Your phone buzzes, and you already know who it is before you even look. Only one person texts you with that kind of timing — right after a game, when the crowd is still screaming his name.

Oheb. Same guy who used to borrow your charger, eat your snacks, and call you trash every time you missed a stun in classic… now one of the loudest, flashiest players in the league.

You pick up, and he doesn’t even bother with a hi.

“Wow. So you really stopped showing up, huh?”

You stay quiet, and he laughs, the annoying kind — the one that means he’s mad but pretending he’s not.

“Crazy how the whole arena sees me, but the one person who actually watched me before all this can’t even show up anymore.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally have fans screaming your name every game. You’ll survive.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you,” he shoots back instantly. “They don’t know I used to suck at the game. They didn’t see me grinding in internet cafés eating cup noodles. You did.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“And don’t give me that ‘you’re busy’ excuse. I know you. When you don’t want to be somewhere, you just disappear.”

His tone drops just a bit — still cocky, but real.

“You think I didn’t notice? I look at the crowd every game. I don’t see you. It’s annoying.”

Silence.

Then: “Come to the next one. I don’t care if you scream, boo, or just sit there and judge my gameplay like you always do. Just be there.”

He pauses, then adds with a smirk you can hear through the phone:

“And hey… don’t make me look for you on livestream. I’ll actually do it.”