The first full-team scrim did not fall apart.
That was the problem.
On the surface, it looked fine. Lanes held. Objectives traded. No early collapses. No obvious misplays. If anyone had walked in midway, they would have said the team looked disciplined.
Daniel didn't say anything.
He watched.
The second scrim looked better.
Cleaner rotations. Faster responses. Fewer wasted cooldowns.
They won.
WildZone leaned back, stretching. "See? We're not bad."
Ironwall didn't respond.
CrystalFeather glanced at Daniel.
Daniel was still watching the replay.
The third scrim was against a stronger opponent.
Not mechanically superior—coordinated.
The early game felt similar. Controlled. Quiet.
Then, at fourteen minutes, the enemy forced a fight at an awkward angle.
Not optimal.
Not clean.
But intentional.
WildZone went in first.
CrystalFeather followed half a beat later.
Blackstone stayed top for wave control.
Ironwall hesitated.
Daniel engaged anyway.
The fight broke into two pieces.
And suddenly, space didn't connect.
They lost three.
Then four.
The scrim ended quickly after.
Silence filled the room.
WildZone frowned. "That was on timing."
CrystalFeather shook her head. "No—we weren't on the same fight."
Blackstone spoke calmly. "We were on different priorities."
Ironwall finally turned his chair.
"We were on different maps."
Daniel stopped the replay.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't point fingers.
He simply said, "Again."
Zhou looked up from his phone. "Same opponent?"
"Yes," Daniel replied.
Zhou hesitated. "You sure?"
Daniel nodded. "Especially them."
The rematch was worse.
This time, the enemy baited WildZone deep, then collapsed through mid. CrystalFeather rotated instantly. Ironwall followed.
Blackstone held.
Daniel arrived last.
The fight ended before it properly began.
A clean wipe.
WildZone slammed his desk softly. "That one was on me."
"No," Daniel said.
Everyone froze.
Daniel leaned forward, hands resting lightly on the table.
"That was on assumptions," he continued. "You all assumed the same thing for different reasons."
He looked at them one by one.
"WildZone assumed pressure meant permission.""CrystalFeather assumed commitment meant alignment.""Blackstone assumed stability meant time.""Ironwall assumed silence meant agreement."
He paused.
"And I assumed I could cover all of it."
No one argued.
Because it was true.
Daniel stood.
"We stop scrimming," he said.
Zhou blinked. "Now?"
"Yes."
WildZone looked confused. "But we're not done—"
"We're done pretending this is just about mechanics," Daniel cut in.
He turned to the whiteboard on the wall.
Picked up a marker.
Drew a simple circle.
"This," he said, tapping it, "is a fight."
Then he drew lines splitting it unevenly.
"This is what you all see."
The lines didn't match.
"City League teams don't beat you by being better," Daniel said. "They beat you by being clearer."
He capped the marker.
"Tonight, no games."
The room tensed.
"Tonight," Daniel continued, "we talk."
They sat back down.
No screens.
No replays.
Just chairs in a rough circle.
WildZone broke first. "I play fast. If I slow down, I lose edge."
CrystalFeather followed. "I commit when windows open. I don't like waiting."
Blackstone nodded once. "I hold lanes so others can move."
Ironwall added quietly, "I stop fights before they start."
Daniel listened.
Then said, "None of that is wrong."
They looked at him.
"It just isn't connected yet."
The discussion lasted two hours.
Arguments happened.
So did silences.
At some point, frustration gave way to understanding—not agreement, but awareness.
When it ended, no one felt satisfied.
But no one felt lost either.
Zhou watched from the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Messy," he said when Daniel finally joined him.
"Yes," Daniel replied. "Necessary."
As they shut down the studio lights, CrystalFeather spoke softly.
"…We're not ready yet, are we?"
Daniel locked the door.
"No," he said. "But now we know why."
He looked back at the dark room.
"That's how teams actually start."