Nightwalker entered the Top 100 the way he entered everything lately.
Quietly.
Without asking permission.
One clean win, a steady climb, and then the number beside his rank changed as if it had been waiting for the right moment to admit the truth.
Master Rank: 103 → 97
The system didn't celebrate.
It simply updated.
But the world noticed immediately.
A golden system announcement flashed across the screen, visible even to people who hadn't muted anything.
[System] Congratulations! Player "Nightwalker" has entered the Top 100 of Master Tier.
For half a second, the game client felt like it held its breath.
Then the channels exploded.
World Chat didn't roar the way it did in lower tiers.It crackled—sharp, fast, full of people trying to sound casual while staring at the same profile.
"Top 100 Crusader?""Still undefeated?""Who plays Holy Crusader up there?""Not 'who.' Which team."
Someone posted a screenshot of the match history again.
Wins. Wins. Wins.No red.
A line followed instantly:
"That's not ladder. That's a pro warming up."
Daniel closed the panel.
It didn't matter what they said.
The announcement wasn't for him.
It was a signal to everyone else.
Above Top 100, the ladder stopped being anonymous. Players didn't just queue into opponents—they queued into reputations.
Top 100 wasn't a number.
It was a roster.
The next queue took longer.
Dodges started again.
Not because people feared losing points.
Because people feared being remembered.
When the match finally loaded, Daniel recognized two names immediately. Players he had seen in high Master before, now grouped together on the opposing side.
The enemy frontline didn't advance carelessly.The enemy jungler didn't show early.Their mid played as if every spell had been rehearsed.
They were ready.
Or at least they thought they were.
The early game was razor quiet.
No skirmishes. No forced trades.Only small, deliberate movements—vision placed, vision removed, lanes held at exact distances.
At eleven minutes, Daniel noticed something.
The enemy team was saving everything for one moment.
A full commit.
A single fight where they intended to break him.
He didn't stop them.
He made sure it happened where he wanted.
The objective spawned.
Teams gathered.
Vision vanished.
The river became a corridor.
Someone in Daniel's team whispered in voice, "They're going to all-in this. Stay tight."
Daniel didn't speak.
He stepped forward.
Shield low.
Not threatening.
Inviting.
The enemy took the invitation.
They committed.
Hard.
Abilities layered. Damage poured in. Control effects stacked.
It was clean.
It was coordinated.
It was exactly the kind of engage that destroyed most teams on ladder.
Daniel absorbed it.
And then, at the moment the enemy expected him to fall—
He moved.
One step sideways.
Not back.
Sideways.
It wasn't a dodge.
It was a cut.
The enemy carry's line of fire broke.
Their follow-up hesitated.
Half a second.
That half second was everything.
Daniel engaged.
Shield slam.
Perfect angle.
The enemy formation cracked like glass.
One fell.
Then two.
Then the rest retreated, suddenly uncertain whether the fight had ever been theirs.
The objective went to Daniel's team without contest.
The map tilted.
The match ended twelve minutes later.
VICTORY
When the lobby returned, nobody typed.
Not on his team.
Not on theirs.
Top 100 didn't respond with insults or excuses.
It responded by remembering.
A private message arrived from an unfamiliar ID.
GreyDirective:Welcome to the list.
Daniel replied with two words.
Nightwalker:Thanks.
Another message arrived right after.
GreyDirective:City League soon.
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Everyone was starting to speak the same language now.
He logged out.
Not because he was tired.
Because the ladder was no longer the urgent thing.
The clock was.
City League registration was getting closer, and Top 100 attention wasn't free. It came with a cost: curiosity, pressure, and hands reaching from places he didn't want watching him.
Daniel opened the document again.
The roster list stared back.
ADC: Confirmed.Mid: Pending.Support: Open.Jungle: Unknown.Top: Unknown.
Five slots.
A month.
And now an audience.
His phone buzzed.
Zhou.
Daniel answered.
"You saw it," Zhou said.
Daniel didn't deny it.
Zhou chuckled once, then his voice lowered.
"Top 100 means people will start asking questions. Not in chat. Through channels."
Daniel leaned back.
"Let them."
Zhou paused.
"Then we do this properly," he said. "City League isn't a ladder game. It's paperwork, schedules, logistics, rules. You ready for that?"
Daniel's answer was calm.
"I've been ready."
Zhou exhaled.
"Then tomorrow. We sit down. We draw a real plan."
After the call, Daniel stared at the screen for a long moment.
Top 100.
Master.
A Holy Crusader with an undefeated record.
The game had given him a name again.
But his goal wasn't to be famous.
His goal was to return.
And this time, he wouldn't return alone.