Back when I first started my esports career, Mia Taylor told me to propose to her if I ever won the world championship. It sounded like a dream. But then, one day, I overheard her talking to her friend. “Propose? To him? Please. Do you really think I’d marry a guy like that? I’m just messing with him. Imagine how hilarious it’ll be when I shut him down in front of the entire gaming world.” Her friend tried to calm her down, but Mia just rolled her eyes. “Come on. A guy who spends all day playing video games? He’s not even in the same league as me. Like, get real. A loser like him trying to date me? What a joke.” She smirked and added, “He’s broke, too. Meanwhile, I’ve got Luke—my kind of guy.” Luke Mitchell. My backup player. And right in front of me, she sent him a voice message. “Hey, Luke, guess what? I just bought this super cute new lingerie. Wanna see?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out. Fast forward to the championship. The crowd was roaring, golden confetti was raining down, and I got down on one knee. But just as Mia reached out, ready to slap the ring out of my hand— I turned, smiled, and slid the ring onto the finger of the woman standing next to her.
My mind was spinning as I replayed the conversation I’d just overheard. My chest felt tight, my hands trembling. Before I could pull myself together, Mia walked up, her voice sharp and full of irritation. “God, why are you being so sensitive? Luke just broke your keyboard. Are you seriously mad about that?” That’s when I noticed Luke standing behind her, pale as a ghost. He was holding a red mechanical keyboard—the one with my gamer tag, Mitchell, engraved on it. His voice cracked as he stammered out an apology. “I… I’m sorry, Isaac. I accidentally dropped it earlier. If you want, I can buy you a new one…” But before he could finish, Mia cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Buy him a new one? For what? It’s just a keyboard. He doesn’t care.” Her tone was so dismissive, like I wasn’t even allowed to be upset about it. I stood there, staring at the two of them, forcing myself to swallow the disgust rising in my throat. “Do you guys even hear yourselves? You break someone’s stuff and act like it’s no big deal? Have some respect.” Luke turned to Mia, looking like a kicked puppy. “Mia…” That was all it took for her to snap. She spun around, glaring at me like I’d just insulted her entire existence. “What the hell is wrong with you? Luke said it was an accident! Why are you blowing this out of proportion?” “I know you’ve never liked Luke, but do you seriously have to act this petty about everything?” “And for the record, I stand for what’s right, not for you. Don’t think for a second I’ll take your side on this.” I let out a bitter laugh. For a pro gamer, your equipment isn’t just gear—it’s a part of you. It’s your rhythm, your muscle memory. Tomorrow was the last match of the group stage, and the world championship was just a week away. Luke breaking my keyboard wasn’t an accident—it was a calculated move. “‘Stand for what’s right’? What part of this is right?” I shot back. My voice was tight with anger. “And when have you ever stood by me?” My words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. For once, I let the anger show. And she hated it. “Oh, come on! It’s just a stupid keyboard! Why are you acting like it’s the end of the world?” Before I could react, she grabbed the keyboard out of Luke’s hands and slammed it onto the floor. The sound of plastic keys scattering across the floor echoed in the room. My gamer tag, “Mitchell,” was obliterated and reduced to shattered fragments.
For a moment, even Mia looked stunned as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. But then she scoffed, doubling down. “You know what? Serves you right. And while you’re at it, maybe don’t bother playing tomorrow.” With that, she grabbed Luke’s arm and walked off, leaving me alone with the broken pieces of my keyboard. That wasn’t just a keyboard. It was the last gift my mom had given me. I clenched my fists, forcing back the lump in my throat as I carried the pieces to the technician’s room. “It’s completely busted, Isaac,” the tech said after one look. “You’re gonna have to set up a new one.” I could feel the stares of my other teammates as I walked back into the training room. Their smirks and whispered comments followed me like shadows. “Guess his plan to suck up to Mia didn’t work out. Looks like Luke’s moving up the ladder.” “Serves him right, acting all high and mighty. ‘Isaac’? What a joke.” I ignored them, but their words stung more than I cared to admit. When I got back to the training room, I saw my desk had been moved to the far corner—the “standby” seat. Luke was already sitting in my spot, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Don’t worry, Isaac,” he said, his tone dripping with fake sympathy. “I’ll give it my all in tomorrow’s match.” I narrowed my eyes at him, noticing the faint smear of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he and Mia had been up to. “Face it, Isaac,” he added with a smirk. “You’re past your prime. It’s time to let the younger generation take over.” I stared at him, my expression cold enough to wipe the grin off his face. No one expected what happened next. They came back from the match with a humiliating 0-3 loss. Luke’s performance? A complete disaster. Mia, our team analyst, didn’t criticize him at all. Instead, she patted him on the back like a doting mom. “It’s okay, Luke. Wins and losses are part of the game,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “And besides, we’ve already secured our spot in the finals. Just think of this match as practice.