“Are you interested in joining a tournament?” Elle asked, blowing a bubble with her gum.

“Huh?” asked Val, pausing in the midst of pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet – courtesy of his most recent payday.

“It’s the first year I’m running it,” said Elle. “Each player on the winning team gets one pack from the Dragon’s Legacy set.”

“Dragon’s Legacy?” said Val, whistling. “That’s one of the first sets in the game, right?”

“Yessir,” said Elle. “I’ve already got a few teams signed up. There’s probably going to be around eight teams in total.”

“Only eight teams?” said Val. “That’s a small tournament.”

Elle harrumphed. “It’s not like any one of us has been in a bigger tournament.”

Val managed a half smile.

“So are you in?” Elle asked.

“Of c- ” Val cut himself off. Clenching his teeth, he shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. I don’t have a team.”

“That’s not a problem!” said Elle. “Single players are placed on teams with other players who don’t have teams.”

Val opened his mouth to decline, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Is it all right if we’re on the same team?” asked DJ.

Elle smiled. “Of course! All you have to do is sign this waiver right here!”

Before Val could protest, Elle slid over two sheets of paper – one for DJ and one for him – and forced pens in both of their hands. Val stared down at the paper, which looked very much like a contract. A document that bound him to play the game not under his terms, but the terms of someone else. A cursed document that –

“Val, you want me to sign that for you?” asked DJ. “Let’s go! I only got an hour before I have to bounce!”

Val wrapped his fingers around the pen and scribbled a few messy lines for his signature, tossing the pen to the side the moment he was done. As soon as the pen clattered to the desk, Elle snatched the papers from the countertop and flashed DJ and Val a pearly smile.

“Of course, by signing the waiver, you are subject to pay the entry fee of $25.”

-

“I knew we shouldn’t have done that,” muttered Val, shaking his head. “There’s just something disgusting about papers and signatures.”

“Who cares? We got a tournament!” said DJ, smacking Val repeatedly on the back with an open palm.

Val tried to tell DJ to stop, only to get assaulted by another round of hearty smacks.

“I’m so nervous already,” said DJ, pausing his barrage on Val to shake out his arms and legs.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” said Val. “It’s not like we’re playing for anything.”

“Not playing for anything?”

“It’s just an amateur tournament,” said Val. “There are no stakes. Winning it would be just like winning a Casual game.”

“Val.”

Val turned to face DJ. DJ stared back at him with brown eyes, calm and serious.

“Maybe to you it’s just like playing a Casual,” said DJ. “But this is the first time in my life that I have the chance to prove to myself that I can be good at what I want to do.”

Val, for just a moment, felt the sparks of a fire that had once burned within in. The fire that had been extinguished at the West Coast Open two years ago. The same fire that fueled DJ today.

As if reading Val’s mind, DJ reached out and placed a hand on Val’s shoulder.

“We’re going to win this tournament.”