Raxian's mood seemed to have improved—not entirely, but enough. Little by little, he was returning to his usual self. His gang noticed it before he even realized.
Jake, never one to let things slide, challenged him to a rematch just to be sure. And when he got his ass absolutely wopped, he didn't get salty—he actually laughed. For once, the loss felt good. "That's the Rax I know," Jake admitted afterward, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was starting to get genuinely worried about you, man."
The days began to resume their usual rhythm after that. Raxian slipped back into his role naturally, as if he had never left it. He wasn't just the centerpiece of his little gang anymore—he was the talk of the entire school again. Everyone knew him as the top League player around here, the one nobody could quite touch.
At least, until she showed up.
---
The school hadn't logged her progress yet. No tournament appearances, no flashy matches under the banner of the school team. All they had were whispers, rumors about a prodigy transferring in. A girl who, supposedly, played with a kind of cold precision that made her stand out even among high rank climbers.
Sable didn't give anyone the satisfaction of finding out. She stayed out of the spotlight, as if allergic to it. She slipped through crowds without letting anyone pin her down, ate her lunch alone, and spent most breaks somewhere no one else would bother to go—the rooftop.
Even when the weather turned ugly, she could be found there, tucked under the overhang with her beanie pulled low. That afternoon, though, the skies were clear. She leaned casually against the fence, her gaze dropping lazily toward the courtyard below.
Students poured into the open space, laughing, shoving each other on the way to the cafeteria. It was loud, warm, full of life—everything she chose to step around.
Then her eyes caught on him.
Raxian Gravemont. Moving through the crowd with his gang like gravity itself bent toward him. He didn't even try to stand out; it just happened. His laughter, his energy, the way his friends orbited around him. He was back in form.
But Sable wasn't looking at him for the same reasons as the others.
She'd been watching his swings closely. His mood shifts, the weight in his movements, even his sudden recovery—they mirrored her own strange encounter with TimeWrapped almost identically.
The thought made her narrow her eyes. Could Raxian Gravemont really be him?
It was almost too ridiculous to consider. The odds of running into him in ranked just a day before transferring to this school? Comical. Cosmic, even. But the timing, the echoes between his life and that encounter…
Her fingers tightened around the fence.
If it was him… then this year was about to get a whole lot more interesting.
---
The hallway buzzed with chatter, footsteps, and the occasional locker slamming shut. Sable walked through the middle of it all with the same quiet detachment she carried everywhere, her bag slung loosely over one shoulder, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She wasn't avoiding people so much as existing apart from them—untouchable, unreadable.
She'd been through this routine before, in other schools, other places she'd been forced to relocate. The whispers, the rumors, the stares that lasted too long. And sometimes… the jealousy that turned cruel. She could still hear that girl's voice from her last school, dripping with venom: "Don't think you're hot shit just because you're good at some video game."That game had been her lifeline, her only real passion—and somehow, the girl had still managed to twist it into something meaningless.
Sable knew better now. She had learned the hard way that defending herself only gave them more fuel. Silence was armor. Indifference was a blade sharper than anything she could say.
But as she rounded the corner, she saw them waiting. Three boys, leaning against the lockers like they owned the hallway. Their eyes found her immediately.
"Well, look who it is," the tallest one said, stepping into her path. "The new prodigy. Heard you're supposed to be some kind of genius."
The other two chuckled, circling like hyenas. "She doesn't look like much. Bet she's all hype."
Sable didn't break stride, didn't shift her gaze. She kept walking, brushing past the first boy without a word.
That was what set them off.
"Hey!" His hand shot out, fingers curling into her collar. In one rough yank, he shoved her back against the lockers. The clang echoed down the hall. A few students stopped and turned, some whispering, others quickly walking away.
The boy leaned in close, his face twisted with mock amusement. "What, too good to talk to us?"
The other two jeered. "Maybe she's scared. Cat got your tongue?"
Sable's breath stayed steady. Her pulse didn't spike. She simply looked at him—directly, coldly, like staring through glass. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink. Her silence was louder than any insult.
For a moment, the boy's grip faltered. His smirk twitched, his confidence slipping under the weight of her gaze.
"…What the hell's your problem?" he muttered, but it didn't sound nearly as sharp as before. He let go, shoving her back lightly as if to cover his hesitation.
Sable adjusted her collar calmly, smoothing the fabric, and stepped past them as if nothing had happened. Not a glance back. Not a single word wasted.
The hallway swallowed her up again, her footsteps steady and unbroken. She'd seen this kind of behavior before. It was pathetic then, and it was pathetic now.
