As the competition moved forward, the first wave of teams qualified for the Overwatch offline city championship. The tournament was no longer just a flashy idea on paper. It was becoming real, city by city, bracket by bracket, and the excitement around it was starting to spread far beyond the original player base.
During this time, Ethan Reed was busier than ever. On one side, he still spent time with Vivian Frost, helping her improve her aim and practice her shooting in-game. On the other side, he was deeply involved in organizing the event itself. Even though he did not personally travel to every city under Northstar Games' control, he was still the one speaking with outside partners, reviewing plans, giving instructions, and fixing problems as they came up.
So even if he was not physically present on every site, it would be fair to say that Ethan was handling things himself from the front line.
For the offline city championship, Ethan chose a practical but ambitious plan. Rather than spreading the event too thin across the whole country, he decided to focus on major provincial capitals and important urban centers. In total, twenty-eight cities were selected. Among them, eight first-tier and second-tier cities were designated as the major competition zones, and they would also serve as the venues for the most important offline matches before the finals.
As for the final venue, the choice changed at the last minute.
The original plan had been to hold the national finals in another city, but Skybound wanted to get involved. Since their support could bring greater reach and more momentum to the event, Ethan and Vivian made the final decision to move the championship to Lumen City Stadium.
That one decision raised the scale of the entire tournament.
And then there was the prize pool.
The champion's prize was set at eight million.
For an esports event, that amount was outrageous.
It was not just generous. It was shocking.
A prize pool that high could easily make outsiders suspicious, but Northstar Games had always kept its tax records clean and its operations transparent. Because of that, Lumen City did not step in or start asking too many uncomfortable questions. People in the industry understood what that meant. Some things were obvious to insiders and did not need to be said aloud.
As Northstar Games pushed the event forward, the company's logo began appearing in major cities all over the country. Competition stages were being built at a visible pace. Steel frameworks rose from the ground, branded panels were installed, and the event started to feel less like a game tournament and more like a full-scale entertainment project.
Internet cafés?
That option had never seriously existed.
Northstar was not going to let players fight through a major tournament in cramped rooms full of cheap chairs and noisy keyboards. Vivian was not that small-minded, and Ethan's philosophy was simple: if they were going to do it, they would do it properly.
So Northstar built proper event venues in several top cities.
The entire design focused on one thing above all else: spectacle.
The arenas were made to match the heroic and cinematic feeling of Overwatch. Wide stages, giant screens, dramatic lighting, and themed visual design all came together to create an atmosphere that felt grand and official.
Of course, all of that cost money.
A lot of money.
After internal estimates, Northstar's team concluded that the first round of investment would likely exceed 300 million. It was a massive gamble, but not a blind one. If the event succeeded, investors would come later. Even without outside funding, the company could still recover costs in the future by renting the venues to clubs, using them for official league operations, or selling tickets directly to fans.
But all of that depended on one thing.
The game had to remain a massive hit.
If the game lost momentum, then every plan, every venue, every projection would turn into empty fantasy.
Fortunately, that was the one thing Ethan did not need to worry about.
Because Overwatch was already exploding.
The overseas version had not even launched yet, and copyright negotiations were still ongoing. Even so, domestic users had already surpassed twenty million, with daily peak active players reaching seven million.
That number alone was enough to make Overwatch the hottest online game of the year.
So traffic was not the problem.
Popularity was not the problem.
What Northstar needed to prove now was that it could host a successful event.
And that, Ethan knew, was harder than it sounded.
He had one concern that refused to go away.
FPS esports naturally had a disadvantage compared to MOBA titles. In a MOBA, spectators could clearly see the battlefield, track rotations, and understand the larger strategy. But in a first-person shooter, the viewer's perspective was much more limited. For casual audiences, just following the action could already be difficult. If they did not understand the game, then the screen would just feel chaotic. Some people might not even last five minutes before getting dizzy from the constant motion.
So while the game was strong, the spectator experience still had a long way to go.
That was a major problem.
Still, there was no turning back.
At the end of June, under the blazing heat of summer, the Overwatch City Championship officially began.
Qualified teams and individual players traveled from all over the country to their assigned competition zones. Every station, airport, and highway seemed to carry gamers chasing the same goal.
Northstar's own three teams were cut down to two after the early rounds. In the end, the ones that advanced were the Northstar Boss Team and the Nanshan squad.
As the tournament's popularity climbed, the livestreaming platforms quickly caught the scent of opportunity.
Once offline matches officially started, ordinary players could no longer rely on in-game replays to watch team fights whenever they wanted. That meant the demand for proper broadcasts shot up almost overnight. And since Northstar had already poured huge money into building real venues, nobody doubted that the company was taking this seriously.
Starting on June 27, livestreaming companies began approaching Vivian directly.
BiliZone wanted the exclusive streaming rights.
SharkStream wanted them too.
MeowCast joined in.
Even short-video platforms came to the table, all hoping to lock Overwatch down for themselves.
But Northstar refused exclusive ownership.
Instead, they sold broadcast rights to multiple platforms.
Yes, an exclusive deal would have brought in more money in the short term, but Ethan had already learned something important from earlier esports models: if you want a tournament to grow, then early-stage matches need the widest reach possible.
Only grand finals can survive on prestige alone.
Regular-season or bracket matches need exposure.
Players do not watch every match on purpose. Most of the time, they discover a match because it appears in front of them. They click because it is easy, visible, and everywhere. That was why traffic mattered more than a quick payout.
So in the end, Northstar sold streaming rights to multiple platforms for six million per year.
Some platforms, especially SharkStream and MeowCast, tried to lock in a three-year deal on the spot. Vivian rejected them without hesitation.
She might not be the pure business type, but she was far from foolish.
