The empty chair stayed empty for three days.
Not because no one came.
Because no one fit.
Zhou kept a list on his tablet—names, ranks, brief notes. Top laners who played too safe. Ones who played too loud. Ones who needed resources they couldn't be given.
Daniel watched every tryout.
He said very little.
That silence was deliberate.
The fourth day, Zhou almost canceled.
"Another Master top," he said, scrolling. "Good numbers. Bad instincts."
Daniel was about to shake his head when the studio door opened again.
No knock.
Just a quiet click, followed by footsteps that didn't hurry.
Zhou looked up, irritated—then froze.
"…You," he said.
The man who walked in looked ordinary at first glance. Medium height. Calm expression. A posture that suggested patience rather than confidence.
He nodded once. "Heard you were looking."
Daniel stood.
Slowly.
"Blackstone," he said.
The man smiled faintly. "Still remember."
No one needed an introduction.
Blackstone—former professional top laner, Greatsword class. Known not for dominance, but for endurance. The kind of player who didn't win lanes loudly, but never lost them either.
The kind teams built around without realizing it.
WildZone blinked. "Wait. That Blackstone?"
Blackstone glanced at him. "Depends which mistakes you've heard about."
Ironwall huffed quietly.
They went straight into scrims.
Blackstone locked in Greatsword without hesitation.
From the first wave, his style was obvious.
No aggression.
No retreat.
Just presence.
He absorbed pressure without calling for help. Gave space when it mattered. Held when it didn't.
WildZone invaded freely.
CrystalFeather played forward without fear.
Daniel roamed with intent.
Ironwall stitched the map together.
The team didn't collapse.
It stretched.
Mid-game came.
The enemy tried to break top.
Three-man dive.
Blackstone didn't retreat.
He repositioned.
Burned cooldowns efficiently.
Bought time.
Daniel arrived just late enough.
The counter-kill turned the map.
WildZone whistled softly. "He didn't even ask for help."
Blackstone replied calmly, "Didn't need it."
After the match, Zhou leaned back, stunned.
"That was clean," he said.
Daniel looked at Blackstone.
"You didn't play for highlight," Daniel said.
Blackstone shrugged. "Highlights fade."
"And City League?" Daniel asked.
Blackstone met his gaze.
"I'm not here to relive the past," he said. "I'm here to finish something."
Silence followed.
Then Daniel nodded.
"Sit," he said.
Blackstone did.
Zhou opened the roster document.
Five names.
Five roles.
He looked at Daniel. "That's everyone."
Daniel didn't smile.
"Not yet," he said. "That's just the list."
He turned to the team.
"Tonight," Daniel continued, "we stop trying out."
WildZone straightened.
CrystalFeather's fingers curled slightly.
Ironwall's gaze sharpened.
Blackstone remained still.
"From now on," Daniel said, "we practice as a team."
The first full scrim started immediately.
No instructions.
No hierarchy.
Mistakes happened.
They fixed them.
Pressure rose.
They adapted.
By the third game, something clicked—not perfectly, not cleanly, but together.
Zhou watched from the corner, arms crossed, grin slowly forming.
"This is dangerous," he murmured.
When the night ended, no one rushed to leave.
The city outside had gone quiet.
Daniel stood by the door, looking back at the room.
Five players.
One goal.
The ladder no longer mattered.
City League did.
And somewhere far above them—
An old organization had just begun to realize something was moving.