The message from Claire came two days later, early Saturday morning:
*"Found you a coach. Meet at Axiom Netcafe, 2 PM today. Don't be late. She doesn't do second chances. -C"*
Ethan forwarded it to the team group chat, which immediately exploded with activity:
**Marcus:** *SHE?! Please tell me she's not scary*
**Riley:** *All good coaches are scary. That's how you know they're effective.*
**Jake:** *I've compiled a list of questions we should ask during the interview.*
**Sophie:** *what if she doesn't like us*
**Riley:** *Then we find another coach. But let's give her a fair chance.*
**Ethan:** *Everyone be there by 1:45. We're not showing up late.*
---
Axiom Netcafe looked different in daylight—less atmospheric, more utilitarian. The neon signs were off, the gaming stations mostly empty except for a few hardcore players grinding ranked. Diana Rivers was at the front desk, and she nodded at Ethan when he entered.
"Your coach is in the back conference room," Diana said. "Fair warning—she's intense. But if you can handle her, you'll improve faster than with anyone else in the region."
"That's ominous," Marcus muttered as the team made their way to the back.
The conference room was small—a table with six chairs, a whiteboard on one wall, and a large monitor mounted opposite. A woman sat at the head of the table, laptop open, making notes. She looked to be in her early thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, sharp features, and an expression that suggested she suffered no fools.
She looked up as they entered. "You're early. Good. Sit."
It wasn't a request. They sat.
The woman closed her laptop and stood, extending her hand to Riley first—correctly identifying the team captain. "Victoria Nash. I've been coaching esports teams for eight years. I've taken two teams to regional championships and one to nationals. I'm expensive, demanding, and I will make you want to quit."
Riley shook her hand firmly. "Riley Tanaka. We're not quitters."
"Everyone says that." Victoria's eyes swept across each of them, lingering on Ethan. "You're the Yasuo jungle."
"Ethan Cole."
"I watched your tournament. All of it. Game one was brilliant. Game two was acceptable. Game three was a masterclass in talent wasted by poor decision-making." She didn't say it cruelly, just matter-of-factly. "You have potential. All of you do. But potential without discipline is just disappointment waiting to happen."
Marcus raised his hand tentatively. "Are you always this intense?"
"Yes. If you can't handle directness, leave now. I don't do coddling." Victoria sat back down, pulling up something on her laptop. "Let me be clear about what I offer. I will coach you for three months—enough time to prepare for the Silvercrest Regional Championship. I will design training regimens, analyze your gameplay, fix your fundamental mistakes, and teach you how to close out games."
"How much?" Jake asked, cutting to the practical question.
"Four thousand credits. Total, not per person. Payable in installments."
The team exchanged glances. Four thousand split five ways was 800 each—doable, but not easy for college students.
"We can manage that," Riley said.
"Good. But money isn't my main concern. I only coach teams that are serious about going pro. Not teams that want to 'have fun' or 'see how far we get.' If I'm investing my time, I need to know you're investing everything." Victoria's gaze was unwavering. "So tell me—why should I coach you?"
Silence. Then Sophie spoke up, surprising everyone: "Because we almost won against one of the best teams in the region with zero coaching. Imagine what we could do with someone who actually knows what they're doing."
Victoria's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes—approval, maybe. "Fair point. Anyone else?"
"We have chemistry," Riley said. "That's not something you can teach. We communicate well, we trust each other, and we're willing to put in the work."
"We're also a mixed-gender team," Marcus added. "Which makes us interesting from a marketing perspective. We could attract sponsors that other teams can't."
"I don't care about your gender composition," Victoria said flatly. "I care about your win rate. But Marcus is right that it makes you marketable." She looked at Ethan. "And you? Why should I coach you specifically?"
Ethan met her eyes. "Because I'm tired of almost winning. I want to learn how to close games. I want to turn my mechanical skill into actual victories. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
Victoria studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Alright. I'll coach you. But we start with ground rules."
She pulled up a document on the monitor—a detailed contract.
**COACHING AGREEMENT - TERMS:**
1. **Practice Schedule:** 20 hours per week minimum. Monday/Wednesday/Friday evenings (6-10 PM), Saturday mornings (9 AM-1 PM), Sunday VOD review (2-4 PM).
2. **Attendance:** Missing more than two practices per month without valid reason results in removal from coaching program.
3. **Solo Queue Requirement:** Each player must maintain at least Diamond rank. Falling below results in additional training.
4. **Physical Health:** Minimum 6 hours sleep per night, proper meals, basic exercise. Gaming performance is directly tied to physical health.
5. **VOD Reviews:** Each player must submit 3 replays per week for analysis—wins AND losses.
