The muffled conversations filtered in from the tournament hall, punctuated by bursts of cheers and the occasional announcement from the speakers. Inside the staff room, the atmosphere was far quieter, but tension lingered in the air like an unwelcome guest.

Cayden lay curled on the couch, a cool compress resting on his forehead. His face was pale, save for the flush of embarrassment across his cheeks and nose. Owen sat nearby on a folding chair, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His green eyes, usually alight with humor, were clouded with worry.

A soft groan broke the silence as Cayden stirred. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused at first. “Boss E?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Owen’s lips curved into a faint smile, relief washing over him. “Hey there. Welcome back.”

Cayden’s hand drifted to his face, shielding his eyes from the light overhead. “What... happened?”

“You passed out,” Owen explained gently, careful not to make his tone sound accusatory. “Right in the middle of the game. The medics said it was stress and exhaustion. You’re alright now, but you gave us all a scare.”

A flood of memories rushed back to Cayden, his stomach sinking as the scene replayed in his mind. The game, the rising panic, the spinning lights... and then nothing. “Oh no,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “I—I’m so sorry. I ruined everything again.”

Owen straightened, his brows knitting together. “You didn’t ruin anything, Cayden. You just pushed yourself too hard, right? It happens to the best of us.”

Cayden’s hands clenched the hem of his shirt, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if trying to escape the reality of the situation. “Everyone’s going to talk about this,” he whispered. “They’re gonna say I can’t handle it. That I’m just... weak.”

“They might talk,” Owen admitted, his voice calm but firm. “But you know what else they’ll say? That you’re one of the most creative players out there. People love watching you because of how you think, how you play. Don’t let this moment take that away from you.”

Cayden turned his head, his blue eyes meeting Owen’s with a glimmer of surprise. “You think people care about how I play?”

“I don’t think,” Owen said with a soft chuckle. “I know. You’ve got fans, Cayden. A lot of them. And they’re rooting for you, not against you.”

Before Cayden could respond, a soft knock on the door interrupted them. It creaked open, and Nettie’s bright smile peeked through. She carried a water bottle in one hand and a pack of crackers in the other.

“Thought you might need these,” she said, setting them down on the coffee table. Her gaze shifted to Cayden, and her expression softened. “You okay?”

Cayden nodded, his voice still small but a touch steadier. “Yeah. Thanks, ma'am.”

She gave him an incredulous smirk. “Ma'am? I'll pretend I didn't hear that from someone older than me. Rest up, okay? We’ll hold down the fort out there.”

As she left, Owen’s attention returned to Cayden. He reached for the water bottle, unscrewing the cap and holding it out. “Drink,” he urged, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument.

Cayden obeyed, taking small sips. “Thanks, Boss E,” he murmured.

“It’s Owen,” Owen corrected with a lopsided grin. “And anytime.”

The hint of a smile tugged at Cayden’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He still looked drained, emotionally and physically.

Owen stood, resting a hand briefly on Cayden’s shoulder. “Take it easy for the rest of the event, alright? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

The touch was firm yet gentle, a grounding gesture that carried no expectation of answers or explanations. Cayden blinked up at him, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. And that was okay—Owen’s steady presence made it clear he didn’t need Cayden to justify his struggles.

For a moment, the tension in Cayden’s posture eased, his shoulders lowering as he let out a shaky breath. He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Owen’s smile widened, warm and reassuring. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

As Owen left the room, the noise of the tournament hall hit him like a wave, but his thoughts stayed anchored in the quiet of the staff room. He knew this wasn’t just about a single game or a moment of exhaustion. Cayden carried a heavier burden, one Owen was determined to help him shoulder.

The tournament rolled on, the energy almost palpable. Yet Owen’s mind lingered on the young man resting in the staff room, a quiet promise forming in his heart to remind Cayden of his worth—to himself, to the fans, and to Owen.