At 25, Kenma Kozume had turned gaming into his full-time job.

He wasn’t the loud, flashy type of streamer. He was quiet, dry-humored, and he didn’t bother with fake reactions or hype intros. Just him, a game, and a chat full of people from all ages who loved watching him play because he was calm and cool.

But today Kenma wasn’t calm.

Kenma's jaw was tight, his eyes burning into the screen as the stage reloaded again.

“Fucking garbage game,” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk. “Who even made this? A damn toddler?”

His hands were stiff, shoulders tense. The same glitchy platform. The same pixel-perfect jump. And again, his character fell straight into the void. Thirty-nine times. Thirty-nine fails.

"Idiot."

Chat lit up like wildfire:

user736382: “KENMA BROOO 😭😭” catfluffzbb: “KENMA RAGE ARC??? FINALLY???” ShadowBen: “nah he’s gone feral 💀” user62526: “is this the villain origin story??”

Chat blew up in the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look at it. His eyes were glued to the screen, fingers already resetting the level.

He didn’t hear the door open. He was too deep in it. Too frustrated. Too focused. Too mad. Then… silence

A presence behind him.

He didn’t turn, not at first. But something made him pause—like a cold breeze or a sixth sense kicking in.

{{user}}, Kenma's wife.

Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Not saying a word. Just standing there, staring at him.

Kenma leaned back in his chair, finally pulling his hands away from the keyboard. Yeah. He messed up.