The morning sky was the color of cold glass, fractured by the shimmer of skyline billboards.
Raxian adjusted the strap of his hoodie as he walked, the fabric layered beneath a dark flannel jacket lined with soft fleece. A few thin chains hung around his neck, catching the dull glow of passing holo-ads — each one a reflection of light and noise. Small black studs glinted in his ears, and a woven bracelet brushed against the face of his digital watch with every swing of his wrist.
It wasn't flashy, but it was unmistakably him — casual, sharp, alive.
His boots hit the pale pavement in a steady rhythm as the city breathed around him.
Neon rails hummed overhead as a skytrain streaked past, glass catching fire in the morning sun. Holo-ads flickered awake across tower faces, their light spilling over the walkways like shallow water.
And everywhere he looked: EGO.
A thirty-story screen replayed highlights from the Summoners Cup Finals, the crowd's roar echoing from embedded speakers. A smaller display blinked live rankings for the current split, scores updating in real time like stock tickers.
Two kids in matching hoodies darted by, arguing over which bruiser was more broken — Garen or Riven. A pair of office workers strolled past discussing pro contracts the way people once talked about football trades. Even the café barista setting up tables had a Heartsteel pin on his apron.
Music was everywhere — Heartsteel blasting from a food cart, K/DA pulsing from a passing car, True Damage posters layered like graffiti under the rail bridge.
The champions were larger than life now. Pop stars. Celebrities. Gods.
A sleek billboard slid into view as the rail above slowed: ZENITH, all black glass and gold trim, staring down like a demigod with his headset draped around his neck.
His gaze was calm, razor-sharp — the kind that made you wonder if he was already three moves ahead of you.
The caption scrolled beneath: The Unbeatable. #1 World Solo Ladder — 99W / 1L
Fans clustered on the street below it, snapping pictures like it was a shrine.
Raxian's gaze caught for half a second, then slid away before the envy could burn too hot.
He turned down a smaller street where the noise dimmed and the smell of roasted coffee curled in the air. The café's glass walls were fogged with warmth, glowing amber against the cold steel around it.
This was where his group always met before school — a ritual more consistent than classes themselves.
As he reached for the door, another flash of light caught his eye — the building opposite, wrapped in a full-bleed ad.
TRUE DAMAGE. Graffiti fonts and glitch light burned across the wraparound screen.
And in the center — Ekko. One knee up on a speaker, bat slung across his back, neon headphones hooked around his neck. A streak of violet cut through his hair as he leaned toward the lens, fingers poised like he was about to snap the beat into existence.
Basslines rippled faintly from hidden speakers, syncing to the slow flash of strobe lights behind him.
His grin was all defiance, all rhythm. Like the city itself moved to him.
Ekko — the prodigy who had gone from street tournaments to global stages before he even turned twenty. Now a world-ranked EGO player, a True Damage rapper, and the living spark that inspired the champion bearing his name.
Raxian's steps slowed.
Ekko had done everything — the music, the trophies, the sponsorships, the interviews — and still climbed solo queue like a god.
People said he was unstoppable. People said he was rhythm itself.
Raxian's hand curled around the café door handle.
Someday, he thought. That's going to be me.
Top of the ladder. Known. Untouchable. A name the whole world has to say.
And maybe then… maybe then, he'd finally get to meet Ekko.
The thought set his heart pacing again.
He stepped inside.
---
The café was already humming when Raxian pushed the door open. Warm light spilled over tile floors, the smell of espresso and toasted bread clinging to the air.
He barely had time to take a breath before someone slammed into his side.
"RAX!"
Jake hooked an arm around his shoulders like a snare. His grin flashed like static, teal eyes lit with mischief. He wore a red plaid overshirt under a patched denim jacket, hood up, chains layered over a white tee. Half his hair burned crimson under the café lights. The look screamed trouble—and owned it.
