The night had wrapped itself around the city like a thick, suffocating blanket, heavy with silence and stillness.
Their light slipped through the narrow gap of a half-open window, where the curtains swayed gently in the breeze.
Inside the small, messy room, the air was still, except for the quiet hum of a ceiling fan turning slowly above. Its steady rhythm mixed with the soft mechanical sounds of the outside world—cars far in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog, and the faint murmur of the night.
The room looked like it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Clothes were scattered across the floor, textbooks lay open and forgotten on the desk, and empty cans of energy drinks stood like little metal towers beside the bed.
The glow from a smartphone screen lit up the face of a young man named Tyron, a 23 years old, who lay sprawled out on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other gripping the phone tightly.
He had been playing games for hours without a break. His eyes were tired, slightly bloodshot, but he refused to stop. Earlier in the evening, he had launched into Mobile Legends: Bang Bang, eager to climb the ranks.
But it didn't go well.
One match loss turned into two, and before he knew it, he was seven games into defeat continuously. Each game had been more frustrating than the last.
His teammates made reckless decisions, fed the enemy kills, some simply went AFK halfway through. Tyron grew convinced it wasn't just bad luck—he believed the system was out to get him, placing him with trolls and what others called "dark system" players.
That's what he called people who seemed like they were placed in the match just to ruin his game.
Fueled by anger and disappointment, he rage-reported almost every player in the lobby—whether they deserved it or not.
His thumbs moved quickly, filing reports with reasons ranging from "toxic chat" to "intentional feeding, AFK and Low skills." None of it made him feel any better.
I feel like deleting this shit game but then I remember a meme of a Mobile legend:
THINK AGAIN, YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE A GIRLFRIEND OR A JOB.
Yeah that hits hard though.
Now, as the digital glow flickered across his tired face, Tyron let out a long, frustrated sigh.
The fan spun above him, indifferent to his suffering, while the city outside continued to sleep peacefully.
His fingers trembled in frustration. Not wanting to give up just yet, he jumped into PUBG Mobile, only to be lost five times in a row—killed by bots hiding in the grass, ambushing him or the unreal engine had eyes particular on him.
Each match left him angrier than the last.
Now, this was his final attempt at finding solace. A game he both loved and hated. The one he always returned to.
The game he was playing was called War of Wizards—a fast-paced, action-packed fantasy game where powerful sorcerers and warriors battled against monsters, demons, and each other in a magical world on the edge of ruin.
Tyron's eyes were glued to his phone screen. His thumb moved quickly, sliding and tapping the display with smooth, expert motions. He had clearly played this game many times before.
His fingers knew exactly where to go, even under pressure.
Sweat began to form on his forehead and trickled down the side of his face, but he didn't stop. His breathing had become shallow, short, and fast.
He was holding his breath between attacks, so focused that the real world around him had completely faded away.
His fingers moved like lightning—sometimes tapping furiously, other times dragging in careful patterns as he cast spells and activated abilities.
His hands were tense, his knuckles white as they clenched the phone tightly.
"Come on… just one more hit," Tyron muttered under his breath. His teeth were clenched, his jaw tight with stress. His eyes were narrowed, barely blinking, completely locked on the screen.
On the display, the battle raged. The game's world was burning and chaotic. Bright explosions of fire magic lit up the screen, followed by streaks of lightning and sharp bursts of ice.
A massive, terrifying boss monster—twice the size of any character—loomed in the center of it all.
Its red eyes glowed menacingly, and its armored claws slammed down onto the ruined stone floor of a collapsing castle gate.
Tyron's in-game character was a warrior-mage clad in glowing, enchanted steel armor. He carried a huge rune-covered sword that shimmered with blue magical energy.
The character dodged the boss's attacks with quick rolls and dashes, sometimes jumping into the air with a spinning slash, sometimes charging head-on with a burst of power.
Every second mattered. One mistake, and it was over.
The health bar of the boss was almost gone—just a sliver left.
So close.
Tyron's heart pounded in his chest. His finger swiped to land the final blow.
But just then—
A huge claw came crashing down from above.
His screen went red.
The words appeared in bold, merciless letters:
GAME OVER.
Tyron stared at them, frozen, unable to believe it was real. After all the effort, all the dodging, the attacks, the timing—it was over. Just like that.
The only sound was the soft hum of the fan above and the faint buzzing of his phone. His heart was still racing, and his hands were slightly shaking from the intense battle.
He let out a sharp, frustrated breath and threw his head back onto the pillow.
"AAHHHHHH!" he groaned, covering his face with one hand. "So close... I was just one hit away!"
Just as he was drowning in his frustration, a voice called out from downstairs.
"Tyron, come down for dinner!" It was his older brother.
Tyron sighed, still staring at the ceiling. "I'll be there in a few minutes!" he called back.
He sat up slowly, tossing the phone to the side. The screen dimmed, returning to the home screen, as if mocking his loss.
Tyron lived with his older brother in a small apartment. It was just the two of them now.
Their parents had died in a car accident when Tyron was only fifteen. Everything changed after that. The laughter in the house faded, replaced by silence, and a heavy emptiness took its place.
Since then, his elder brother had stepped up, taking care of him without a second thought.
He was only in his early twenties at the time, but he never gave up. Now, at thirty-two, his brother worked long hours at a local grocery store, earning a modest income as a cashier. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept food on the table and a roof over their heads.
Tyron respected him deeply for that. He never said it out loud, but in his heart, he was grateful every single day.
Still, the weight of their past and their daily struggles always lingered in the background—like the low hum of the fan above Tyron's head.
He rubbed his tired eyes and stood up, stretching his arms until his back gave a soft crack.
As much as he wanted to dive back into War of Wizards and try again, he knew he couldn't ignore his brother's call.
With one last glance at his phone, he whispered to himself, "Next time... I'll win."
His name was Kai—though everyone still called him by his childhood name, Tyron. No job. No direction. No real plans for the future—except for one thing: this game. This cursed game.
The smell of food finally reached him fully—spices, steam, and the unmistakable scent of fried chicken.
Tyron sighed toward the kitchen.
His older brother, Renji, stood by the small dining table, still wearing his grocery store uniform—a light green shirt with a faded name tag. He placed a plate of chicken wings on the table and looked over his shoulder with a tired but amused expression.
"Tyron," Renji said as he sat down, "stop playing those games like a child."
"They're not just games, brother-san. I like them… and one day, I wanna make my own game."
Renji chuckled as he picked up his own piece. "You can do that after you get a good job first.
One that pays rent on time, hmm?"
Tyron grinned, chewing thoughtfully. "That's the plan. I'll make the best fantasy game ever. With epic bosses, beautiful worlds… maybe even a main character like me."
"A lazy dropout who never cleans his room?" Renji teased.
"More like a misunderstood genius who sleeps a lot," Tyron shot back with a smirk.
Renji shook his head but smiled. "Well, genius or not, finish your dinner before it gets cold."
The two brothers sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the crunch of crispy wings and the light rain starting to fall outside the windows.
It was a small kitchen, nothing fancy.
After dinner, Tyron stood and gathered his plate.
"Thanks for the food, San," he said casually.
"Don't mention it. And hey," Renji added, "just sleep on time."
Tyron nodded slowly. "Yeah… I know."
He walked back to his room, stomach full.
He picked up his phone again and stared at the screen.
The "Retry" button blinked softly.