back down and processed everything. One tournament had changed his entire life. From unknown student to recognized player. From doubting himself to having pro teams asking about him.
His phone buzzed. A message from Claire: *"Surviving your first day of fame? -C"*
He replied: *"Barely. This is insane."*
*"It'll settle down. Eventually. Maybe. Probably not. Want to grab coffee and talk about what's next?"*
Ethan stared at the message. Coffee with Claire. The mysterious player who'd been watching from the beginning, who'd helped him, who seemed to understand this world better than anyone.
*"Sure. When?"*
*"Tomorrow after your classes. I'll text you the place. -C"*
Ethan set down his phone and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he'd deal with more attention, more questions, more people analyzing his every move.
But tonight, he just needed to breathe.
One day at a time.
One game at a time.
The tournament was over, but his journey was just beginning.
---