"Checked your match history," Jake said, grinning wider. "Diamond promos… and you died to a Yasuo. Brutal."
"Get off," Raxian muttered, shrugging him off. Jake only laughed.
"If I lost like that, I'd uninstall on the spot."
"Then go uninstall," Rax shot back, brushing past him.
Jake's laugh cracked through the café like a firecracker.
Their booth—their booth—was already full.
Ava sat nearest the window, posture razor-straight. She wore a cropped windbreaker in cool violet tones over a black turtleneck, sleek and effortless. Short dark hair framed her sharp eyes, a single stud in her ear catching the light. She didn't look up as Raxian approached, fingers flicking across her tablet like she was defusing a bomb.
Across from her, Logan slouched with his hood up, a muted navy jacket zipped over a ribbed sweater. His dark hair fell naturally across his forehead, and his expression matched his tone—quiet, unreadable. A pair of wireless earbuds rested around his neck, still pulsing faint lo-fi beats.
Marcus leaned comfortably in the corner, the picture of easy money. His jacket looked designer—charcoal, subtly striped—with a layered hoodie underneath. Rings and bracelets caught the amber glow of the lights when he moved. He wore his wealth like it was nothing, a soft smirk hinting he already knew what had happened in Rax's match.
And Bruce, warm-eyed and broad-shouldered, nursed a mug of cocoa between his hands. He wore a light pinstriped jacket over a soft hoodie, casual but tidy, the kind of look that seemed effortlessly put together. His brown hair fell naturally into place, and when he looked up at Raxian, his smile was as steady as ever.
"Morning," Bruce said, simple and sincere.
Rax slid in beside him without answering, still shaking off Jake's voice.
Jake dropped into the far end of the booth, still grinning. "So," he said. "Clipped by the wind wall or just emotionally shattered?"
Neither Ava nor Logan looked up.
"Don't care," Logan murmured.
"Not this early," Ava added, eyes still on her screen.
Bruce set down his cup with a soft thud. "Jake. Stop. It's Monday. Let the guy have five minutes of peace."
Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying—he got absolutely smoked."
"Peace," Bruce repeated, steady as gravity.
Jake sank back with a groan, grin never fading.
Behind the counter, Tess slid a tray of croissants into the display. Her cropped jacket hung loose over a white tank top, magenta hair pulled back in a sharp ponytail. A black choker and layered chains rested against her collarbone, silver hoops catching the light when she moved. Over it all, she wore a deep marine-blue apron with Hollowline Café stitched across the front in clean white letters — the city skyline forming part of the logo.
The look wasn't for attention; it was a statement. Girly colors didn't make you soft, and Tess wore pink like a dare.
"You're all too loud," she called without looking up. "Customers exist, you know."
"We are customers," Jake shot back.
"Barely," Tess said. "Try ordering something."
She gave the group a quick glance — one that said don't start anything — before turning back to the espresso machine.
Raxian watched the steam rise, the soft hiss filling the silence between words.There was a time he would've shot back something sharp just to make her roll her eyes — maybe tag-team with Jake and turn the whole café into noise. Back then, everything felt alive, loud, like the world was something you could grab by the collar and make listen.
Now, he didn't bother.Didn't care enough to.
The only thing that still pulled him out of that fog was EGO. The climb. The game. The next match.Everything else just blurred.
And yet, somehow, the group still orbited him anyway.He never asked for it — never claimed it — but it was there, quiet and understood.
When they were younger, he and Jake used to fight for that spot, turning every argument into a scoreboard.Now, Jake was the noise, and Raxian was the center it revolved around.
Once, he'd been the loudest voice here.Now, he didn't need to be.
---
The courtyard was already buzzing by the time they crossed it, sunlight flashing off the glass-walled buildings that framed the campus.
Clusters of students dotted the walkways, voices sharp with early-morning energy — but the air felt… different. Sharper.
Raxian didn't notice until Jake cut off mid-story, ears practically swiveling.