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I laughed out loud. “Practice? Are you calling it a qualifying match practice? Wow. That’s rich.” “What’s wrong, Luke?” I added, smirking. “Weren’t you just saying yesterday that I’m too old for this?” In esports, there’s one rule that never changes: bad gameplay is the ultimate sin. Luke’s face turned bright red, but before he could say anything, Mia turned her fury on me. “God, could you stop acting like you’re so much better than everyone else? I’m so sick of the way you treat rookies! Haven’t you ever lost a match before?” Her words took me back to when I first joined the team. I wasn’t consistent back then, and after one particularly bad match, Mia pulled me aside. “Every single point matters in competitive gaming,” she’d told me. I remembered the late nights, grinding ranked games with her by my side. She’d walk me through every champion, every strategy, until I got it right. I remembered the way she’d held my hand before a big match and promised, “As long as I’m here, I’ll make sure you become the best jungler in the world.” And I had. After winning the spring championship last year, I confessed to her. We got together, and it felt like everything had fallen into place. But now, here she was, telling me a qualifying match didn’t matter. In that moment, I realized something: She wasn’t the same person anymore. She’d already rotted from the inside out.
After losing the match, Luke was buried under a mountain of public backlash. Fans tore him to shreds online—insults flying at him from every corner. I thought he’d lay low, maybe try to redeem himself. But then Mia posted on Facebook. “Sure, Luke didn’t play his best. We get that. But someone smashed his keyboard yesterday, messing up his focus. I can’t stay silent anymore. I hope people can give the rookie some time and encouragement.” She even uploaded a video clip. The footage was edited to make me look like the villain, twisting our argument into something malicious. It showed me deliberately targeting Luke and, to top it off, smashing his keyboard. The camera zoomed in on the broken pieces of the keyboard. The engraving on the back—Mitchell—was clear as day. Fans immediately jumped on the hate train. “Isaac, you jealous loser! Going after a rookie? How low can you sink?” “I can’t believe I ever supported Isaac. What a pathetic excuse for a pro!” “And Mia? Absolute queen for exposing him. And wasn’t she dating Isaac once? Damn, the tea is hot.” I was so angry I nearly laughed—it felt like the only way to stop myself from exploding. Then, just as I was about to leave, Luke walked out of Mia’s office. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like he was the king of the world. “See that?” he said, smirking. “She’ll always take my side. What do you have to fight me with?” “Even if I lose, the fans will forgive me. But you? You’re done.” He tilted his head, the gold chain around his neck catching the light. Hanging from it was a gold ring. My chest tightened. That ring… It was the one I bought last year after winning the championship. I’d spent weeks tracking it down—an exclusive, custom-made luxury piece from overseas. Mia had said it was too special to wear every day, that she wanted to save it for “the right moment.” Turns out, that “moment” was giving it to Luke. Luke had joined the team six months ago as a last-minute substitute. At first, no one took him seriously—not even Mia, who suggested cutting him after his first month. But I was the one who stood up for him, coaching him on every hero and helping him improve match after match. I still remember the day he lost a crucial game. I was furious, demanding he be sent to the second team for more training. That was the first time Mia sided with him over me. “Come on, Isaac,” she said. “Who hasn’t lost a match before? Why are you being so harsh?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Mia, this is the playoffs! We can’t afford to mess around!” But she just frowned, her tone full of disappointment. “I know you’re Isaac, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like they’re beneath you.” “Isaac… when did you become like this?” And just like that, she walked off with Luke, leaving me standing there speechless. Later that night, I felt guilty. Maybe I had been too harsh. So I went to find Luke, planning to apologize and clear the air. But when I opened the door, I froze. Mia was sitting next to him, carefully sewing a tear in his shirt. Luke caught her hand mid-stitch, his voice soft. “Aren’t you spending the night with Isaac?” he asked, a teasing smile on his face. Mia blushed—a sight I hadn’t seen in months. “I’m here, aren’t I? Where else would I go?” Luke reached up and cupped her face. “Thank you, Mia. It means so much to me that you’d stand up for me.” I stumbled away from the door, heart pounding, terrified of what I might see if I stayed any longer. When Mia came out later, her flushed cheeks said more than words ever could. 