Master Tier did not feel crowded.
It felt selective.
The player pool thinned sharply, not because fewer people reached it, but because fewer people stayed active. Matches took longer to form. Familiar IDs appeared repeatedly. Some games felt less like matchmaking and more like scheduled encounters.
At this height, numbers started to carry weight.
Ranks weren't just positions anymore.
They were reputations.
Nightwalker's name began appearing in conversations he never saw.
He noticed it indirectly—players dodging queues, teammates adjusting their play before the loading screen finished, opponents choosing safer drafts the moment his Holy Crusader locked in.
Master Tier didn't announce respect.
It demonstrated it.
World Chat shifted again.
"He's climbing toward the top hundred.""No way that account is random.""Which team hides a Crusader like that?""If he hits Top 100, it's over."
Daniel muted the channel.
Top 100 wasn't a title.
It was a boundary.
The match that pushed him closer came against a familiar cluster of names—players he had seen three or four times already. They knew his habits. He knew theirs.
The early game was clean.
Too clean.
No one committed. No one overreached.
They circled each other like professionals sharing the same scrim block.
At twelve minutes, the enemy team made their move—not toward an objective, but toward space.
They tried to choke him out.
Daniel adjusted instantly.
He didn't push back.
He absorbed.
Every step he took closed an angle. Every pause forced hesitation.
The fight that followed wasn't explosive.
It was surgical.
Two abilities forced early. One cooldown burned unnecessarily.
That was all Daniel needed.
He engaged.
Shield slam.
The formation cracked.
The carry fell.
The rest scattered.
The match ended shortly after.
VICTORY
The system updated quietly.
Master Rank: 142 → 118
Daniel stared at the number for a moment longer than usual.
That range mattered.
Above it—
People didn't just play.
They watched.
Later that night, Daniel received a private message from an unfamiliar ID.
GreyDirective:That Crusader angle you use near mid choke—you don't see that on ladder.
Daniel replied simply.
Nightwalker:Ladder teaches bad habits.
A pause.
GreyDirective:Thought so.
The conversation ended there.
But Daniel recognized the tone.
That wasn't curiosity.
That was evaluation.
Offline, the document grew.
ADC: Confirmed.Mid: Potential.Support: Open.Jungle: Unknown.
He stared at the empty slots longer than the filled ones.
City League required five.
Not four.
Not "almost ready."
Five.
Another message arrived, later than expected.
CrystalFeather:I submitted my release paperwork.
Daniel's reply came immediately.
Nightwalker:When are you free?
A pause.
CrystalFeather:After the holidays.
Nightwalker:Good.We'll start slow.
Three dots blinked.
CrystalFeather:You really believe this can work?
Daniel didn't hesitate.
Nightwalker:I wouldn't be here otherwise.
Daniel queued again.
Master Tier felt different now.
Not like a climb.
Like a waiting room.
The ladder above him—the Top 100—was no longer abstract.
It had shape.
It had names.
And soon—
It would have expectations.