By the time Bonita returned to the stadium, the competitors emerged for the second half of the thrilling match. The series, a tense best-of-seven, was heating up with the fifth round currently unfolding.

The opposing team had visibly lost their usual edge, allowing Neal’s team to dominate with a three-to-one lead in the initial bouts. With just one more win needed, the finals were nearly within their grasp. Neal and his team had effortlessly snagged three consecutive victories, although their opponents had managed to snatch the fourth game. Emerging from the halftime break rejuvenated, the opponents introduced a fresh substitute who infused the game with renewed vigor and aggression.

This strategic shift proved successful, as they secured a win in the fifth game.

Now, with two consecutive triumphs, the opposing team’s morale soared. Their supporters erupted in cheers and bellowed encouragements.

“That new guy they brought in is a serious threat,” Neal remarked, his voice tinged with concern as he huddled with his team. “He’s brimming with youth and energy, driving their offensive plays. Taking him out of the equation will simplify our path to victory.”

“He’s also just a rookie, his debut game no less,” Sloane chimed in, his tone serious and his brow furrowed in concentration. “His nerves aren’t steel like the veterans’. If we rattle him early, he’ll crumble under pressure. Our strategy should be to zero in on him, watch him squirm, and then deliver our knockout blow at the perfect moment.”

Even though it was the inaugural large-scale competition for this game, each match proved to be an invaluable learning opportunity. Veteran players had clawed their way through the intense, strategic battles of the group stage’s round-robin, with each confrontation enriching their skills.

Upon finalizing their tactics, the sixth game kicked off with palpable tension.

Bonita leaned over, eyes sparkling with excitement, and whispered, “The opposing team is quite formidable, particularly their substitute. He’s in the zone—truly relentless.”

Fernanda responded with a thoughtful nod, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Absolutely. He’s not just good; he’s fearless and ambitious.”

“I’ve heard some whispers around here. They call him Ritchie Martel. Barely seventeen and he’s already a marvel, with a flair for fine arts that matches his fierce gaming prowess.”

“Really?” Fernanda’s smile widened, her enthusiasm evident. “That’s phenomenal. He’s truly in the golden age of competitive gaming.” As the game unfolded, Fernanda watched Ritchie intently, noting his consistently aggressive style.

Neal and his team had adapted their strategy, decisively focusing their efforts on Ritchie.

Ritchie’s team seemed to have predicted this move, presumably setting up defenses. However, they were caught off guard when Neal’s entire team, in a bold and synchronized assault, targeted Ritchie simultaneously.

After being taken down thrice in rapid succession, Ritchie’s agitation was visible; his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in focused determination. In the next team battle, Ritchie unleashed a brilliant, albeit reckless, move that turned the tide momentarily, though at a steep cost—his team members were all eliminated.

He ventured into the enemy base alone, accompanied only by his minions, while Neal’s team opted not to defend their own base. Instead, they aggressively pushed forward. Neal’s team, though reduced to three players, could assault the base more swiftly than Ritchie could manage on his own, leading to Neal’s team clinching the victory. They triumphed with a narrow margin of four to three, securing their spot in the finals.

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