And though no one else could see it, in her mind, the scars of all the other times burned faintly—but she wouldn't let them see her bleed.
---
Sable moved like a shadow through the halls. Quiet. Untouchable. She slipped between classes, between people, without ever leaving a trace. Most students didn't even notice her—they were too caught up in their own noise. Maybe that's what Sable wanted. To be unseen.
But Fayne noticed. She always noticed.
The new girl spoke rarely, and when she did, it was clipped, careful, like every word was weighed before it left her lips. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, impossible to track. No one seemed to know where she went when she disappeared. No one cared enough to ask.
Fayne did.
She wasn't the type to chase people down, to pry where she wasn't invited. She'd always been an observer, watching from the sidelines, content to let the world move without her interference. But Sable wasn't like everyone else. The more she vanished, the more she drew Fayne's attention.
And if she kept this up… Fayne couldn't help but think that one day, she'd have to know. She wanted to know.
---
Raxian was just about to head to his locker and grab his stuff when he spotted her. Same place as before. Guess their lockers were side by side—he hadn't really noticed until now.
Sable was already there, spinning the lock with that quiet, distracted air she always carried, like the world around her was muffled.
For a second, he debated saying nothing. But… last time she had spoken to him, it had helped. More than he'd admitted. Maybe it wouldn't kill him to return the favor.
"Hey," he said, pulling his bag higher on his shoulder. "Uh… thanks. For the other day."
Sable glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Then she gave the faintest shrug. "Don't mention it."
He almost laughed. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that."
"Figured right." She shut her locker with a soft click.
It wasn't much, but it wasn't nothing either. Raxian leaned against his own locker, scratching the back of his neck. He wasn't sure why he'd expected her to brush him off entirely, but even this tiny acknowledgment… felt like something.
He fiddled with his lock, stealing a sideways glance as she tugged her sleeve higher up her arm, absently pushing the fabric to her elbow like she always did. For just a second, he caught sight of it—thin, pale, etched faintly across her skin.
A scar.
Sharp enough that it made him pause.
Sable's movement didn't falter. She pulled the sleeve back down with practiced ease, like it was second nature. Like she'd done it a hundred times before.
Their eyes met for half a heartbeat—hers steady, unreadable, carrying the weight of a silent warning. And then she looked away, as if nothing had happened.
Raxian swallowed whatever question had almost slipped out. The words sat heavy on his tongue, but he let them stay there. Not yet.
"See you around," she said flatly, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Yeah," he muttered, watching her walk away.
Somehow, he was left with more questions than before.
---
Sable closed the door behind her with a soft click, tossing her bag onto the floor. Her room greeted her in its usual quiet—minimalistic, almost bare, except for the desk tucked neatly against the wall. That was the one place she had invested in: a sleek, high-refresh monitor, responsive keyboard, and headphones perched on the stand like a crown jewel.
The walls were painted a muted violet, her one indulgence in color. Everything else was stripped-down, functional. The kind of space that made it clear she lived here but didn't linger here.
She sat down, powered on her PC, and opened the League client. Her fingers moved automatically, muscle memory carrying her through the login process until AkarisLite blinked into existence at the top right corner of the screen.
And then she noticed it.
TimeWrapped – Online.
Her cursor hovered over the name, hesitating.
She wasn't sure how she was going to crack this puzzle. But the evidence was stacking itself too neatly to ignore: the slump in performance, the sudden burst of resurgence, the volatility of his moods—it all mirrored Raxian. Almost to a T. She'd be surprised if they weren't the same person.
Fine. Time to test it.
She opened the messanger.
---
[AkarisLite]: You owe me a rematch. Whenever you're ready.
There was a long pause. Too long.
Then finally:
[TimeWrapped]: …what?
[AkarisLite]: Don't play dumb. You said you'd come back stronger. I'm waiting.
Another pause, then typing appeared and disappeared twice before the message landed.
[TimeWrapped]: What the hell is your deal? You've been glued to me since the first game.
Sable smirked faintly at the screen. His defensiveness felt very familiar.
[AkarisLite]: Maybe I just like puzzles. You're interesting.
[TimeWrapped]: Interesting? You stomp me once and now you're invested? You're weird.
[AkarisLite]: Maybe. But you're still on my list. Rematch when you're ready.
[TimeWrapped]: …Fine. But don't expect me to go easy.
[AkarisLite]: Wouldn't want you to.
---
When she leaned back in her chair, she could already picture the look on Raxian's face—the way he'd frown at his screen, suspicious but unable to walk away.
And she was right.
