"Just don't let the crash make you forget the climb."
Easier said than done.
Raze's words still lingered like chalk on a wall—fading, smudged, but stubborn.
Back in his room, Raxian sat down at his desk. Mouse under his hand. EGO glowing across the screen.
But it all felt wrong. Even the replays felt wrong. His clicks were clean, his mechanics intact, but the rhythm—that sharp, electric pulse that made him him—was gone.
Every death scraped raw. Every misplay tilted him harder. He rewound, slowed down, studied angles he should've hit. Watching himself was like watching a stranger—someone who used to be good.
"Defeat."
The word bled across the screen in mocking neon red. He slammed it away with a single click, jaw tight.
Had that Yasuo really burrowed this deep into his skull? That flawless, map-eating, tempo-perfect phantom. One game. Just one. And still, it was like every mistake since whispered you'll never be that good.
His friends list pulsed open.
AkarisLite: Online. Ranked Solo/Duo.
Of course they were.
Raxian leaned back, chewing the inside of his cheek. The urge was sharp, insistent. Spectate them. Just one game. See what they're doing.
They even had spectate turned on. Bold, like they didn't care who was watching.
His cursor hovered over their name. One flick of the mouse. One click.
…But no. No way in hell.
They were a smurf. They had to be. Some washed-up master slumming in Emerald, padding their ego, stomping kids like him. That was the only reason. The only explanation.
Because if they weren't…
Raxian clicked away from their name, spine locked stiff.
Truly infuriating.
The client hummed at him, bathing the room in cold neon. His headset lay abandoned on the desk, a faint buzz of static hissing from the mic like some restless ghost.
Normally he'd grind until dawn, bleeding games until exhaustion shut him down.
Not tonight.
He shut it all down, stripped off his hoodie, and dropped into bed. The silence felt heavy, unnatural.
For the first time in weeks, he called it an early night.
---
By morning, the silence had followed him to school.
---
Raxian hadn't been the same since Jake beat him.
Jake had tried to laugh it off—but Raxian hadn't laughed. Not even close.
The loss clung to him like static, heavy even now, a day later.
By lunch, he told the others to go ahead without him. They didn't argue.
He stood alone at his locker, one hand braced against the cool metal, staring out the hallway window at the courtyard below. Students swarmed past in noisy clumps—shouting, laughing, alive. And somehow he felt miles away from all of it.
He was supposed to be climbing. Not spiraling.
Movement down the hall pulled his eyes.
Sable Holloway.
She moved through the crowd without effort, unnoticed, like smoke slipping through cracks. Same beanie, same loose tie, same unreadable calm. A full week in, and she hadn't said more than a handful of words to anyone. No cafeteria. No courtyard. Just here, gone, repeat.
He didn't expect her to look his way. She never did.
But this time—she did.
Her pace slowed. Green eyes fixed on him. And without hesitation, she changed direction.
Raxian stiffened as she stopped in front of him.
"It's lunch time," she said.
Not what he expected. No hi, no preamble. Just that.
He frowned. "And?"
Her eyes stayed steady. "So what are you doing out here?"
Her tone was calm, detached. Like she was pointing out the weather.
Still—it rubbed him raw. Out of everyone, she suddenly decided to talk to him? The prodigy who didn't waste a single word on anyone else? It was weird. Irritating.
He scoffed, jaw tight. "How's that any of your business?"
Her gaze didn't flinch. "It's not. Just noticed."
The hallway noise thinned around them, like static falling away. Just her, steady as stone.
And him—restless, conflicted, burning.
His pride wanted to sneer, to shove her back into the smoke she came from. But some traitorous part of him was curious—if the rumors were true. If she was really as untouchable in the Rift as people said. Not that he'd admit that out loud.
Then she tugged her sleeves down, cuffs brushing over her hands. For a split second, a faint mark caught his eye. His irritation cracked—replaced by a flicker of something else.
Concern, sharp and unwelcome.
When his gaze flicked back, hers was already on him. Sharp. Daring him to say something.
He didn't.
She gave the smallest nod and pushed off the locker. "See you around, Raxian."
And then she was gone, dissolving into the current of the hallway like smoke.
Raxian let out a slow breath, shoulders tight.
Out of everyone—why him?
He didn't know. But her words—and that glimpse of her sleeves—stuck anyway, burning like salt against an open wound.
---
Bruce found him slouched against the edge of the courtyard steps, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. The lunch crowd had already thinned, but Raxian hadn't moved.
Without a word, Bruce dropped a cold can from the vending machine beside him.
Raxian blinked. "Not thirsty."
"Didn't ask," Bruce said simply, cracking his own open.
Raxian let out a short huff but took it anyway, rolling the can between his palms.