Once Overwatch expanded worldwide, the price of those rights would only rise. Anyone trying to grab three years early at a discount was dreaming.
Compared to future esports broadcasting deals, the number still looked modest. But for a newly established event without a formal league structure yet, six million a year was already a strong result. More importantly, it showed that the platforms believed in Northstar's ability to grow the scene.
Sponsors came next.
E-commerce giants came.
Sportswear brands came.
Other domestic companies came waving huge sponsorship offers.
And Northstar turned them down.
For the very first major event, Ethan did not want outside capital digging too deeply into the structure. He and Vivian both liked money, sure, but only money they felt they had properly earned. Too much outside influence at the start could poison the league before it even matured.
That did not mean they blocked every team from forming.
If brands, real estate groups, or investors wanted to back teams, recruit players, and build esports clubs, Northstar did not interfere.
But Northstar also built a regulatory body of its own to oversee its esports operations.
It was called Xingjing.
This organization would directly manage competition zones, oversee clubs, supervise players, and enforce discipline. Ethan had no intention of allowing the domestic Overwatch scene to slide into corruption, manipulation, or gambling-heavy chaos.
If match-fixing, illegal betting, or any similar scandal appeared, those involved would be removed instantly.
No negotiation.
No mercy.
No second chances.
After all, Northstar was not building this event just to milk Overwatch for money.
If all Ethan wanted was profit, he could already see the future.
And in that future, one name was bigger than everything else.
Pokémon.
Compared to that giant, even a successful Overwatch league was only one part of a much larger empire. If Northstar ever wanted to simply live off one IP for the rest of its existence, Pokémon alone would be more than enough.
That was why Ethan never saw the tournament as just a cash machine.
It was about player joy, brand longevity, and building something that could last.
As the days passed, Northstar's own teams began to hit their limits.
Once the tournament reached the national top sixty-four, the level of play changed completely. Opponents were stronger, better coordinated, and far more experienced.
Even with a standout player like Sienna on Ethan's side, the Northstar Boss Team could not keep up forever. Sienna was a top-tier player, but the rest of the lineup lagged behind. Most were only Diamond rank, while Evan Cross was still sitting around Platinum level.
That gap became fatal against teams built from streamers, former pros, and veteran FPS players who had switched over to Overwatch early.
The result was obvious.
The Northstar Boss Team was eliminated in the top thirty-two.
The Nanshan squad did not do much better. They were eventually knocked out by a streamer lineup led by Alex Hunter, backed by a group of well-known players who had strong chemistry and better preparation.
Still, making the top thirty-two was nothing to be ashamed of.
In fact, it had an unexpected benefit.
No one could accuse Northstar of rigging the competition now.
Because if the company had really wanted shady results, would the boss's own team have crashed out before prize money even started?
As July arrived, the heat over Lumen City became unbearable.
Short sleeves were useless. Shorts barely helped. The air itself felt heavy, like the whole city had been left under a giant glass lid. It was the kind of summer where people joked you could crack an egg on the sidewalk and watch it cook.
In weather like that, Vivian gave up trying to dress stylishly.
She wore loose short-sleeved shirts, casual cropped pants, and tied her hair back. No elaborate outfits. No makeup. No extra effort. Her face was clean, fresh, and naturally pretty, which made dressing up feel even more unnecessary.
And because of the heat, both Vivian and Ethan had grown lazy.
For several days straight, they barely went to the company at all. They stayed home, hid in air conditioning, watched Overwatch match broadcasts, read staff reports, and enjoyed the quiet comfort of being alone together.
That was exactly why Daniel finally came to visit.
The moment he entered, Ethan handed him a new pair of slippers and welcomed him inside.
The apartment was cool, clean, and cozy. The air conditioner was set low, and the living room felt like an escape from the outside world. Snacks, soda, and half-open bags of chips covered the small table near the couch.
Vivian sat in the shaded corner of the room, casually eating chips while watching a movie.
The whole scene looked far too relaxed for two people supposedly running one of the hottest gaming companies in the country.
Daniel stared at them and could not hold back anymore.
"You two haven't been to the company for four days."
Ethan just smiled. "Isn't the company in your hands?"
That answer nearly made Daniel choke.
He was proud of being Northstar's third-in-command, sure. But there was one problem.
He was a technical guy.
Not a manager.
And right now, all the company's daily work had somehow landed on him.
After complaining for a while, Daniel finally got to the real reason he came.
Northstar's second major game project of the year was almost ready.
Ethan leaned forward. "How's it looking?"
Daniel took a cold drink, then answered, "Pretty good. Some systems are hard to deploy nationwide, so we'll launch in selected cities first. Traffic-light zones, danger zones, and public-space reporting are already being handled."
Ethan nodded. "And the appearance schedule? Rarity settings?"
"All decided," Daniel said. "We're planning the main appearance peaks around 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. Those times work well for students and office workers. As for rare creatures, some will be announced globally when they appear. But others won't be announced at all. Their spawn time will be irregular, and the rarest ones may take as long as ninety days to refresh."
Ethan smiled.
Because the moment Daniel said that, the future practically came alive in his mind.
After Northstar's teams had been eliminated, Ethan had already shifted Daniel onto a new assignment.
A mobile game.
A real-world interactive mobile game.
A bold experiment powered by AR technology.
Even if Northstar's implementation was still rough around the edges, Ethan knew the concept alone would shake the entire market.
Single-player games existed.
Online games existed.
So why shouldn't mobile games rise next?
And not just any mobile game.
Pokémon Go.
The name itself was enough to make Ethan grin.
Because once this thing launched, it would not just be another successful title.
It would be a nationwide sensation.
And with that, Northstar Games was preparing to seize yet another part of the market.
Not slowly.
Not quietly.
But all at once.
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