“Fifteen minutes,” says a disembodied voice from behind. I know the voice, but I can’t remember the face it belongs to. All I can think about is what is in front of me — in front of all us.

I want to vomit.

Our coach and analysts stand in the middle of the room giving us last minute talks about the match about to take place. “He’s going to pick — “ says our head analyst, yet, at this moment, all I can think about is my heart breaking through my chest with every second counting down before showtime.

When I first started playing video games, I never thought I would be here. I can feel the vibrations of the crowd yelling from down the corridor. For me, back then, playing games were an escape — a reprieve from a dreary reality. It was one of the only times in my life where I felt truly alive; an extension of myself that made me feel, at least for a few hours, like I had a greater purpose.

“Welcome to the League of Legends World Championship Finals!” shouts one of the commentators. The crowd cheers in response, and the sound of plastic instruments play a rhythmic beat to set the mood for the evening. I look to my right and my teammate is leaning back in his chair, staring up at the lights illuminating the room usually reserved for basketball players. Behind me, my coach is pressing his hands into the shoulders of another teammate, reassuring him that we’ve done everything possible to win it all.

It all started a month ago in San Francisco — the group stages of the World Championships. We survived the opening gambit by making it out of the four-team group we were randomly drawn to. Next, we jetted off to the Windy City of Chicago; although we lost the first game in the quarterfinal, we were able to pull ourselves through in the end. Finally, I stepped through the hallowed halls of Madison Square Garden where our semifinal was set. Again, we advanced improbably, and the memory of the coaching staff rushing the stage to celebrate is something that will never leave me.

Tonight, the final match. Millions of dollars hang in the balance. Fans wishing me luck through every kind of social media possible. My family watching from above in a press box surrounded by the sea of people who were able to secure a ticket for the event. At home, millions are watching me from across the globe, hanging onto every second of the broadcast.

“Yo, it’s time,” says the disembodied voice for the second time, tapping the door three times before exiting. My teammates rise from their chairs and walk towards the opening into the Staples Center hallway.

“Relax,” says my coach, jostling my shoulder in a playful manner to lighten the mood. I stretch out in my seat, unrolling my limbs from its previous tense position to get the blood circulating once again. “It’s only a video game, man.” My coach takes my hand and lifts me from safe haven of my chair, laughing as he pushes me to the outside where everyone is lined up ready to make their way onto the main stage.

I was wrong: It didn’t start a month ago. It didn’t start a year ago when we played our first games of the season. It didn’t start when I decided I was going to play this video game professionally. Before the contracts, the fans, and the endless hours of practice, it was the game itself.

League of Legends isn’t the perfect game, far from it. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes the makers of the game suck at making it not suck. However, when I start walking towards the end of the tunnel, fans heads poking their heads over the railing to get a glimpse of our entrance, all I can think of are the nights playing the game with my friends.

The night when my friend bet me I couldn’t go four hours without calling someone an idiot in-game. (I lost.)

The night we stayed up until 6:00 AM in the morning talking about things that I forgot about the next night we started playing again.

The night she told me, in fact, I was kinda cool when I played.

The night the game’s servers were offline for hours, and we sat on Skype for hours talking about everything and anything to pass the time before we were saved by the thing that brought us all together.

My right knee is shaking. I can’t hear the announcer screaming as we make our way onto the arena floor. A whirlwind of colors dance around me to the beat of the fans clapping behind as we make our way onto center stage. I avert my eyes from the strobe lights, staring upward for the first time to see the spectacle surrounding me: fans of all different ages, color, and backgrounds on their feet.

I catch a glimpse of a fan holding a sign with my team’s name in bold black letters. Behind him, a pair of cute girls in Teemo hats hold matching signs asking two of my teammates if they’ll marry them. I see a man dressed up as Riven screaming my name like his life depends on it.

My fingers tap against my side to calm my nerves. I move my eyes from the crowd to the stage closing in on us, standing below our awaiting opponents. The eyes of my positional counterpart catch mine, and he gives me a reassuring grin, his knee also visibly shaking underneath the torrent of noise and lights.

“Are you alright?” asks my coach, trailing behind me in our ascent up the stairs.

The days of practicing with no days off. The nights of playing solo queue to make sure no one would surpass me. The girl who didn’t think it was so cool when my every living second was devoted to the game she thought I played so well.

Eventually, the screams turn into white noise, and the people in front of me contort into four black walls. Next to me stand the only people who know what I went through to get here — the sacrifices I had to make to achieve this goal. The crowd reaches its crescendo to start the final — a commentator punching the air to signify the start of the match — and my knee has stopped shaking. My acrobatic, shaking fingers have become calm, nestled inside my pocket.

“Yeah,” I tell my coach, turning away from the crowd to walk towards my designated seat on stage. I finally take my first breathe.

“It’s only a video game, right?”

Right?