The massive reinforced doors groaned open, revealing the abyss beyond. A cold, sterile light flooded out, illuminating the path into the heart of Midlock. This was no ordinary esports facility. It was a technological coliseum, a battlefield where only one would survive.

  The players stepped forward, their eyes widening as they took in the spectacle.

  Walls of holographic displays lined the corridors, pulsating with real-time data. AI-driven drones zipped through the air, scanning, analyzing, dissecting every movement. The room was filled with the hum of liquid-cooled supercomputers, their processors designed to simulate and predict plays faster than the human brain could comprehend.

  Hundreds of high-end gaming setups gleamed under LED lights, each one powered by cutting-edge quantum processors capable of rendering data at subatomic speeds. This wasn’t just an esports training ground.

  This was a war factory.

  Soo-Ah smiled brightly as she strutted across the stage, her black-and-purple hair shimmering under the lights. The drones followed her every movement, broadcasting to millions watching the stream.

  “Welcome to Midlock, where champions are born and failures are erased.”

  The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Then, with a dramatic flick of her wrist, a holographic contract materialized above her.

  “Now let’s talk about the rules.”

  Lines of text scrolled before their eyes. A legally binding contract.

  By signing this agreement, all participants acknowledge that should they fail to complete Project Midlock, they will be banned from joining any professional competitive team for the next fifteen years.

  Silence.

  A cold, suffocating silence.

  For some, this was their dream. The very essence of their existence. A single misstep, a single failure, and it would all be over.

  A few players stumbled back, their faces paling. One whispered a curse under his breath before turning on his heel and walking away. Then another. And another.

  But the majority stayed.

  The reward was too great to ignore.

  Alex stood motionless. The weight of the contract bore down on him like a noose tightening around his throat. He thought of his mother.

  The sterile hospital walls. The beeping monitors. The bills stacking higher and higher. He thought of the shame, the betrayal, the whispers behind his back.

  Then, without hesitation—

  He grabbed the pen and signed.

  The first to do so.

  Soo-Ah clapped her hands together. “Good choice, Alex! You may be a little unhinged, but hey, that’s what makes this fun.”

  Laughter rippled through the audience. The chat on the live stream exploded with memes mocking Alex’s earlier outburst:

  “Damn bro, went from villain monologue to teacher’s pet real quick.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “He really said ‘sign me up before I rethink my life choices.’”

  “Imagine throwing your whole career for one tournament LMAO.”

  A new holographic interface materialized before the players.

  Each participant was handed a sleek black smartwatch, its interface glowing with pulsing blue lights.

  “These aren’t just any watches,” Soo-Ah explained, raising her own. “They are your personal AI coaches.”

  The watches buzzed to life, projecting hololithic displays above their wrists. Lines of text and numbers scrolled, displaying heat maps, reaction times, win ratios—every conceivable detail of their playstyle.

  Each AI had a different voice, personality, and analysis style. Some were blunt. Some were encouraging. Some were terrifyingly robotic.

  Alex’s watch fizzled, its holographic interface flashing before a chibi Ahri avatar materialized above his wrist. Her tails flicked playfully, her oversized eyes blinking with an exaggerated flutter.

  "Nya~! Master Alex, your pwecious wittle AI is here to help! Let’s work together to turn you into the most dommy-wommy midlaner ever! UwU~!" she cooed, striking a pose.

  Alex stared at it. His eye twitched.

  "Oh, hell no."

  The avatar wiggled her hips. "Now, now, Master~! No need to be shy. I’ll be by your side every step of the—"

  "Shut the hell up, you dollar-store gacha reject. I’d rather main support than take advice from whatever degenerate factory spawned you."

  Ahri flinched, eyes welling up with fake digital tears. "M-Master, why are you being so meaaaan~?!"

  Alex’s expression remained deadpan. "Listen here, you AI abomination. You exist to give me data, not to act like some perverted 2000s anime reject. Talk like that again, and I’m rewriting your code to make you sound like a Microsoft Sam knockoff."