For a while, they sat in silence — just the faint chatter from the courtyard and the hiss of Bruce's soda.
Finally, Rax muttered, "Weirdest thing happened."
Bruce tilted his head. "Go on."
"Sable talked to me."
That earned a raised brow. "Talked? As in… words?"
"Yeah." He glanced away, jaw tight. "Out of nowhere. Just… walked up, dropped a line, and left."
Bruce waited, calm as ever.
Raxian scowled, as if annoyed at his own admission. "…It was bizarre."
Bruce sipped his drink, then said evenly, "Or maybe she just noticed."
"Noticed what?" Raxian shot back too quickly.
"You. Being off lately." Bruce's tone didn't waver. "Guess it's easier to see from the outside."
Raxian shifted, the faintest flush at his ears. "Tch. Whatever. Doesn't matter."
But it had mattered. More than he'd admit — especially that she'd spoken to him and not Jake. The thought alone made his chest tighten in some smug, irritating way. He shoved it down hard.
Bruce gave him a sidelong look, faintly amused. "…You look almost pleased."
"Shut up."
Bruce smirked but let it drop.
Raxian cracked the can open, the fizz loud in the empty courtyard. He took a sip, but the taste sat flat on his tongue.
Even with Bruce beside him, the silence felt heavy.
And by the time the next bell rang, it was still there—dragging him into class.
---
Jake leaned halfway across his desk, voice pitched low but sharp:"Wait—hold on. Sable actually talked to you?"
Raxian's pen froze mid-scribble. Bruce gave the tiniest shrug, like, I didn't say anything.
Jake's grin flickered… then faltered.She hadn't said a word to him. Not to anyone. Not even when he'd tried all week.But Rax? She strolled right up to him, alone, at lunch?
His jaw tightened. What's her deal? She'd iced him out like he didn't exist — and then picked the guy who stormed off on everyone yesterday? The guy Jake had beaten?
A sour knot twisted in his chest. Part jealousy, part… something else. He remembered the slam of Rax's laptop lid, the way he'd left without a word. Jake had laughed it off at the time, but the truth was it stuck with him. It had felt wrong. Hollow. And now this?
He masked it with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. "Weird. Guess she's got a type after all."
"Don't," Tess cut in, pen scratching across the page like a blade.
Jake's head snapped toward her. "What? Why not?"
"Because she's right there." Tess tilted her chin toward the next row.
Sable sat two seats over, green eyes forward, unmoved, like none of it mattered.
Jake swallowed his next line. For once, he stayed quiet.
Raxian kept his head low, eyes burning into his notes. He didn't dare look her way either — not with Jake bristling beside him, not with her sitting close enough to feel like a shadow.
---
The locker room stank of rubber soles and faint sweat, a low murmur of voices bouncing off tile and metal.
Raxian sat slouched on the bench, tugging at his laces with slow, distracted motions. He hadn't said a word since they'd filed in. His eyes looked somewhere past the floor, like even being here was work.
Jake leaned against the row of lockers, arms folded, grin just sharp enough to cut. "So. You gonna sit there looking half-dead all period, or you wanna actually move?"
Raxian didn't bite. Just pulled his other shoe tight, jaw set.
Jake pushed off the locker. "C'mon. Little one-on-one. Quick game. Unless you're scared I'll wipe the floor with you again."
The edge in his voice didn't sound like a joke. Not today.
Bruce, already tying his gym shirt at the collar, shot him a look. "Jake. Don't."
"What?" Jake's grin widened, but his tone carried more heat than humor. "It's just basketball."
Bruce shook his head. "You don't need to prove anything. Not today." His voice was even, but it landed like a block.
Marcus leaned back against the lockers, watching with his usual half-smirk, but there was no bite behind it — just a flicker of unease in his eyes. Even he wasn't about to stir the pot.
Logan tugged his hood tighter around his face, headphones slipped down to his neck. He didn't say a word, just tapped a muted rhythm against his thigh, gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
The silence that followed felt heavier than any joke could cut through.
Raxian finally looked up, eyes narrowing. "You really that desperate to show off?"
Jake felt his chest tighten—at the barb, at Sable somewhere out there on the court, at the fact that she had walked up to Rax earlier and not him. He forced a smirk. "Nah. Just making sure you don't forget how to stand."
---
The squeak of sneakers echoed sharp across the gym floor, the rest of the class spreading out while Jake and Raxian squared up at the far end of the court.
"First to five," Jake said, bouncing the ball once, twice. His grin was wide, but the edges felt brittle.
They used to live for this. Back when they were younger, every class, every drill, every scrimmage had turned into a competition — who could sprint faster, who could sink more shots, who could push harder. Rax had been loud then, hot-headed even, throwing himself into every game like it mattered.