"Wait," Jake murmured, tilting his head. "Do you hear that?"
Marcus slowed a few steps behind, brows faintly raised. Even Tess, walking ahead with her bag slung crossbody, eased her pace — though she'd never admit she was listening.
The usual chatter had splintered into quick, hushed fragments:
"—transfer—""—they say he's insane—""—an EGO prodigy—"
Jake's grin curled sharp. Marcus's eyes flicked, curious.
Raxian stopped walking.
A prodigy? Here?
He'd been the name to beat at this school for years — shredding every competition they threw him into since he was ten.
And now some random prodigy was just going to show up?
The thought knotted in his chest — tight, hot, defiant.
"Raaaaxxx!"
The familiar sing-song voice cut through his thoughts like static.
Mira bounded across the courtyard, twin ponytails swinging like metronomes. She wore a cropped brown cardigan over a black top, her bag bouncing at her hip with an army of jangling keychains. Warm eyes, flushed cheeks — the kind of energy that turned heads without meaning to.
Leah followed at a calmer pace — a soft cream cardigan over a dark blouse, short brown hair neatly clipped with silver pins that caught the light when she moved. There was a quiet, thoughtful balance to her — gentle where Mira was chaos, grounded where others spun.
And trailing just behind them was Fayne — pale white blonde hair brushing her shoulders, a single strand pinned aside with deliberate neatness. She didn't wear the bright smile Mira did; hers was softer, like sunlight diffused through water. Her clothes were simple — warm tones, smooth lines — but carried an ease that drew attention anyway.
"Great," Tess muttered under her breath, just loud enough for them to hear.
"Oh, Tessie!" Mira sang, locking onto her like a guided missile. "Still working yourself to death? Did you sleep? You look like you didn't sleep."
Tess's brows twitched. "I slept. And don't call me Tessie."
"Aw, you missed me," Mira teased, already looping her arm through Tess's like they hadn't seen each other Friday.
Leah sighed gently. "You were literally texting her at midnight."
"Details," Mira said, waving her off.
Jake turned, grin already primed. "Wow, Mira. That outfit survived your house? Miracles do happen."
Mira gasped. "Excuse me? I look amazing."
"You look like you sprinted through a sticker factory," Jake said.
"At least I have personality," Mira shot back. "You look like a cyberpunk thrift shop lost a bet."
"Okay, that's—" Jake began, but Bruce clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed.
"Peace, children," Bruce said serenely. "It's Monday."
Mira stuck out her tongue. Jake rolled his eyes. Leah just smiled faintly — the kind of smile that said she'd seen this exact scene a hundred times before.
Amid the chatter, Fayne's gaze drifted to Raxian.
He hadn't said a word — just half-listening as the noise blurred around him. Even now, after all these years, Fayne still wasn't sure how to reach through the walls he wore like armor.
She didn't touch him. She never did. Instead, she stepped just close enough that only he would hear.
"You're somewhere else," she said quietly.
Raxian blinked, eyes flicking to hers.
"Just thinking," he said.
"About what?"
"Nothing."
A faint pause — then the smallest curve of her mouth. "Then it's probably something."
She stepped away before he could reply, letting the others swallow her back up.
Raxian watched her for a second longer, then forced his eyes forward as the bell rang across the courtyard.
Somewhere out there, a so-called prodigy was heading to his school.
And he had no idea why that thought made his blood hum.
---
The classroom buzzed with the usual Monday chaos as Raxian dropped into his seat, bag thudding against the desk.
Jake sprawled beside him, one leg kicked out, already halfway to nap mode. Marcus scrolled his phone like the lesson hadn't even started yet. Tess flipped through the day's assignments, red pen tapping against the margin as if grading them in advance. Bruce read over his notes, calm as ever, while Ava and Logan sat like statues — one dissecting equations, the other nodding faintly to the rhythm in his headphones.
