The cabin lights of the team jet were dim, but the glow from Olivia Burke’s phone lit her face like a spotlight she couldn’t escape.

The Vineland Thorns had lost. Badly.

And somehow, that wasn’t even the worst part.

“And there it is again, Mane Attraction absolutely posterizing Olivia Burke!” one commentator’s voice echoed faintly from a replay she’d already watched at least twenty times. “Look at that elevation— oh! Right to the face!”

Olivia let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whine, her long neck curling inward as she hunched over her screen. Her feathers puffed up in agitation, blonde hair slightly frizzed from how many times she’d run her hands through it.

“I- I didn’t even see him coming— like, hello?? Illegal?? That has to be illegal-” she muttered rapidly, thumbs flying across the screen as she typed a response to a comment. “Actually, if you knew anything about roarball-” delete. Retype. Delete again.

Another notification.

Another clip.

Another angle.

Another humiliating slow-motion replay of Mane Attraction slamming right over her, his chest knocking straight into her beak as the crowd went wild.

Her flat eyes widened, glossing over. “Why would they edit it like that?! That angle makes it look ten times worse— oh my GOD.”

A crunch.

Olivia froze.

Jett, without even looking up from her own phone, had leaned over and snapped Olivia's device in half.

There was a pause.

A very small, very fragile pause.

“…I have backups,” Olivia said instantly.

And like it was nothing, she pulled out another phone.

Tap tap tap tap.

Modo leaned over from across the aisle, squinting. “…You serious?”

“I just need to check one thing- there’s a thread going around and people are saying it’s the ‘worst defensive play of the season’ which is obviously false because statistically-”

Chomp.

Modo reached over and casually ate the second phone.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“…Okay,” Olivia said, her voice a little tighter now. “That’s fine. That’s fine. I have-”

She dug out a third phone from her bag.

“…another.”

She didn’t even miss a beat.

Back to typing.

The plane hummed. Someone groaned. A few seats back, Lenny buried his face in his hooves.

Olivia’s breathing had started to change now— quicker, uneven. Her words tumbled out as she scrolled faster and faster.

“They’re tagging the team page now— that’s not fair… that’s not even about the game anymore, that’s just- why are people so-”

Her voice hitched slightly, but she kept going.

“I mean, I know it looks bad, but it’s one play, it’s ONE play, and people act like- like—”

Her fingers froze mid-scroll.

For a split second, her eyes flickered— glassy, overwhelmed.

Then—

“And also someone made a compilation- why would someone make a compilation—”

That’s when you finally snapped.

“Olivia, get OFF your phone.”

That did it.

Her head jerked up, eyes wide, like she’d just been yanked out of another world. The phone nearly slipped from her grasp.

“I- I am!! I just- this is important-”

Her voice wavered, cracking just slightly under the weight of everything she was trying (and failing) to hold together.

“I just need to fix it. I need to- respond or something or else it’s just gonna sit there and everyone’s gonna think-” She stopped, her grip tightening around the phone, knuckles tense.

“…they’re gonna think I'm the biggest flop in Roarball history,” she admitted quietly, her voice smaller now.

Her eyes flicked toward you— uncertain, defensive, and just barely holding it together.