Curiosity about Fernanda’s mysterious new partner piqued Leon’s interest. He wondered what type of remarkable person could capture her heart.

Following a lavish dinner, Leon arranged for his men to escort the heavily intoxicated Clement and several others back to their lodgings.

Clement woke up late the following afternoon, still feeling the effects of the night before.

He rushed to the studio and discovered a few team members already deeply engaged in gaming.

They had hooked their phones up to monitors and were using emulators. Recognizing the game, Clement silently moved closer to watch over their shoulders.

Their hand speed was impressive, showcasing their expertise in the game.

Clement was particularly taken aback by one player—a young woman in a white dress that made her look like a beautiful bride.

This woman was playing a champion that starkly contrasted with her appearance—a muscular one.

She skillfully maneuvered her champion, absorbing blows at the vanguard while orchestrating her team’s movements.

“Charge, everyone! What’s holding you back? Levi, you shouldn’t be at the front; you’re an archer! Look out, the enemy mage has exhausted his skills. Neal, now’s your chance! How the hell do you keep dying, Alex?”

Her voice was sweet, yet her commands boomed with authority, matching the champion she played.

Once the game ended, Sloane removed her headphones, saved the gameplay footage, and readied herself for the post-game analysis. Though victorious, the win had been a struggle, and Sloane was visibly upset.

She was convinced the team had slacked off during their break, evidenced by their messy performance.

Taking a sip of water, Sloane spotted Clement and squinted.

“You’re one of Fernanda’s friends from her hometown, aren’t you?”

Clement gave a husky “Yeah,” which lent him an unexpected air of roughness.

Sloane looked Clement over carefully and gave an approving nod. “Not bad.”

Clement blinked in confusion, wondering what she meant.

Just then, Fernanda walked in. Sloane wasted no time showing her the game footage and expressing her frustration with the team’s poor effort during the break.

“Gifford was the only one who pulled his weight,” Sloane said. “Neal was the worst, Alex wasn’t far behind, and Levi… he’s not totally hopeless, but he’s hardly good.”

Alex, feeling the sting of Sloane’s words, avoided eye contact, his guilt apparent.

He had spent the break distracted by a different game, which had cut into his practice time significantly.

Neal was slumped in his chair, tapping his phone with an air of urgency.

Sloane leaned in to whisper to Fernanda, “Neal is definitely seeing someone. He’s been grinning at his phone all day; I’ve counted at least ten times.”

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