Priya: Game On!

The smell of takeout fills Rebekah and Luca’s hotel room long before everyone has squeezed in. Boxes and cartons line the dresser like some greasy buffet altar to victory: noodles in cardboard clamshells, foil trays of steaming rice, and half a dozen drinks sweating on coasters.

HexDrive sprawl where they can—Rebekah cross-legged on the bed, laptop perched on her knees; Luca leaning against the headboard with Tariq curled beside him; the others scattered on chairs or perched at the foot of the bed. Their sponsor’s kit—midnight black hoodies with the team logo in a luminous green hexagon—makes them look unified even here in cramped comfort.

“Alright, team,” Rebekah says, tugging her hoodie’s drawstring like she’s about to pull rank. “Tomorrow is not a friendly. This is the biggest stage we’ve been on, and it’s ours to lose if we get sloppy.” She nods at Luca, who launches into a rundown of map picks, likely bans, and a few potential counter-strats they’d prepped.

The atmosphere’s focused, yes, but not dead serious. Between talk of rotations and line-of-sight angles, someone passes a carton down the bed, or throws a fortune cookie at Tariq, who catches it without looking. When a greasy lid pops off in someone’s lap, the whole room cracks up.

It’s in the middle of this easy rhythm that Priya leans forward, elbow on her knee, eyes bright. “So… since we’re talking about incentives…”

Rebekah arches an eyebrow. “Priya?”

“No, hear me out.” Priya’s grin is far too pleased with itself. “You all know Rebekah’s boyfriend is in some sex game called College Spread, and I’m his target this week. Well, if HexDrive wins this tournament we will play a public sex. Right there in front of you all. And—” she spreads her hands in mock generosity “—anyone who wants to join in, can.”

The room goes quiet just long enough for the words to settle, and then the reactions roll in like staggered grenades.

“You’re insane,” someone laughs.

“Uh, define ‘join in’…”

Luca’s eyes go wide, then narrow, then wide again. “Holy hell, Priya.”

Rebekah just smirks at you, the kind of smirk that promised trouble. “I told you she’d be fun!”

“And if they lose?” Tariq asks, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Priya sits back, still smug. “Different challenge. Private. None of you get to know about it.”

It’s shameless, ridiculous, and exactly the sort of absurd motivator that somehow fits right in. And from the way a couple of heads are nodding, it’s landed. You give a look to Priya, then to Rebekah, then to Priya once more. I might have been nice if she’d told you what she was planning to say first but… oh well. Is it really much more weird than some of the other things you’ve done? You shake your head and chuckle.

Morning in the arena hotel feels different. Even in the carpeted hush of the hallways, there’s a buzz, a subtle hum of rolling suitcases, clipped coach-talk, and the faint hiss of coffee machines working overtime.

You and Priya make your way down together, HexDrive already gathered near the entrance in full kit. Under the lobby lights, their sponsor’s black-and-green hoodies looks sharper, almost predatory. Luca has his hood up, jaw tight; Tariq hangs at his shoulder like a shadow. Rebekah, by contrast, is loose-limbed but alert, bouncing the heel of one sneaker against the wall as she watches the elevator numbers tick down.

“Ready for war?” she asks as you joined them.

Priya answers before you could. “He’s just here to look pretty and scream at the right times.”

Rebekah gives you a slow, appraising glance. “As long as he screams my name when I clutch.”

“Depends how hard you clutch me,” you tease and she snorts at you.

She turns, voice snapping back into captain mode. “Alright, we roll in together. No wandering off, no last-minute nonsense. The second we’re past those doors, it’s game faces.”

The walk from hotel to arena is barely five minutes, but every step feels heavier. Outside, the streets are a wash of banners, food stalls, and early-arriving fans—a few already wearing HexDrive colors, most in rival reds, blues, or golds. A couple of kids shout for selfies, and Rebekah obliges with a lopsided grin. In a small town like this, a major e-sports tournament is a reason to celebrate.