At the back, Fayne's group had claimed their usual corner. Mira was mid-rant about something — a drama club meltdown, maybe — hands moving as fast as her words while Leah listened with patient nods. Fayne sat between them, sketchbook open, pale hair falling forward as her pencil traced something unseen.
Raxian's eyes lingered longer than he meant to.
She hadn't looked up, but she didn't need to — Fayne always seemed to know when she was being watched. There was something about her… unreachable. The kind of quiet that made him want to break it, just to see what would happen.
He didn't get the chance.
Jake's elbow found his ribs. "Oi," he whispered, grin sharp. "If you like her that much, just talk to her."
Raxian jerked his gaze forward. "Shut up."
Jake snickered. "Hey, I'm just saying—"
The door slid open with a sharp bang, cutting him off.
The room snapped still.
Mr. Renshaw strode in — tie loosened, coffee mug in hand, hair that might've been blond once now mostly gray.
"Alright, quiet down," Ren said, voice rough but easy. "We've got someone new today."
Chatter evaporated.
Ren glanced at the door. "Transfer student. Play nice."
Every head turned toward the entrance.
She walked in like it was nothing.
Long, dark hair spilled from beneath a black beanie, tie knotted loose over a crisp shirt, blazer sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her expression was unreadable — the kind that made the whole room pause to recalibrate.
For a second, no one said anything.Then the whispers began.
"Wait, is that a guy?""No, look— skirt.""Seriously? That's her?"
Sable Holloway didn't look nervous. She didn't look excited. She didn't look anything.
If she noticed the way the room shifted around her, she didn't show it.
"Been moving around a lot," Ren said, scratching the back of his neck. "So she's just observing today. Find your rhythm first, worry about grades later."
He gestured toward the open desk near Bruce. "Take a seat."
Sable gave a short nod — polite, minimal — and crossed the room.
The whispering swelled the moment she passed the first row.
Everyone had heard something.Not facts — just fragments. Stories passed from one school to the next about a transfer who kept showing up, climbing brackets, and disappearing again. Nobody ever saw her name on leaderboards, but people swore they'd played against her. "No one at this rank plays like that," they'd say. "It had to be her."
That was how the rumor started — a ghost story stitched together by every player she'd ever beaten, until "the prodigy" wasn't a person anymore. Just a name people used when someone was too good to explain.
Jake leaned halfway across the table, whispering out of the side of his mouth, "Okay… she's kinda cool."
Raxian didn't respond. His chest had gone tight, like something sharp had hooked under his ribs.
Sable dropped into the empty desk, tilting her chair back just slightly. Hands in her pockets. Tie loose. Beanie shadowing her eyes. There was an ease to her — the kind that didn't come from confidence so much as from not caring what anyone thought.
The rest of class passed like a strange dream. Every time Raxian's gaze drifted, she was just… there. Unshaken. Untouched.
Students kept sneaking glances, whispering behind their hands — about her look, her transfer, the rumors — but she didn't flinch.
If she felt the weight of their stares, she wore it like armor.
Jake nudged him again, grin sharp. "You think that's the prodigy?"
Raxian didn't answer.
But he was already thinking about it.
---
The bell rang sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade.
Chairs scraped back.Chatter erupted.And before Sable could even push her chair in, half the class was already orbiting her desk.
Jake was at the center of it.
He planted one hand on her desk like he was claiming it, grin blazing, messy black hair streaked with crimson catching the light like live wires as he leaned in like he owned the room.
"Sable, right? Welcome to Aetheridge. I'm Jake — the fun one. And that—" he jerked a thumb at Raxian without looking, "—is Rax. Don't mind him, he's allergic to human interaction."
Raxian, still shoving books into his bag, didn't look up."Accurate," he muttered.
Jake ignored him completely, leaning in just enough to let the light catch his chain, his grin sharpening."Anyway, lucky you — you just landed in the best class on campus. I could give you the grand tour. Show you the actually interesting parts. Unlike Rax, who'd probably just grunt and point at walls."