4 I stared at Luke now, standing in front of me, smug as ever. Aside from being younger, what did he even have going for him? “If I’m the one who’s washed up,” I said coldly, “then you should just quit altogether.” “If you put half the effort into actually playing that you put into acting like a victim, you’d be at the top of the rankings by now.” “Or maybe,” I added with a smirk, “you just really enjoy being the guy who hides behind Mia every time something goes wrong. Cry a little, let her fight your battles for you. That’s your whole strategy, isn’t it?” My words hit him like a punch to the gut. His face twisted in anger. Then, out of nowhere, he dropped to the ground, clutching his hand and screaming like I’d just broken it in two. “Ahhh! My hand! Isaac, why did you step on my hand?!” His shrieking was so loud it immediately drew a crowd. Mia came running over, her face full of panic. She shoved me hard, her voice shaking with rage. “Isaac! Are you insane?!” “Do you even understand how important a player’s hands are?!” She knelt down beside Luke, cradling his hand like it was made of glass. “Are you okay, Luke? Does it hurt? Let me see.” Luke whimpered, glancing at me with fake fear in his eyes. “It’s my fault,” he said, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have tried to take Isaac’s spot. I’m sorry, Isaac! Please don’t hurt me anymore.” “My hands… they’re everything to me. How am I supposed to compete now?” He reached out, tugging weakly at my sleeve like a helpless child. I couldn’t take it anymore. I actually laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “If you’re going to frame me, at least put some effort into it,” I said, kicking him to the ground. “You’re pathetic.” Mia screamed, trying to pull me back as I grabbed his collar. My grip tightened with every second, and her voice rose in panic. “Isaac, stop! Have you lost your mind?!” “You can’t hurt him! What’s wrong with you?!” Finally, she slapped me hard enough to sting. “You’re a monster!” she spat, tears brimming in her eyes. Then, before I could react, she stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into my fingers with all her weight. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed. “I’ll make sure of it.” Pain shot through my hand as I shoved her off me, my fingers swollen and bleeding. My hands—my lifeline—were more important than anything. Clutching my injured hand, I stumbled out and made my way to the ER, barely able to stay on my feet. 5. “Doctor, I have a championship match coming up. Can my hand recover in a week?” I gripped the doctor’s sleeve tightly, my voice trembling with desperation. “Take it easy,” he said, gently prying my hand off. “The good news is there’s no bone fracture. But the soft tissue damage? A week might be pushing it.” My stomach sank. “Then do something—give me a shot, painkillers, whatever it takes!” I couldn’t afford to give up. Not now. “I’ll do my best,” he said, his tone calm but serious. Later that night, I sat alone in the ER, hooked up to an IV. The sound of the saline drip hitting the tube echoed in the silence, each drop louder than the last. In the stillness of the hospital, it felt oppressive, almost suffocating. That slap and that stomp—Mia’s betrayal—did more than just injure my hand. It broke something deeper. It severed the last threads of the bond we’d shared over the past two years. I clenched my injured hand into a fist, and then released it, testing the strength in my muscles. “You know that’s only going to make it worse, right?” A familiar voice broke my trance. I looked up, startled, to see Evelyn standing there in a white coat, her arms crossed, a mix of concern and amusement in her expression. “It’s been a while,” she said with a small smile. “I saw your name on the chart and thought, ‘No way, it can’t be him.’ But here you are.” Evelyn and I had grown up together. She was the closest thing I had to a childhood friend. Back in middle school, when I decided to try my hand at professional gaming, she’d promised to stand by me no matter what. But after I joined the club, she disappeared. She stopped answering my calls and my messages. For a while, I thought she’d forgotten about me. Only later did I learn her parents had sent her overseas. Now, here she was, back in the city, interning at the hospital. Her eyes dropped to my bandaged hand. “Aren’t you a pro gamer? What happened to your hand?” I hesitated, and then gave her the short version of the story. Luke, Mia, the injury—everything. When I finished, she stared at me for a long moment before shaking her head. “Isaac Mitchell, since when did you become so stupid?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe this is what happens when you’re too nice to people?” She snorted. “Nice? You? Did you hit your head, too? Or has gaming scrambled your brain? Don’t act like I don’t know you.” She smirked. “You used to be the most vengeful person I knew.” That hit a nerve. She wasn’t wrong. Back then, no one dared mess with me. Everyone called me the “crazy Mitchell kid.” I laughed, this time for real, and Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” she asked. “Evelyn,” I said, still grinning, “do you want to come watch the World Championship?” Does Mia want to play games? Fine. Let’s see who’s still standing in the end.
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