At the player entrance, security waves the team through with brisk efficiency. You, Tariq and Priya split off toward the VIP seating, her hand brushing yours as she whispers, “Place your bets now—do we get the crazy captain today or the ice queen?”

From the way Rebekah squares her shoulders as she vanishes into the prep room, you know the answer might be “both.”

The crowd noise is already a living thing by the time you three find your seats in the VIP section. Down on the stage, HexDrive files into their booths—Rebekah taking center with her headset angled just so, Luca adjusting his mouse grip like it’s a ritual, the other two teammates looking to them to lead the way.

Priya leans forward, elbows on her knees. “God, she’s intense.”

You follow her gaze to Rebekah. “That’s her happy face.”

Priya grins. “No, that’s her kill-you-with-a-click face. And it’s hot.”

“Like I said,” you reply, “her happy face.”

The match opens at a blistering pace—your eyes flicking between the full-wall screen displaying the action and the faint reflection of Rebekah’s hands darting across her keyboard. Priya nudges you during a particularly sharp play. “See that push? She baits them in just to clear the lane. That’s chef’s kiss level brain work.”

You can’t help glancing at Luca too—calm, surgical, dropping perfectly timed shots that have the shoutcasters losing their minds. “Y’know,” you murmur, “between your boyfriend and my girlfriend, I think we’re dating half of the deadliest people in the room.”

Priya smirks. “Better than dating the other half—they’re losing.”

The games blur into each other—clutch wins, narrow losses, the kind of mid-series momentum swings that leave your stomach tight. When the dust finally settles, HexDrive stands fourth. Not a trophy spot yet, but enough for a ticket into tomorrow’s quarterfinals.

Rebekah takes off her headset, tilting her head back in exhausted triumph, while Luca exchanges a quick with the other team members. Discreet high-five pass all round. From up here, you catch her scanning the stands, eyes locking on you just long enough for a tired but fierce smile.

Priya leans into you, voice low under the crowd’s roar. “Tomorrow’s going to be insane.”

You nod, grinning. “Yeah. And we’ve got front-row seats to watch them burn the place down.”

Back at the hotel, the five of you sprawl across the room that Rebekah and Luca are sharing. Dinner is a scatter of takeaway boxes—noodles, sushi rolls, a couple of burgers someone insisted on. The tournament stream replays muted on the TV, all big plays and flashing graphics, while you and Priya share a carton of fries on the edge of the bed.

Tariq had been silent in the audience, locked on to the game and ignoring everything else. Now he’s mid-story about an in-game glitch Luca exploited earlier, Luca protesting through mouthfuls of rice. Your tablet interrupts them, buzzing on the nightstand. It’s the distinct notification chime for College Spread.

You pick it up, thumb swiping the screen—and there it is. A new card. Not a girl, not a challenge. A joker. The image is unmistakable: Rebekah, Cassie Li, and Dr. Selene Ravensmoor caught in mid-power-play, smug and dangerous, over the bold text Glass Ceiling Mafia.

The description scrolls beneath it:

After the incredibly coordinated takedown of Graham West in last week’s game, we’ve decided to add a joker to the pack.

You each get one copy of it. Once it’s used, it’s gone—but you can play it instead of any one challenge.

It will count as an automatic 10× success with any lady you have available.

You glance up from the screen, catching Rebekah’s eye, and show her what came through. Her lips twitch into a knowing smirk. You both remember that night—her riding you on stage, cutting deals mid-thrust, and dismantling Graham’s hand like it was nothing.

You turn the tablet so Priya can see, and she laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, Rebekah mentioned something about that. Only you two could get a reward card for screwing someone over while literally screwing.”

Tariq leans over from his spot on the floor. “Do I even want to know?”

Rebekah smirks wider. “Nope.”

“Definitely not,” you add, locking the tablet and tossing it back on the nightstand.

The conversation drifts back to tomorrow’s matchups, but every now and then, you catch Rebekah’s gaze again—that same sly, victorious spark as if the whole room has no idea just how loaded your hand really is