Entering the other side, I found Lawrence sitting next to my brother. I took the seat next to Lawrence; my brother was eating a banana and drinking some apple juice.

“Hey, how’s it going over here?” I asked.

“I grabbed Mike the banana and juice at the shop next door. I thought that might help him out,” Lawrence said.

A little bit of color was restored to Michael’s face.

“How did you do in your match?” Michael asked, following it up with a cough.

“Uh, well, I won; it was super easy. The guy was worse than the kid I just played. But how are you doing, man? That’s the real question.”

“Ready to take on the next challenger.” Michael’s voice was strained but he forced a smile.

“You sure? Your match is in about ten minutes. You should head over to the next station if you think you’re ready,” Lawrence said.

Michael nodded.

“All right then, let’s do it. You need help getting up?” Lawrence asked, but Michael shook his head and stood up. “Here, let me hold your juice and banana for you.”

We walked with my brother to his section, and his next game started. He was playing against a guy called MowerBot.

“Hey, weren’t you that guy coughing like crazy earlier?” MowerBot asked.

My brother narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, and if you don’t let me win, I’ll cough on you.”

“Ew, that’s disgusting.”

The moderator stepped in. “I know you’re joking around about that, but let’s not toss around any sort of threats, got it?”

My brother nodded and coughed some more into his arm. “Yeah...”

“I feel bad. It’s like I’m playing with a handicap over here, with you being sick and all,” MowerBot said.

My brother looked at Lawrence and me and gave an eye roll. Michael told me before that I should be aware of others that try and get in my head. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for tournament players to be rude to each other to get the upper hand.

Watching Michael’s match, my hands were sweating, and I had them clutched onto the loops of my backpack. I even felt a spike of adrenaline. Lawrence had his hand covering his mouth while the other gripped his bicep.

Michael selected Golden-Bow, and MowerBot chose Mad-Cat. Michael was playing his main right away. The first game started, and my brother’s hands looked like a motion blur. Even with his sickness, he still had his touch. Button mashing. Control sticking. Those sounds felt extra loud as my brother played the controller like a professional violinist played their instrument.

Golden-Bow shot a flurry of arrows into Mad-Cat until he was lifeless.

“Game one, Mike&Mike.”

Michael grinned at us, but he was quickly interrupted by a coughing fit.

“C’mon, let’s go again,” MowerBot said, he was trying to act intimidating, but Michael was stifling laughter.

Michael stuck with Golden-Bow, and MowerBot stayed as Mad-Cat. I thought that was an interesting choice by MowerBot, considering he just got “pantsed” in the previous match.

During the next game, MowerBot had more of a grasp. He wasn’t letting my brother combo him nearly as much. His Mad-Cat kept slashing Golden-Bow, and my brother just wasn’t dodging anything. As time went on, Michael couldn’t control his cough, he was trying to suppress it, but it came out roaring. The moderator stared at Michael, wondering what to do, but it was too late. MowerBot had a sizable lead, then Mad-Cat shoved his claws into Golden-Bow’s chest, creating an explosion of electricity.

“What should we do? Was my win even fair?” MowerBot asked the moderator.

“Yes, that was your game. You won. Let’s just do the next match,” Michael said.

“Game two, MowerBot,” the moderator said.

Once Michael regained his composure and stopped coughing, he selected the next stage, and both of them stayed the same character.

When game three started, my brother’s ailments disappeared for a few minutes. Michael leaned closer to the screen, and his eyes were narrowed and focused. He came out much stronger than the previous two games, unleashing an array of combos that created a symphony of golden flashes from the screen. Numerous arrows rained upon Mad-Cat.

“No, no, no, no!” MowerBot shouted as he jumped up and stomped in place.

“Game 3, Mike&Mike.”

“Hey man, good game,” Michael reached out his hand for a shake, but MowerBot shook his head.

“I don’t want your germs, dude.” MowerBot stormed off.

I couldn’t believe it.

My brother and I were advancing to round three.

It made sense that my brother had made it that far, but I had exceeded my own expectations.

Lawrence and I rushed over to Michael and patted his back. We were careful to keep our distance in case he started coughing.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“I’m going to stick around here in case I have to play again soon,” Michael said as he led the way back to where we were sitting. “Gordie, when you head over there, I want Lawrence to go with you.”

We glanced at each other, then back at Michael like he had lava coming out of his ears.

“Nah, man, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I should at least stick around and keep an eye on you. Especially since you look really tired all of a sudden,” Lawrence said.

“I just need some juice, and I will be good.” Michael was lost in a haze.

Lawrence handed him the bottle, and Michael took a few sips.

“Yeah, bro, don’t worry about me. I can hold my own. I’ve been doing just fine over there by myself. I really think that Lawrence should stay here with you,” I said.

Michael focused on me; he was fully lucid. “None of us have watched your match yet, and these guys will only get better. I don’t want you to deal with them alone if they try playing mind games with you. You’re good, but you’re young. They’ll try and take advantage of how green you are. I also don’t want you to do or say anything stupid.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. He sounded a tad delirious.

“You already said a dumb remark earlier when that girl Amaya beat Lawrence.”

My face tightened with embarrassment. “Yeah. But, look at you, man. What if you need medical attention or something?”

He shook his head, brow furrowed. “I’m good. Lawrence, go with him. Please.” He paused, and then his face contorted and his lip trembled. His eyes appeared glassy. “And, I wish that -you know- I could be there to support you. But I just need to be close to here and not move a lot.”

“Dude, I don’t think I should let you here by yourself,” Lawrence said.

“Please, go and watch Gordie. Give him some support. He’s going up against people that probably have followers, and Gordie’s got no one!” Michael raised his voice, though it was still rough.

“Fine,” Lawrence said.

