Page 3 of Pro Gamer's Aim

Asher:

I'm not going to kick the fucking dog, Liam.

It's hard not to roll my eyes at the exchange, but I somehow manage as one of the movers waves to get my attention, clipboard in hand. He squints up at me in the midday sun, sweat beading off his forehead, likely due to the company sweaters he and his men wear. Seems a ridiculous choice of attire for their job.

"Hey, where do you want these boxes?" he asks, wiping his brow with the back of a gloved hand.

I point to the three-bedroom duplex I just moved into. "We're on the right. Living room's in the front, kitchen's to the back, laundry room is in the kitchen, and bedrooms are upstairs. If you start unloading, I'll direct you."

He nods and gestures to the rest of the crew to get to work. I watch them haul boxes and furniture inside, relieved that this move is finally coming together.

Switching back to the group chat, I grimace.

These fucking guys.

Being best friends all your life is great, but said best friends are also shitheads who will never give up a chance at screwing with you when they get a chance.

Aiden:

He hates dogs. That dog's toast before next weekend.

Liam:

Don't. Kick. The. Fucking. Dog.

Asher:

What kind of fucking person do you think I am?

Shaking my head, I pocket the phone. There's no reason to keep going at it with them. I'm not about to kick a dog. I might not like them, but it isn't like I'd wander around punting them for fun.

As I watch the movers bustle around, hauling my belongings into the house, I can't help but reflect on the spotlight that follows me even after stepping away from the professional scene. The fans who used to cheer my name now speculate on every move I make, from my choice of residence to my latest business venture.

I never thought I'd miss the exhaustion of late-night gaming sessions and the adrenaline rush of competing in tournaments. But here I am, surrounded by boxes in my new apartment, pondering the strange sense of nostalgia that retirement from the pro gaming world has brought me.

That life seems so distant now.

The decision to move closer to Liam and Aiden had been a simple one. I miss their camaraderie, the way they tease and challenge me in equal measure. And as much as I love the thrill of competition, running my own company and enjoying the freedom retirement provides has its own appeal.

Living in one half of a duplex is a little less appealing, but I'm not about to make stupid financial decisions until after my business has stabilized.

I make my way inside, navigating through the maze of boxes to find the kitchen. The smell of fresh paint lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of apples and cinnamon that seems to waft from next door. I glance out the window, catching a glimpse of the neighboring duplex where a young woman with dark hair chats on the phone.

I lean against the counter, watching her for a moment before turning my attention back to unpacking. The sooner I get settled in, the sooner I can get back to work. The allure of a new project beckons, promising challenges and rewards in equal measure.

I grab a box labeled "office supplies" and head upstairs to set up my workspace. As I unpack my computer and monitors, memories of intense gaming matches flood back. The thrill of outsmarting opponents, the rush of executing a perfect strategy—it’s a high unlike any other.

But as I power up my computer and make sure it's working, a sense of calm settles over me. The blank screen holds endless possibilities, each keystroke a step towards building something new and exciting.

I glance out the window again, catching sight of the woman next door now walking her dog in our shared backyard. It's a little russet mop. Probably yaps a lot. The owner, on the other hand, moves with a certain grace, a confidence that draws my eye despite my best efforts to focus on work. Of course, she is also at least a decade younger than me. Is she even old enough to live on her own?

I shake my head and leave the room I’ve turned into my office, returning downstairs to watch as movers bring in the large couch I bought with my first tournament winnings. It’s old but comfortable, and the perfect place to relax in the rare moments I game without any goal in mind.

We’re finishing up when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see another text from Liam.

Liam:

Drinks at The Hound's Den tonight?

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