  The chibi Ahri sniffled before straightening up, clearing her throat. "Ahem. Understood. Activating Competitive Mode."

  The flirtatious tone vanished, replaced by a cold, analytical voice. "Welcome, Alex Evans. Scanning… complete.

  “Welcome, Alex Evans. Scanning… complete.

  Weaknesses detected: Overconfidence. Emotional instability. Predictable movement patterns.

  Recommendation: Immediate aggression optimization.”

  Alex clenched his teeth. They didn’t even wait to roast him.

  Across the room, others reacted to their AI introductions. Some laughed, some cursed, others just nodded in quiet determination.

  The First Selection: The Gauntlet Begins

  The moment of calm was shattered as a massive LCD screen illuminated at the front of the facility. The face of Faker appeared, his expression as impassive as ever.

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the room.

  "The first selection begins now," Soo-Ah translated, her voice dripping with playful malice. "Names will be drawn randomly, and the game mode is..." She paused for dramatic effect as the screen flickered.

  ARAM – 5v5.

  A groan rolled through the crowd. "What the hell? How is this supposed to prove anything?" one player muttered. Another folded his arms, scowling. "You want us to play some coinflip clownfest?"

  Faker’s voice rumbled through the speakers. His Korean was measured, strategic. Precise.

  Soo-Ah’s translation, however, was anything but.

  "The Demon King himself says, ‘If you can’t dominate in chaos, you’re unworthy of order. Only a true midlaner bends random chance to his will.’"

  A few of the players frowned. Something about the wording felt... off.

  A couple of them discreetly checked the livestream chat on their phones. The comments were flying.

  "Wait, Faker didn’t actually say that lol."

  "Yo, Soo-Ah capping hard wtf."

  "She’s making him sound like a shounen villain LMFAO."

  One of the players glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Wait a second—"

  Before anyone could push further, Soo-Ah flashed a bright, innocent smile, pressing her hands together in a pleading pose. "Ehh? You guys don’t trust me? I’m just doing my best, okayyy?"

  More than a few sighed in exasperation. Alex, watching from the sidelines, clenched his jaw. If his mother hadn’t raised him better, he would’ve spat on the floor.

  The massive screen displayed the first roster of players.

  Alex's name appeared alongside four others: Jordan "Jinx" Calloway, a cocky Black prodigy known for his explosive early-game aggression; Diego "Havoc" Ramirez, a Latino assassin main who played every game like it was a deathmatch; Leon "Spectre" Graves, a silent, methodical player with an eerie, almost machine-like precision; and Eric "Wraith" Song, a Korean-American challenger who once held rank one for three consecutive seasons.

  Egos clashed instantly.

  "Tch. This ain't solo queue, man. If any of you int, I swear to God—" Jordan scoffed, cracking his knuckles.

  Diego grinned. "You better keep up, hermano, ‘cause I don’t play for second place."

  Leon didn't speak, only adjusting his wrist brace. Eric simply rolled his eyes. "If you're not good enough to carry, you shouldn’t be here."

  Alex exhaled. League had always been about carrying four deadweight idiots. This was nothing new.

  Across the stage, the opposing team was revealed. Ethan "Zephyr" Hayes sat among them, his gaze meeting Alex's with an infuriating smirk. The rest of his team? Monsters.

  Kai "Dagger" Nakamura—a ruthless top laner who broke players' will before their Nexus even fell.

  Felix "Void" Laurent—a French prodigy whose mechanics made grown men weep.

  Malik "Shroud" Osei—a mid/jungle menace who thrived in chaos, his unpredictable pathing and god-tier roaming infamous in high-ELO lobbies.

  Roman "Requiem" Volkov—a Russian control mage specialist, known for suffocating opponents with perfect macro play.

  "Dead man walking," someone muttered from the crowd.

  The Twitch chat lit up:

  "His Majesty is dead lul long live the king."

  "Bro’s about to get diffed so hard his AI gonna uninstall itself."

  "Mid diff before the game even starts LMFAO."

  Alex cracked his neck. Impossible odds. Just how he liked it.

  The countdown began. The game was about to begin.