We started to walk over to the other side once my time was getting close. We felt uneasy about leaving Michael alone, so we went later than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t mind.

“Hey, Gordie, I’m gonna stick around on this side and keep an eye on your brother from afar. As long as that’s okay with you?”

“Oh yeah, of course. That’s a great idea. I would worry about him the whole time if you came with me.”

“Yeah, I figured. Sorry man. Good luck, though, but you don’t need any because you got this. You’re tough and mature. I know you’ll kill it. Come back over here as soon as you’re done.” Lawrence walked back into their side of the conference center, and I jogged to mine.

At my station, my brother was right. There were many more people watching than in any of my other matches. Fifteen wasn’t a lot compared to the best players who had a hundred people watching, but it was still far more than I expected.

My opponent was already at the console with his controller in hand, chatting it up with the moderator. I approached and immediately pulled my controller out. He was older than my other opponents. He had a full beard, a backward Chicago White Sox hat, and smoking wrinkles on the side of his mouth.

“What’s up, little dude? I’m J-3-rry, but you can call me Jerry. Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand.

I shook his hand.

“Hi, I’m GordieHoward, but you can call me Gordie.” I usually would’ve found the “little dude” comment irritating, but he seemed like a nice guy.

“You guys may begin,” the moderator said.

We were in the middle of our character select screen, and we both picked Soul-Steel.

“Hey, great taste, buddy.” He smiled. “Go ahead and pick the stage.”

I smiled and nodded back at him. Hesitating, I wanted to say something witty, but I felt too awkward.

“I was going to pick The Star’s Edge too. I like your taste.”

Was he trying to play mind games with me? Or was he just the friendliest and most personable guy here?

Once the game started, we were silent and focused. His smile was gone, and I stared at the screen like someone being hypnotized. The controller was an extension of my hands. I landed all the combos I went for, and our Soul-Steels exchanged an even amount of slashes. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

The entire match, we were neck and neck, our zombified faces inched closer to the screen, my palms were drenched, but it helped the combos and button mashing with the right amount of glide. People watching “ooh’d” at some of the dazzling maneuvers from both our Soul-Steels colliding in mid-air with attacks. I’d get a sly horizontal cut-in, and then J3rry would reply with a dodge and a diagonal slice. We couldn’t charge any attacks, for we both played quick and dodged often.

It was a game of inches, at least, for our health bar. I didn’t land the finishing maneuver, but a solid horizontal chop across ended it.

“Game 1, GordieHoward,” the moderator announced.

J3rry sharply exhaled but turned to me and shook my hand. “Good game, bro. That was a close one. My heart was racing the whole time. How old are you anyway?”

“Fourteen.”

“Wow, you got a lot of potential. I’ve been playing this game forever, and I’m 29.”

For the next game, I debated heavily if I should change my character. J3rry didn’t change his, which I respected, so I kept the same. Once again, our match was another battle that could not have felt more even.

The crowd watching us doubled. It felt like I was one of the pros. Never receiving that kind of attention before, I quivered. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest and more sweat poured from my head and arms. For a second, I lost concentration because it all felt so overwhelming, and J3rry was sure to capitalize with a blur of stabs that ended the match much earlier than the last.

“Game two, J3rry,” the moderator said.

We picked our characters once again. J3rry stayed as Soul-Steel, and I chose, Obsidian-Golem.

“Oh, wow. A character change; got me on my toes,” J3rry said.

I picked The Star’s Edge. Our crowd of thirty people didn’t waiver, but I took a few deep breaths. The match began. His Soul-Steel sprinted towards me, but my Obsidian-Golem dodged the sword swipes. I kept smashing the metal off Soul-Steel’s armor with the Golem’s obsidian club.

“Game 3, GordieHoward.”

People cheered and clapped behind me. J3rry and I shook hands again.

“You’re wicked good at this game for a fourteen-year-old.” J3rry patted my shoulder. “I’ll be rooting for you in the finals.”

There’s no way he actually meant that.

I wanted to relish in the glory of the crowd clapping for me and smiling at me, but I had to leave. Elite Crushers wasn’t the focus on my mind at that moment. I rushed over to the other side and saw Lawrence in the same spot I had left him. Lawrence nodded at me, and the two of us approached Michael.

“Hey, how’d you do?” Michael said weakly.

“More like, how are you doing?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me how you did!” He raised his voice.

“Well, I made it to round four, baby!”

“Nice so did I.”

“Really? Congrats, man!”

“Yeah, you should have seen Mike. He whooped the guy’s ass,” Lawrence said, and then Michael glared at him.

“You didn’t watch my brother, did you?”

“Nah, man, I had to keep an eye on you.”

Michael shook his head and knitted his brow. “Why don’t you guys go walk around and see what the competition is like. Some of the big guys are playing over here. KnyghtMare, Smith, and 75K are currently playing. I’m sure there are other pros on your side, too. You should see who’s over there. I know the new hotshot guy on the scene is in your section.”

“Who’s that?”

“Daisies. But it’s spelled D-a-y-z-e-e-s. Dayzees.”

“Haven’t heard of her or seen her.”

“It’s a dude, actually. Be careful, this is his first-ever tournament, but he has a large following online. He’s eighteen, and there are videos of him playing some of the pros, and he hangs with them. He’ll even snag a few victories here and there.” Michael was interrupted by more hacking. “What are you looking at me for? Go over and watch some of the pros play.”

I assessed where the larger crowds gathered around a screen. That’s where the pros had to be. Taking Michael’s advice, I watched a few of the famous players while I waited for my match. KnyghtMare was a thirty-year-old player. Smith was twenty-six, and 75K was twenty-one. I tried not to let the age shake my confidence, but I couldn’t help it. All of the best players had some years on me, and they were scary good.