Chapter 4: New Blood

I walked to a quiet corner and called my assistant, Sneha.

My slippers made a soft slap on the tile. In the staff pantry, the water cooler gurgled, and someone’s forgotten chai left a faint, sweet smell.

"Is there a promising jungler on the second team or in the youth squad?"

"Definitely, Ritu-didi! The new kid, Shikhar, in the youth team—I watched him yesterday. His game sense and mechanics are both top-notch."

Sneha’s excitement was infectious. Her voice sparkled with hope, like a kid with a new packet of Cadbury Gems.

"But Ritu-didi, we just won the league. The team’s stable, Arjun-bhai is still on the rise. Why are you suddenly—"

I glanced out the window.

The Mumbai skyline twinkled in the dusk, autos honking below, the city that never slept. I could see my own reflection, older and wiser, staring back.

Arjun is almost 22. In this business, calling that ‘on the rise’ is just being polite.

E-sports ages you faster than politics. By 22, you’re almost a veteran.

"It’s nothing. I have my reasons. I’ll check out the youth team tomorrow."

"Alright."

Sneha’s voice softened. She knew not to push me further. The silence between us was comfortable, like a favourite shawl on a chilly evening.

On the way back to the club, Coach Sameer and the teammates were busy reviewing and celebrating.

They were laughing over old jokes, someone popping open a Thums Up and passing around plates of samosas, loud and carefree. The trophy glimmered on the table, a proud guest at our party.

Only Arjun kept his head down, tapping away at his phone, smiling at the screen from time to time.

I watched him from the doorway. The others barely noticed, but I did. His fingers moved fast, his smile sly, his mind clearly somewhere else.

If this were before, I’d have given him a good shouting—not wanting to embarrass Coach, or let anyone think Arjun got special treatment because of me. That would’ve just brought him gossip behind his back.

I remembered the times I’d dragged him away from after-parties, the times I’d defended him to nosy journalists. Now, I felt strangely detached.

But now, I couldn’t be bothered.

It was like I’d run out of energy for damage control. Let the world see what they want.

Looking at him, I figured he was probably chatting with Priya.

I imagined their chat—maybe sharing new memes, maybe flirting with those silly bear stickers everyone was obsessed with.

[The female lead is so cute—where does she get all those adorable bear stickers? Even the male lead can’t help but smile.]

[That’s right, the doosri ladki only cares about her career. No wonder Arjun’s life was so dull before…]

[Yes! The male lead agreed to go to the movies with the female lead!]

Annoying.

The comments were like mosquitoes on a summer night—persistent, buzzing, impossible to ignore.

I just closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the barrage anymore.

Just thinking—

If it weren’t for me asking my dad for some resources during college, setting up the DFC club for Arjun, putting my heart into it—

I still remembered that day, going to Papa with a trembling voice, bargaining with him for seed money. Papa had pressed the club registration form into my hand, eyes shining with hope, telling me, “Beta, dream big. I’m with you.” The pride in his eyes when we registered the club—it stung, thinking how far we’d come, and for what.

He’d probably still be a solo queue king.

League’s number one jungler…

Back then, neither of us thought we’d get this far.

We used to dream together, sitting on hostel rooftops, eating vada pav and talking about making it big. It all felt so simple then.

But now, Arjun has forgotten those 18-hour training days, forgotten what it meant to dream of making the top league.

And me, seeing his indifference, I finally made up my mind—to treat him as just another piece to be discarded when no longer useful.

Like removing a queen from the chessboard when she’s blocking your next move. Cold, but necessary.