---
The upcoming days turned into weeks, and she noticed the shift. Raxian—though she hadn't said it out loud yet—started queueing ranked again. Not just playing, but trying. Climbing. Pushing.
It was like someone had lit a match under him. His spark came back, slow but steady. The slump disappeared. His games stopped looking like flukes and started looking like momentum.
---
Two weeks later, he was back where he'd been the first time she'd run into him. Same rank, same restless energy.
Sable leaned her chin into her hand, eyes narrowing as she scrolled through his match history. He wasn't near her level. Not yet. But that wasn't the point.
What mattered was that he'd found something again. Motivation. Drive.
And now, it was time.
Her fingers tapped against the desk once, sharp and decisive. She wanted to challenge that.
---
Raxian couldn't deny it—though he'd never say it out loud—that having someone that skilled pay attention to him felt… flattering. Weirdly flattering. The Yasuo that had embarrassed him so badly last time, made his whole team want to report him, was now the same player dropping into his DMs and asking for a rematch.
It made no sense. What the hell was this guy's deal?
He'd even vented to Raze about it one night. Raxian had been pacing, frustrated, half-ranting, half-grumbling about "this random dude who won't leave me alone."
But Raze had listened in silence, leaning back against his chair, expression unreadable. Inside, though, his thoughts were anything but neutral.
Oh, this is interesting.
Raxian didn't realize how animated he got when he spoke about this rival—how his voice rose, how his hands moved, how his eyes sharpened in that way Raze hadn't seen in a while. He cared. He was hooked, even if he'd never admit it.
And in Raze's wicked little headcanon, it was like watching some anime tsundere archetype in real life: Raxian all bristly on the outside, snapping and defensive, while secretly, underneath, it was obvious the attention meant something to him.
Raze almost smirked to himself. Adorable. Truly adorable.
He didn't say a word about it, of course. Out loud he only offered the occasional "hm" or "yeah, weird" whenever Raxian ranted. But in the privacy of his own thoughts, Raze was already shipping the two.
And honestly? He couldn't wait to see how far this little back-and-forth would go.
---
Raxian wasn't expecting it. One evening, after another sweaty ranked climb, the invite popped up:
AkarisLite has invited you to a custom game.
He froze, jaw tightening.What the hell was this guy's deal? He'd already lost to him once. Now what—was this supposed to be round two, some humiliation rematch?
His cursor hovered over the pop-up. Every instinct screamed to close it. Ignore it. Pretend it never happened. But his heart was pounding in his chest, heavier with each second that ticked by.
Why him? Why now?
Raxian flexed his fingers over the mouse, exhaled sharp through his nose, and muttered under his breath, "Screw it."
He clicked Accept.
---
Meanwhile, tucked quietly in the spectator slot, Raze leaned back in his chair, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. He didn't type a word, didn't announce himself. Just watched.
---
The champion select loaded in. Raxian's cursor hovered over his comfort pick—Ekko. He locked it in without hesitation. But then his eyes flicked to the enemy side and immediately narrowed.
AkarisLite had grabbed Akali. True Damage Akali.
Raxian smirked coldly and scrolled to the same skin for Ekko. He locked it in with a sharp click.You think you can style on me? Fine. Two can play that game.
---
From the moment the game started, it was chaos. Akali darted in and out of minion waves like a ghost, slipping under turret range on purpose, her every movement a taunt. Raxian tried to punish, tried to catch her with his Timewinder, but every swing, every dash, missed by inches. The moment she dropped her shroud, she was gone—only to reappear behind him.
His frustration built with every misplay. His clicks grew sharper, movement jittery, nerves and pride bleeding together. But he refused to quit. Not this time.
Then came the all-in. Akali's shroud blossomed across the lane, and in a blur she activated Perfect Execution. The combo was instant, clean—clinical. By the time his chrono-break was primed, his screen was already gray.
Raxian sat frozen, chest heaving. It wasn't just anger pounding through his veins—it was disbelief.
AkarisLite… what even ARE you?
---
On the other side, Sable leaned back in her chair. A faint smirk pulled at her lips. She hadn't expected him to beat her, not yet. That wasn't the point. The point was to see how he moved, how he adapted under pressure, whether he had that spark to claw back even when crushed.
He did.
She closed out of the game and opened the chat.
AkarisLite: add me on discord.
---
Raxian's confusion doubled. His first instinct was paranoia.What is this? A troll? A scam? … Why me?
He immediately DM'd Raze.
Raxian: Bro what the hell
Raxian: This guy wants me on discord
Raxian: What's his angle???
Raze: lol maybe he just likes you
Raxian: what do you mean likes me??