6. **Communication:** All team disagreements go through me first. No airing dirty laundry in public or on social media.
7. **Tournament Commitment:** You attend every tournament I register you for. No exceptions.
8. **Payment Schedule:** 1,000 credits upfront, 1,000 per month for three months.
"This is intense," Jake said, scrolling through the full document on his phone.
"Welcome to professional esports," Victoria replied. "This is what it takes. If you're not willing to commit to this level of structure, you're wasting my time and yours."
Riley looked at each team member, getting silent nods. "We agree. When do we start?"
"Right now." Victoria stood and walked to the whiteboard. "First lesson: why you lost game three."
She pulled up the VOD on the monitor—the final game against Starfire Academy. The team winced collectively.
"I've watched this game seventeen times," Victoria said. "I've identified forty-three distinct mistakes. We're going to go through each one."
"Forty-three?" Marcus's voice cracked slightly.
"Forty-three. And that's just the major ones." Victoria paused the video at the 23:00 mark—the moment Ethan dashed forward. "But we'll start with the most obvious. Ethan, explain what you were thinking here."
Ethan swallowed. Watching his mistake again, in front of everyone, with a professional coach analyzing it, was excruciating. "I thought I could finish Seraphine. I saw an opportunity and took it."
"Wrong. You saw an opportunity and got greedy." Victoria rewound ten seconds. "Look at your team's positioning. Marcus is low, Riley just used her ultimate, Jake is at 60% HP. You have no backup. Seraphine has all her cooldowns available—you can see it in her ability bar. And yet you commit."
She let the play continue—Ethan getting caught, dying, the cascade of consequences.
"This isn't a mechanics problem. Your mechanics are excellent. This is a decision-making problem. You confused confidence with invincibility." Victoria paused the video. "Every player has this moment. The play that costs them everything. The question is: do you learn from it or repeat it?"
"I won't repeat it," Ethan said quietly.
"Prove it. Over the next three months, I'm going to put you in situations where aggression is tempting. Where the risky play looks like the right play. And you're going to learn to distinguish between calculated aggression and suicide."
Victoria moved to the next mistake—a missed ward at 18:00 that cost them vision. Then another at 21:00 where Jake positioned slightly too far forward. Then one at 25:00 where Sophie used her ultimate too early.
By the time they'd covered twenty of the forty-three mistakes, two hours had passed and everyone looked mentally exhausted.
"That's enough for today," Victoria said, closing her laptop. "Your homework: each of you watch this game again on your own. Write down every mistake you personally made. Be honest. Bring your notes to practice Monday."
"Wait," Riley said. "You said we're starting now. Is this not practice?"
Victoria smiled—the first time she'd done so. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it wasn't cruel either. "This was orientation. Practice starts Monday. And it's going to be much harder than this."
---
After the meeting, the team sat in Axiom's main area, processing what had just happened.
"She's terrifying," Marcus said.
"She's exactly what we need," Riley countered. "We have seven weeks until the tournament. We can't afford a coach who's going to be gentle with our feelings."
"Forty-three mistakes," Sophie said quietly. "In one game."
"And that was game three where we were winning," Jake added. "Imagine how many mistakes we made in game two."
Ethan hadn't said anything. He was still processing Victoria's analysis, her dissection of his decision-making. It stung, but it was also clarifying. She was right—his problem wasn't mechanics, it was judgment.
His phone buzzed. Claire: *"How did it go with Coach Nash?"*
*"She's intense. But good. We signed with her."*
*"Good choice. Victoria doesn't take just anyone. If she agreed to coach you, she sees potential. Don't waste it."*
Another message, this time from Vicky: *"Reminder: Family dinner tomorrow, 6 PM. Mom's making pot roast. Dad's going to ask about your 'plans.' Prepare accordingly."*
Ethan groaned. He'd been dreading this dinner all week.
"What's wrong?" Riley asked.
"Family dinner tomorrow. My parents want to talk about my future."
Marcus winced sympathetically. "The 'what are you doing with your life' talk?"
"Probably. My mom watched the tournament and was supportive, but I'm guessing that support has limits."
"Want backup?" Marcus offered. "I can show up and make your life choices seem responsible by comparison."
Despite everything, Ethan laughed. "I'll survive. Probably."
---
Sunday evening came too quickly. Ethan stood on his parents' doorstep at 5:55 PM, psyching himself up. Through the window, he could see Vicky in the kitchen helping their mom with dinner. His dad was in the living room, reading something on his tablet.
Normal family dinner. Nothing to worry about.
He opened the door.
