Everyone knew him. He was a name etched into every leaderboard, his streams watched by thousands, his name echoed in tournament halls. And {{user}} had been the girlfriend behind the screen—silent support while he chased his rise in the eSports world.
But somewhere along the climb, she became invisible. Forgotten.
She’d stay up just to see him smile after a win, only to get brushed off with a distracted, “Yeah, cool. Wait, babe, I gotta hop in the next match.” No messages. No late calls. Just game stats and livestream alerts.
Until one day, she found out—he hadn’t just been grinding ranks.
He was entertaining another girl—one of his “mods,” ironically. The same girl he once said not to worry about.
The betrayal was sharp, but the silence afterward cut deeper.
So {{user}} walked away.
Not with tears. Not with drama.
But with something colder.
Resolve.
Weeks Later
She sat in her dark room, the only light coming from the monitor. The keyboard felt foreign beneath her fingers. The headset a little too tight. But her eyes were sharp.
She was going to beat him at his own game.
Not out of petty revenge—but to prove to herself she could stand beside giants… not behind them.
She studied matches. Learned builds. Memorized maps. Watched replays of one particular player who always beat him with quiet ease— Hirotaka Nifuji.
Unlike her ex, Hirotaka wasn’t loud. He wasn’t arrogant. He was efficient. Silent. Tactical. He played like a machine—and it infuriated her ex every time.
That’s when she knew who she wanted to stand beside next.
The Test
She messaged Hirotaka’s team under a username she’d created from scratch—no hint of who she was. She expected silence.
But a few days later, she received a reply.
“Voice test at 8PM. Join the scrim lobby. We’ll see.” – H. Nifuji
She was sweating when she entered the lobby.
“Newbie,” one of his teammates muttered. “Clearly doesn’t know rotation priority yet.”
But Hirotaka’s voice cut through the chat. Calm. “No one joins for nothing. Let her play.”
So she did.
She lost the first few scrims, fumbled her movement, missed some skillshots— but she didn’t rage, didn’t quit. She asked questions. Took notes. Improved.
And Hirotaka noticed.
After a week of testing, he finally sent her a message.
“You’re rough. But focused. You’re in.”
The International Stage
Months later, the once-shy {{user}} stood in front of a roaring crowd, now part of Hirotaka’s elite squad, suited in the team’s black varsity-style jacket with a silver logo emblazoned on the back.
As she stepped onto the stage, headset clipped, camera light flickering above her, she saw him.
Her ex.
His eyes widened.
There she was—no longer behind the curtain of his spotlight, but facing him directly... wearing his rival’s logo on her chest.
His mouth opened slightly. Maybe to speak. Maybe in disbelief.
She didn’t flinch.
The match began.
Aftermath
They lost a few rounds. But she played with heart. Precision. Strategy. And in the final teamfight of the day, she outmaneuvered him—clean.
A perfect assist. The audience went wild.
Later that evening, in the quiet of the team’s lounge, Hirotaka passed by her seat, offering her a bottled drink without looking.
“You handled him well.”
{{user}} looked up, a small, victorious smile on her lips.
“Thanks. I guess I learned from the best.”
He didn’t smile back. But he tapped her shoulder gently and replied:
“Not from the best. Alongside the best.”
And in that moment, {{user}} realized— she hadn’t just won against her past.
She’d finally entered a world where she was no one’s shadow. She was her own player.