Raze: like… likes you
Raxian: you're an idiot. it's prob a setup.
But his hands hovered over the request for longer than he'd admit.
Finally, with a frustrated groan, he clicked accept.
---
The discord call rang. He braced himself for some smug, distorted mic voice on the other end. Instead—silence.
Then the camera flicked on.
A young woman appeared on screen. Her room was minimal, but her walls were painted deep purple, lit faintly by her monitor glow. She sat poised, confident, her presence calm but sharp.
Raxian froze. His throat went dry....No way.
Finally, she spoke, her voice smooth, firm, with that edge of knowingness that matched her playstyle.
"Come on, TimeWrapped. Thought you'd figure it out by now."
---
Raxian's heart thudded against his ribs. His headset felt suddenly too tight.Sable. The new girl. The one he'd brushed past in the hallway.No. No way.
His brain scrambled for an out. AkarisLite couldn't be her. It didn't make sense.
"...You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered under his breath. His cursor hovered over the camera toggle, his finger twitching like it was made of lead. If she recognized his voice, it was over. His whole persona, blown in a second.
So he did the only thing his panicked mind offered—He flipped on the voice changer.
"Bold of you," he said, his voice warping into some low, robotic distortion. "But you're wrong about me."
Sable actually laughed. A short, amused exhale through her nose, her lips curling like she was watching a toddler throw a tantrum. She didn't even dignify it with words—just reached forward and flicked on her own voice changer.
"Come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Really?"
That one word cracked him.
---
Raxian yanked off the filter and, before he could chicken out, slammed his camera on. His messy black hair with the bleached streak, the neon glow off his rig, his sharp, yellow eyes glaring but betraying how utterly rattled he was.
For a long second, neither of them spoke.
Her smirk widened. "Knew it."
His stomach dropped. "...How the hell did you figure it out?"
Sable leaned her cheek into her hand like she had all the time in the world. "Same rhythm. Same ego. Same tilt. You weren't exactly hard to read."
Raxian's jaw clenched. His mind was a storm—embarrassment, anger, disbelief, something else clawing up he didn't want to name. All this time… he thought AkarisLite was some cocky dude across the ladder. A rival. An enigma. Not her.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
---
Raxian sat there, staring at the camera like he was staring down an impossible boss fight. His brain refused to connect the dots, even though they were right in front of him.Sable.The quiet new girl from school. The one who always seemed… present, but not. The one who'd checked in on him in the hallway, as if she already knew him.
And AkarisLite. His rival. His shadow. The one who had pushed him harder than anyone else in League.
His lips parted, disbelief spilling out before he could stop it."…You've got to be kidding me."
Sable leaned her chin into her hand, smugness radiating from her half-smile."You really thought I was some random guy online? Creepy, isn't it? Almost flattering how convinced you were."
Raxian's heart skipped. He could barely process it. The quiet, unreadable girl from school… had always been watching him in-game.He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck."Honestly? I thought you were some stalker freak. No joke."
Her expression cracked. A low laugh escaped her, airy and quick, before her walls settled back into place."You really are dense."
Pieces started slotting together in his mind. That message in chat about "having fun." That subtle, knowing presence in the hallway. All those matches where he swore AkarisLite knew how he thought.It was her. All along.
But instead of easing his suspicion, it only made his curiosity flare hotter.Why him?Why reveal herself now?Why only ever talk to him at school, and no one else?
His voice slipped out quieter than he meant."…Why me?"
But Sable didn't give him the satisfaction. She shrugged, feigning indifference like she hadn't just detonated a landmine between them."Just wanted to see if my theory was right. That's all."
Raxian blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it," she said flatly, and leaned back into her chair like she was already done with this whole thing.No interest in playing it up. No spark of drama. Just cold confirmation.
To her, it was nothing more than a username attached to a face.To him, it changed everything.
Because now, when he walked the halls at school, every glance from her would carry weight. Every time she lingered near him, he'd wonder if she was sizing him up, remembering his plays, judging him.And every time he logged into League, he'd feel her shadow again—except this time, with her real face etched into his brain.
Sable, meanwhile, had already moved on in her head.So she found out Raxian was TimeWrapped. Big deal. It explained his attitude, sure, but it didn't mean she was going to start acting any different around him. She'd still keep to herself, still let him do his thing. At least now he wouldn't waste time thinking AkarisLite was some creepy dude stalking him.
When their call ended, Raxian just sat there in the glow of his monitor, staring at the black screen.It felt like his entire world had just tilted.
And Sable?She closed her laptop, flicked off the light, and went to bed.
Like nothing had changed.