Over the years, that fire had cooled. He wasn't the same kid anymore — less eager, less wide-eyed. But the spark was still there. Even when he was short-tempered, even when he played rough, there'd been bite. He cared.
Now?
The whistle blew, and it was gone.
Jake cut past him with ease, layup after layup dropping in like practice drills. Rax trailed half a step behind every time, arms sluggish, feet heavy. No shove, no curse, no spark.
By the time Jake hit his fifth shot, chest heaving, sweat on his brow, it felt less like a win and more like running circles around a shadow.
Rax stood there, hands on his knees, breathing slow and uneven. Not angry. Not fired up. Just… flat.
And for the first time, Jake couldn't quite recognize him.
The whistle blew. Game over.
Jake tossed the ball to the side, forcing a grin like it mattered. But the rush never came. No adrenaline, no victory. Just air in his lungs and sweat in his eyes.
He glanced toward the bleachers, half-expecting—half-hoping—to catch Sable watching.
She wasn't. She was already slipping through the crowd, her gaze fixed ahead, as if none of this had ever happened.
The hollow hit harder than the win.
Jake turned back to Raxian. He was bent at the waist, breathing heavy, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Not angry. Not defiant. Just drained, like the fight had been bled out of him before the first whistle.
Jake's jaw tightened. He'd proven nothing. Not to her. Not to himself.
And Raxian looked worse than ever.
---
That night, his room glowed neon-blue from the monitor, the faint hum of the PC filling the silence.
Replays looped across his screen, one after another — every missed trade, every mistimed dash, every moment he could've turned it around if he'd been just a second sharper. He clicked through them mechanically, rewinding, slowing down, fast-forwarding again.
His phone buzzed against the desk, chat popping open in staccato bursts.
[ACA Crew]:Jake:yo. anyone down for a movie this weekend?
[ACA Crew]:…
[ACA Crew]:Marcus:maybe. idk.
[ACA Crew]:Bruce: depends. what movie.
[ACA Crew]: Jake: voidborn flick. explosions. aliens. perfect.
[ACA Crew]:Tess: …you serious right now?
[ACA Crew]:Ava:not in the mood.
[ACA Crew]:Logan:…
[ACA Crew]:Mira:YAS MOVIE DATE!! 🎬🍿💖
[ACA Crew]:Leah:That's not a date.
[ACA Crew]:Mira:it could be 👀
She waited for someone to pick it up — Jake turning it into a bit, Tess slicing him down, anyone.
Nothing.
[ACA Crew]:Mira:…
[ACA Crew]:Fayne: …not sure yet.
The dots blinked, then faded. The silence between replies said more than the words.
Raxian didn't answer the group chat. He barely glanced at the screen before swiping it facedown.
Another replay queued up — not just any replay. That game. The one burned into his skull like a bad scar.
Ekko versus Yasuo. AkarisLite.
He slowed it down, frame by frame. Watched himself miss the angle on a W. Watched Yasuo weave through the minion waves like the laws of flow didn't apply. Watched the roam that flipped the map before he even realized mid was missing.
Every click was a knife twist. He knew what was coming. He watched anyway.
By the time Yasuo's ult landed during that last elder dragon fight — steel cutting the sky, Rax's team crumpling in slow motion after the Janna Howling Gale — his jaw hurt from clenching.
He flicked out of the replay and back to his friends list.
AkarisLite: Online. Ranked solo/duo.
Of course they were. Always playing. Always winning. Always there, like a ghost camping the corner of his vision.
His cursor hovered over the "Spectate" button once more. Just one game.
He dragged the mouse away. No. He wasn't giving them the satisfaction.
Instead, he shoved back from the desk with a frustrated exhale, grabbed his phone, and typed before he could stop himself:
[Raxian]:there's this girl in my class
The dots appeared almost instantly.
[Raze]:bold start. go on
Raxian rolled his eyes.
[Raxian]:it's not like that
[Raxian]:she's just… weird
[Raxian]:quiet. distant. doesn't talk to anyone
[Raxian]:but the other day she just… talked to me. out of nowhere
Pause. He could practically picture Raze leaning back in that paint-splattered chair, eyebrow cocked, already ten steps ahead.
Finally—
[Raze]:and it stuck with you. huh.
Raxian scowled at the screen.
[Raxian]:it's not like that
[Raxian]:i'm just curious
[Raxian]:it was… unexpected, i guess
[Raze]:nothing wrong with being curious
[Raze]: just don't overthink it
Raxian tossed the phone onto his bedspread, staring at the ceiling while the glow of the client flickered in the corner of his eye.
He wasn't interested. That would be ridiculous.
Just curious.
That was all.
…Right?