The closer Nightwalker moved toward Platinum, the less random his games became.
Gold II was not a ceiling—it was a warning.
Opponents no longer reacted to him. They prepared for him.
The change was subtle at first.
Drafts locked faster.Vision appeared earlier.Junglers pathing avoided his usual angles instead of colliding with them.
They weren't afraid of losing fights.
They were afraid of starting the wrong one.
World Chat reflected the shift.
"He's still winning.""But teams are playing around him now.""Look at their warding.""That's not ladder play."
Someone posted a short clip.
A Holy Crusader standing still at a jungle choke point.No engage. No movement.Three enemies backing away.
"That's pressure," someone typed."That's not mechanics."
Daniel closed the chat.
Pressure was invisible to people who didn't understand it.
The next match loaded.
From the opening seconds, the enemy mid laner played differently—holding cooldowns, refusing to trade, giving up lane priority to maintain safety.
"They're waiting for you," Starguard said quietly.
"Yes," Daniel replied. "Good."
"Good?"
"It means they've stopped guessing."
The first ten minutes passed without a single real fight.
Gold players who prepared did not rush.
They probed.
Fake rotations. Partial commits. Pressure applied just enough to force reactions.
Daniel did not react.
He repositioned.
Every step he took narrowed the map.
Starguard noticed it now—not because he told her, but because she felt it.
When Daniel stopped moving, she stopped too.
When he advanced, she was already adjusting her range.
No calls.
No reminders.
Just alignment.
The first engagement came near the river.
Not explosive.
Calculated.
The enemy team committed three players to one side, trying to isolate Daniel away from the objective.
Daniel didn't disengage.
He anchored.
Shield raised. Space claimed.
The damage came.
Starguard hesitated—then trusted her read.
She healed early.
Daniel held.
The enemy hesitated.
That hesitation broke their formation.
The counterattack was immediate.
One down.
The rest disengaged.
Voice chat stayed quiet.
Everyone felt it.
That moment when preparation met resistance—and failed.
Mid-game became a chessboard.
Gold-level teams tried to pull Daniel out of position.
He refused.
They tried to bait Starguard.
She didn't bite.
At one point, a teammate mispositioned badly.
In Silver, that would have been fatal.
Daniel stepped sideways.
Blocked the angle.
Starguard followed instantly.
The mistake was erased.
After the fight, their ADC spoke softly.
"…You two didn't even talk."
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The victory came late.
Not dramatic.
Just inevitable.
VICTORY
Gold I.
One step from Platinum.
The lobby loaded.
No congratulations. No jokes.
Someone typed a single line.
"They're ready."
Daniel exited without replying.
Queue time stretched again.
Starguard broke the silence.
"…People are actually studying us now, aren't they?"
"Yes," Daniel replied.
She hesitated.
"Does that change anything?"
Daniel thought for a moment.
"No," he said. "It confirms it."
"Confirms what?"
"That this climb is real."
She smiled faintly.
For the first time since she started playing ranked, Starguard wasn't nervous about losing.
She was curious about what waited ahead.
Daniel clicked queue.
Platinum wasn't just a rank.
It was a declaration.
And the ladder was starting to answer back.