Chapter 7: Prove Yourself or Fade Away

Wolf Team brought up the academy top laner. I've watched his streams—he's got more talent than most in his class.

I’d seen him grind twelve hours a day, running champion pool drills, practicing in solo queue against Korean imports. Kid had grit.

His style's a bit like mine—aggressive, always looking to make plays.

He’d post highlight clips on TikTok—tower dives, solo kills, montage music blasting. Reminded me of my own hungry days.

But Wolf Team doesn't want another me, so they've always had him practice tanks, focusing on defense.

I saw the same thing in his VODs: coaches making him draft Ornn, Maokai, safe picks. You could see the boredom in his eyes.

I used to get chewed out by coaches too, but because I was flexible and could carry with fighters, they eventually let it slide.

I’d spent hours grinding out weird picks just to keep my edge—sometimes it worked, sometimes I got roasted on Twitter. That’s the game.

During draft, Cyclone stuck to their usual style—steady, aiming to win mid-game teamfights.

Their coach wore the same old lucky tie he wore at Worlds. It was almost a meme at this point.

But with me gone, Wolf Team had to rework their lineup. The new top's strength was unknown, so they put everything on the ADC, switching from a double-core to a single-core comp.

Even the casters noticed: "Wolf Team funneling resources bot—new strategy? Or a sign of trouble up top?"

That puts a ton of pressure on the ADC. If he doesn't get ahead, the team has no late-game power and will just slowly bleed out.

Chat was split: some said it was smart, others called it desperation. I just shook my head, knowing how much could go wrong.

But knowing my former teammates, Wolf Team's ADC is great at snowballing, but if he falls behind, he can't carry.

I’d seen it before—he’s hot when he’s ahead, but tilts hard when things go south. I wondered if he’d text me after the match, win or lose.

The clock ticked down, and you could feel the tension even through the stream—every second a gamble.

I saw Wolf Team's new top laner hesitate on the champ select screen. He hovered his signature pick for a few seconds, looked at the coach, but in the end, it was vetoed.

His mouse lingered over the champion—his hands twitching, wanting to lock it in. But a word from the coach, a shake of the head, and he sighed, switching to the tank. My chat lit up with rip memes, and I just watched, knowing exactly how that felt. I knew that look—wanting to prove yourself but being told to play it safe. I’d lived that scene too many times.

Would the kid rise up—or would Wolf Team finally fall apart without me?