Chapter Text
Applause and shrill screams nearly ruptured her eardrums, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The score stood 5:0—all four players had escaped, and this was truly something worth celebrating. A sea of golden light from the spectator stands and spotlights blazing straight onto the players blinded her, yet nothing stung her eyes more sharply than him: arrogant, infuriatingly brilliant. Why was he always so composed? How did he constantly devise ingenious strategies she had never imagined? How could he move with such fluid agility? She resented her new teammate, and hated even more to admit she lagged behind him in certain aspects.
She ducked her head to hide the crack in her composure, digging her fingertips into her palms; the sharp jolt of pain forced her to steady herself. No matter what, she was the captain, the veteran, the recipient of the Best Performer award. When it came to foundational skills, no one could rival her. Though she’d nearly messed up this match, they’d pulled off a narrow victory in the end.
With that thought, she lifted her head, casually swept her hair back with a feigned air of ease, and tugged on a faint smile. This was Martha’s second year on team SRE, and her first as captain. She had always believed ambition was never a derogatory term. From the moment she joined the squad, she’d strived relentlessly to climb higher, pushing herself to grow stronger without reservation. She knew she possessed firmer resolve, fiercer ambition, and clearer goals than anyone else—and naturally thought all trophies and achievements belonged solely to her.
That was why she’d grown instantly wary the first time she witnessed Richard’s prowess, overcome with unprovoked resentment. Richard Sterling. She repeated the name silently to herself. As captain, reviewing new recruits’ files was only logical. Patricia’s dossier sat neatly stacked at the edge of her desk. She tapped her fingers against the table, wondering what the new member would be like. Patricia was several years older than her, yet her photo radiated youthful vitality: the woman grinned, revealing a neat row of white teeth, her distinctive dreadlocks tied high atop her head, an unforgettable sight. She must be lovely, Martha thought; that smile was overwhelmingly lively.
Her yellow-polished nails glided across another stack of papers. Flipping open the first page, she was met with a devastatingly handsome face—or rather, a devastatingly handsome, insolent face. Sharply raised brows, downturned lips, a lock of right-side bangs sticking up at an odd angle, golden hair ends curling haphazardly in every direction. Most striking of all were his eyes: bold dark face paint circled his right eye, while his pale green left iris was clear yet cold, his gaze distant, even faintly impatient. His scornful expression was as unruly as his silver stud earring. Subconsciously, she traced the outline of his features in her mind, conjuring an alluring yet unapproachable figure.
She paused. Hot. That was the first, only word that popped into her head upon spotting the mole at the corner of his right lip. This guy was clearly trouble. Wait—Sterling? Sterling International, the team’s biggest sponsor. The young heir of the Sterling family, playing esports? She’d already spun an entire dramatic backstory: a rich heir leaving home to prove his worth to his family. A difficult personality would make sense then, spoiled from childhood. From what she knew, people like him rarely had strong perseverance, let alone outstanding skill—here purely for the clout his money brought the team.
All in all, Martha’s first impression of Sterling was a spoiled, bad-tempered young master. She’d brushed him off without a second thought. Anyone who passed the tryouts couldn’t be completely useless, so he likely wouldn’t drag the team down. She’d seen countless wealthy kids like him; they’d lose interest quickly and rush back home to inherit their fortunes. She would remain the team’s strongest captain, and he would never threaten her championship plans.
But she was wrong. Not entirely, but half her assumptions had crumbled. She’d been right that Richard Sterling was an unpredictable rich kid with a volatile temper—but dead wrong that he was just another mediocre rookie player.