Dinner had been quiet.
It usually was.
His mom talked about groceries.
About the neighbor's dog barking again.
Raxian nodded when he was supposed to.
Answered when required.
His father's chair stayed empty.
Like always.
Paid for.
Maintained.
Unused.
That chair had funded the desk upstairs.
The monitors.
The neon keyboard.
The custom EGO rig.
"You're talented," his dad used to say.
"You could go far."
And then he'd leave again.
Work.
Meetings.
Conferences.
Research.
Always almost present.
Never there.
Raxian washed his plate.
Went back to his room.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
The closet lights flickered on in purple and gold.
His setup hummed to life.
Inside EGO—
His private chamber rendered around him.
Dim lighting. Minimalist. Clean.
His avatar lay sprawled across the bed, lazily holding a tiny pixelated Gameboy.
The contrast was absurd.
Golden eyes glowing faintly.
Playing a retro game.
"Get up," Raxian muttered.
The avatar glanced sideways at him.
Unimpressed.
Slowly powered off the Gameboy.
Slid it into a pocket that didn't physically exist.
Sat up.
Stared at him.
The expression was simple:
Well?
Raxian cracked his knuckles.
Queued.
Game one.
Loss.
Game two.
Loss.
Game three—
"Are you serious?"
His pulse felt wrong.
Timing off.
Trades miscalculated.
Micro hesitations he'd never had before.
His teammates were useless.
No rotations.
No objective control.
No pressure.
Unlucky matchmaking.
Had to be.
He re-queued.
Damn it.
His avatar stood quietly near the foot of the bed now.
Watching, measuring.
The chamber lighting flickered faintly with his pulse.
Raxian minimized the match history screen.
And that's when he saw it.
Friend request: Accepted.
His stomach tightened slightly.
The avatar reached into thin air.
A virtual phone materialized in his hand.
Ping.
Message received.
Even the avatar's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Raxian leaned forward.
Opened it.
From: test me?
you are?
He stared at it.
That was it.
No greeting, no context.
Just—
you are?
Like he was nobody.
Like yesterday hadn't happened.
His jaw tightened.
Are you always this arrogant? he typed.
Pause.
Three dots.
Gone.
Back.
A minute passed.
Then—
…
Hold.
Another minute.
Then—
oh.
You're Xar.
He felt heat crawl up his neck.
She checked.
She didn't remember.
She had to check.
He typed before he could stop himself.
You wiped my team yesterday and don't remember?
…
I play a lot.
That shouldn't have stung.
But it did.
He imagined her scrolling through match history.
Scrolling past him.
Scrolling past his promo.
Just another game.
Just another mid.
He typed again.
You think you're good?
A pause.
Longer this time.
His avatar shifted slightly.
Watching the pulse flicker unstable gold.
Then—
skill comes with experience.
keep practicing.
The calmness of it.
The lack of bite.
The lack of ego.
That was worse than trash talk.
It wasn't mockery.
It was evaluation.
He exhaled sharply.
Steam rising in his chest.
Practice?
He'd been playing for eleven years.
Diamond was supposed to mean something.
Diamond was supposed to—
His avatar tilted his head slightly.
Pulse reading unstable.
"You think I'm the problem?" Raxian muttered.
The avatar didn't answer.
Just held his gaze.
Quiet.
Measuring.
The chamber lights dimmed slightly with the rhythm of his breathing.
On his monitor—
test me? is online.
Queueing.
Already.
Moving on.
Raxian leaned back in his chair.
Stared at the ceiling.
Then forward again.
Queued.
Again.
He would not end the night like this.
He couldn't.
Because if he couldn't hit Diamond—
Then what had any of it been for?