"Ethan!" His mother appeared immediately, pulling him into a hug. "Right on time. Good. We're almost ready. Go sit with your father."
Richard Cole looked up from his tablet as Ethan entered the living room. "Son. Good to see you."
"Hey, Dad."
An awkward silence settled. Richard had never been great at small talk, and Ethan had inherited that trait.
"Saw your tournament," Richard said finally. "That was... impressive."
"Thanks."
"That last game though. Tough loss."
"Yeah."
More silence. Then Richard set down his tablet. "I never told you this, but I used to play music. Guitar. Had a band in college. We were pretty good—did a few small tours, even recorded an EP."
Ethan blinked, surprised. "Really? I didn't know that."
"Your mother and I were just starting to get serious when I had to choose—pursue music or get a stable job. The band had an opportunity to tour for six months, but your mother was pregnant with Victoria." Richard smiled slightly. "I chose stability. Got my finance degree, got a job. Never regretted it, but..."
"But you wonder what could have been?"
"Every day." Richard met his eyes. "I'm telling you this because your mother and I are going to ask you about your plans tonight. About college, career, the future. And I want you to know that whatever you choose, make sure it's *your* choice. Not what's practical. Not what makes sense. What you actually want."
The vulnerability in his father's voice was unexpected and touching.
"Thanks, Dad."
"Dinner's ready!" Margaret called from the kitchen.
They gathered around the table—the same table Ethan had eaten at hundreds of times, but everything felt different now. Vicky kept giving him encouraging looks. His mother was unusually quiet, serving food with careful precision.
They made it through appetizers and most of the main course before Margaret finally broached the topic.
"So, Ethan," she said, setting down her fork. "Your father and I have been discussing your future."
Here it comes.
"We're very proud of what you accomplished in the tournament. Truly. But we're concerned about the path you're considering."
"What path?" Ethan asked carefully.
"Professional gaming." Margaret's tone wasn't hostile, just worried. "Vicky has explained to us that you've hired a coach, that you're planning to compete seriously. Is that accurate?"
"Yes."
"And your studies?"
"I'm keeping up with my classes. My GPA is still above 3.0."
"For now," Margaret said. "But Ethan, this coaching schedule Vicky described—twenty hours a week? That's practically a part-time job. How are you going to maintain your grades, have any kind of social life, and pursue this gaming career?"
"I'll manage. People balance jobs and school all the time."
"But this isn't a job," Margaret pressed. "It's a risk. A gamble. What happens if you dedicate all this time and energy and don't make it? What happens if in three years, you've sacrificed your education for a dream that didn't pan out?"
Ethan felt his jaw tighten. "What happens if I don't try and spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if'?"
The table went quiet. Vicky was watching the exchange with careful neutrality. Richard had stopped eating.
Margaret sighed. "I'm not trying to crush your dreams. I'm trying to be realistic. I've seen too many people—talented people—waste their potential chasing impossible goals."
"It's not impossible," Ethan said. "I got second place in my first tournament. Professional teams are asking about me. This isn't some fantasy—it's a real opportunity."
"An opportunity that could disappear tomorrow," Margaret countered. "The esports scene is fickle. You're popular now because you're a novelty—a male player who's actually good. But what happens when the novelty wears off? What happens when you have a bad tournament, or get injured, or simply get older and your reflexes slow down?"
"Then I'll figure it out. But at least I'll have tried."
"Trying isn't enough!" Margaret's voice rose slightly. "You need a backup plan. You need—"
"Let me tell him," Richard interrupted quietly.
Margaret looked at her husband, surprised.
Richard turned to Ethan. "Your mother is right that you need to be smart about this. But she's also scared—scared that you're going to make the same mistakes I did. Or rather, scared that you're going to avoid my mistakes and succeed, which means watching you face struggles we can't protect you from."
"Rick," Margaret started.
"No, Maggie, let me finish." Richard looked at Ethan. "Here's my advice: commit to your education and your gaming equally. Don't let one destroy the other. If you're going to do this, do it right. Get your degree—even if it takes an extra year because you're balancing training. Build actual skills you can use if gaming doesn't work out. But don't give up on your dream just because it's hard or risky."
Vicky spoke up for the first time. "For what it's worth, I think Ethan can handle it. He's more disciplined than I was when I started. And he has something I didn't have—a team that actually functions well together."
Margaret looked around the table—her husband supporting Ethan's dream, her daughter endorsing it, and Ethan himself waiting for her verdict.
Finally, she spoke: "Fine. Try. But with conditions. You maintain at least a 3.0 GPA. You don't quit your degree program. And if after one year, you're not making meaningful progress toward a professional career, you commit fully to your education. Deal?"
