Chapter 82: Get Some Rest

The matches ended exactly how I anticipated. On the left side of the room, Amanda leaned back in her chair with a confident smirk, while Angelo let out a long breath, staring at his defeat screen. Over on the right, Piercer hadn’t even taken off her headset, calmly spinning in her new massage chair.

Amanda and Piercer had completely dismantled them without breaking a sweat.

I walked over, looking between the match summaries on the main displays. "So, how did the high-level competition treat you two?"

Amanda laughed, tapping her desk. "I went 5-1 against Angelo! He actually landed a nasty headshot on me in round four, but yeah... still took the set pretty comfortably."

"I bet you were sweating a little more against NightEye," I said, glancing over at Piercer with a raised eyebrow.

Piercer just shrugged, taking a slow sip from her soda, her expression entirely unbothered. "Nope. 5-0. Flawless sweep."

NightEye slumped back in her seat, staring blankly at her monitor. "That wasn’t a game, boss... that was a public execution. Her reaction time doesn’t even make sense!"

"It’s not supposed to make sense," I said, looking over at both Angelo and NightEye. "That’s the gap between a casual high-elo player and an S-rank tournament finalist. Now you know what target you’re aiming for."

Angelo wiped his hands on his pants, his eyes surprisingly sharp despite the heavy loss. "Again. Big sis, let’s run it back."

Amanda blinked, then smiled, pulling her headset back on. "That’s what I like to hear. Back into the lobby."

Fast-forwarding through hours of relentless 1v1 drills, team scrims, and tactical breakdowns, the high-energy room slowly devolved into pure exhaustion.

NightEye slumped forward, resting her forehead directly against her desk. Angelo was limply shaking out his wrists, while even Amanda looked thoroughly spent, her fingers visibly stiff.

"Boss... please," NightEye groaned, raising a weak hand. "Have mercy. My hands are literally going numb..."

"Yeah, Ethan," Amanda admitted, rubbing her forearm. "We’ve been grinding for eight straight hours without a real pause. Our mechanics are slipping because our hands are aching."

I looked at them carefully, noting the tension in their forearms and fingers. As intense as I wanted this boot camp to be, pushing them to the point of repetitive strain right before their tournament debut was counterproductive.

"Alright, fine. Break time," I said.

A collective sigh of relief washed over the room. I called down to Zenith’s wellness center and booked a team of professional physical therapists and hand masseuses to come straight up to the floor. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d sat down for a proper hand and wrist massage myself, but seeing the strain on my starting roster, it was a necessity.

Minutes later, the specialists set up shop right in the lounge area. The contrast was hilarious—four elite gamers sitting in soft leather chairs while therapists worked out all the deep muscle knots in their hands, wrists, and forearms.

"Oh man..." Angelo mumbled, his eyes completely closing as his hand muscles released tension. "I didn’t even realize how locked up my fingers were."

"This is heaven," NightEye sighed, completely melting into her seat.

Even Piercer, who usually tried to play it cool, let out a quiet breath of absolute comfort as the therapist loosened her tendons.

Within half an hour, the tension had completely drained out of them, leaving them feeling light, refreshed, and fully restored. They sat back in the lounge, stretched their fingers with effortless ease, and looked ready to tackle whatever came next.

"Alright," I said, checking my watch as the therapists packed up their equipment. "That’s it for today. Go get some real rest, because tomorrow morning we do it all over again. No slacking."

NightEye stretched her arms above her head, letting out a soft sigh. "Wait, where are we staying? Zenith HQ is incredible, but I don’t think sleeping on these lounge chairs is going to do my back any favors."

"Since the tower doesn’t have residential suites built out yet," I said, pulling four sets of key cards from my jacket pocket, "I booked rooms for each of you down at the five-star hotel two blocks over."

I tossed a key card to each of them. Amanda caught hers with a grin, while Angelo stared at his card like he couldn’t believe the luxury treatment they were getting.

"Individual suites?" NightEye gasped, clutching the card to her chest. "Ethan, you’re officially the greatest boss on the planet."

"Save the gratitude for the tournament stage," I smirked, heading toward the private elevator. "Be back in this room by 8:00 AM sharp. Get some sleep."

Surprisingly, when I stepped off the elevator the next morning, I was the one who was late.

The glowing monitors were already buzzing with activity, and the room was filled with the rhythmic sound of mechanical key clicks and rapid mouse swipes. They hadn’t even waited for me to kick off the morning session—they had jumped straight into the 1v1 ladder drills on their own.

I walked over quietly, leaning over the back of their seats to observe the match readouts, and immediately noticed a shift.

Angelo was actually pulling his own weight today. Instead of getting instantly wiped off the map, he was adapting to Amanda’s aggressive pacing, reading her entry angles, and forcing long, drawn-out gunfights. He still lost the set, but he managed to take three rounds off her—finishing 5-3.

"Not bad, little bro," Amanda said, turning in her chair with an approving nod. "Your crosshair placement on the retake was way sharper."

Angelo wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, a proud grin breaking across his face. "I spent an hour last night analyzing your movement VODs."

Over on the other side, however, the vibe was a lot heavier. Piercer was still dominating NightEye, sweeping the set 5-2 and even dropping another brutal 5-0 flawless round in the middle of it.

NightEye slumped back in her high-end chair, staring at her defeat screen with visible frustration. She ran both hands through her hair, looking completely stressed out.

"I don’t get it..." NightEye muttered, her voice tight with self-doubt. "I know I’m better than this. My reaction time feels slow, my flicks are completely off, and I can’t read her setups at all. What is happening to me?"

I walked up behind her station, placing a calm, steady hand on the top of her monitor frame.

"Don’t stress yourself out," I said, my voice cool and reassuring. "You went straight from working double shifts at a convenience store to trading shots against an tournament veteran. Your brain is still adjusting to the sheer pace of high-level play."

She looked up at me, biting her lip nervously.

"We still have six full days before the qualifiers," I reminded her smoothly. "You have the mechanical talent, or Amanda wouldn’t have put you on this roster. Give yourself time to build the muscle memory. You’ll come around."

NightEye took a long, deep breath, shaking the tension out of her shoulders before nodding. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Six days. Let’s run it again."