It wasn't enthusiastic support, but it was permission. That was more than Ethan had expected.
"Deal," he said.
Margaret relaxed slightly. "Good. Now can we please finish dinner before it gets cold?"
The tension dissipated, and conversation shifted to lighter topics—Vicky's upcoming matches, Richard's work project, Margaret's frustrating new client. Normal family stuff.
But as Ethan helped clear the dishes after dinner, his mother pulled him aside.
"I meant what I said about being proud," she said quietly. "I watched you play. I don't understand the game, but I understand determination. I understand fighting for something you believe in." She hesitated. "Just... don't lose yourself in the pursuit. Win or lose, you're still my son. That doesn't change."
Ethan hugged her, surprising them both. "Thanks, Mom."
---
Monday evening, 6 PM sharp, all five members of Mixed Bag arrived at Axiom Netcafe for their first official practice. Victoria Nash was already there, setting up multiple monitors and a camera system.
"On time. Excellent. Sit down, log in, and warm up for fifteen minutes. Then we start."
The team settled into their stations—the same setup they'd used during the tournament. But this time, Victoria had cameras positioned to record their screens, their faces, and their hands.
"Everything you do will be recorded," Victoria explained. "I'll review these recordings later to analyze not just your gameplay but your physical habits. Posture, hand movements, even facial expressions can indicate decision-making patterns."
"That's intense," Marcus muttered.
"That's professional." Victoria pulled up her laptop. "First exercise: 5v5 against the university esports team. Olivia Chen agreed to scrim with us as a favor. They're good—not as good as Starfire Academy, but good enough to punish your mistakes."
"Wait, we're playing against them right now?" Riley asked.
"Best way to assess your current level. And don't worry about losing—I expect you to lose. The goal is to identify weaknesses." Victoria checked her watch. "They're waiting in the lobby. Riley, create the custom game and invite them."
The practice match was humbling. The university team—coordinated, practiced, coached—systematically took apart Mixed Bag's early aggression. Ethan tried to make plays happen, but their jungler predicted every path. Their team fights were cleaner, their rotations faster, their macro play superior.
They lost in 28 minutes.
"Good," Victoria said as the defeat screen appeared. "Now you understand the gap. That's what proper coaching looks like. They're not more talented than you—they're more practiced. More structured. That's what we're going to fix."
She spent the next two hours drilling them on fundamentals: perfect CSing under pressure, ability combos until muscle memory took over, communication callouts that were precise and information-dense.
By 10 PM, when practice officially ended, Ethan's hands ached and his brain felt like mush.
"That's it for today," Victoria said. "Tomorrow's solo queue night—I want each of you to play until you win three games, regardless of how long it takes. Wednesday we'll review tonight's VODs and drill specific scenarios."
As they packed up, Victoria called Ethan over.
"You held back tonight," she said.
"What?"
"You held back. Multiple times, you saw aggressive plays but didn't take them. You're overcorrecting from your game three mistake." Victoria's gaze was sharp. "Don't do that. Aggression isn't your weakness—poor judgment of *when* to be aggressive is. We're going to fix the judgment, but I need you to keep the aggression. That's what makes you dangerous."
"How do I know when to be aggressive and when to hold back?"
"That's what the next seven weeks are for." Victoria smiled slightly. "But here's a shortcut: ask yourself 'if this fails, does my team still win the game?' If the answer is no, don't do it. If the answer is yes, send it."
It was simple, but profound. A framework for decision-making under pressure.
"Thanks, Coach."
"Don't thank me yet. We've barely started."
That night, Ethan lay in bed scrolling through messages. The team group chat was active:
Marcus: my hands hurt. is this normal?
Riley: Yes. Welcome to professional training.
Jake: I've already identified 12 mistakes I made today. Starting a spreadsheet.
Sophie: that university team was really good
Riley: And we're going to be better. One practice at a time.
A separate message from Claire: "Heard you started with Victoria. How was day one?"
"Brutal but good. She recorded everything and we lost to the university team."
"Perfect. If you won on day one, you wouldn't have room to grow. Seven weeks until regionals. That's enough time if you use it well."
"No pressure, right?"
"All the pressure. That's what makes it fun. ;)"
Ethan smiled at that. Then another message came through, this one from an unknown number:
"Hey Ethan, this is Seraphine Kim from Starfire Academy. Heard you registered for regionals. Looking forward to the rematch. Don't disappoint me. -S"
His smile faded. The reminder was clear: Starfire Academy was waiting. They'd proven they could win. Now Mixed Bag had to prove they could too.
Ethan set down his phone and stared at the ceiling. Seven weeks. That's all they had.
Time to make every single one count