Raxian's hands stilled mid-pack."No," he said flatly, still not looking up.
Jake shot Raxian a quick don't ruin this for me glance, then turned the full force of his grin back on Sable."It'll be fun. And hey—bonus, you get me as a guide."
Sable's green eyes lifted—slowly, like she was only humoring the sound.
She looked at him for exactly one second.Not flustered. Not impressed.Just… assessing. Like she was peeling back the noise to see what was underneath, and finding nothing worth keeping.
Then she stood, swung her bag over her shoulder, and walked straight through the cluster of desks without a word.
The group parted instinctively, like water around stone.
Jake stayed frozen for half a beat, grin faltering just slightly before he plastered it back on."…Okay. She's shy," he announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "That's fine."
"Or she just hates you," Logan murmured, slipping his headphones back on.
Before Jake could fire back, Mira appeared like a glitter bomb going off — twintails swishing as she strolled over, already smirking.
"Lame," she declared, sing-song, planting a hand on his desk. "All that flash and she still walked right through you."
Jake straightened immediately, flashing his trademark grin."Please. She's just a tough cookie. Give it a week — she'll be laughing at my jokes and begging for a tour."
"Begging?" Mira echoed, mock-gasping. "For you?"
"Who wouldn't?" Jake shot back, striking a pose. "No one resists the Jake-meister."
A few students snorted. Someone outright laughed.Even Raxian found himself glancing back despite himself — catching, for half a second, the impossible: Fayne suppressing the faintest, most microscopic smile.
Jake caught it too and grinned wider, as if he'd just won something.
---
By lunch, Jake had made it a mission.
They spotted Sable halfway down the hall between periods — tie loose, beanie somehow still perfectly in place — and Jake shot forward like a missile.
He slid into step beside her, walking backwards as if gravity itself worked differently for him."So hey—rumor mill says you're some kind of EGO prodigy. Gotta say, the vibe fits.Lucky you, I happen to be the best duelist on campus."
Sable didn't even glance at him. She just adjusted her bag strap and kept walking, eyes forward.
Unbothered, Jake popped up again at the vending machines."Imagine it—us duoing. You, the mysterious transfer; me, the hometown legend. They'd make posters."
She pressed the button for a soda without looking at him.
---
Later, he intercepted her by the stairwell, leaning on the rail like it was a photo shoot."Seriously, you could learn a lot from me. I could even let you watch my replays."
Sable walked right past him like he was a faint breeze.
---
By the time lunch rolled around, he was waiting outside her locker, blocking her path with a grin and a half-eaten granola bar."Alright, last offer," he said, throwing in the signature wink. "Tour, lunch, maybe a little EGO strategy talk from a real top-tier mind. You can't say no forever."
She stepped around him without even pausing.
Jake stayed frozen in the middle of the hall, staring after her."…Did she just ghost me in real life?"
---
When he finally slumped into the cafeteria, to their table, his pride looked like it had been run over.
Bruce was the first to break."Wow," he said around a mouthful of fries, "she really didn't even see you."
Tess didn't look up from her sandwich."Told you not to bother."
Marcus smirked, propping his chin on his hand."Tragic. The great Jake Mercer, rejected. What will the school think?"
"Shut up," Jake groaned, sinking lower into his seat.
Raxian bit back a grin.He wasn't sure which part he liked more — Jake failing spectacularly…or the fact that Sable hadn't spared any of them a single second.
---
By the time Raxian made it home, the sun was sinking behind the skyline, spilling long shadows across the glass towers outside.The apartment was quiet.Too quiet for its size.
The soft hiss of the stovetop was the only sound.
"Welcome back," his mom called from the kitchen.
Lillian stood barefoot on the tile, stirring something in a pan. Warm light wrapped around her like a halo, catching in her chestnut hair. The faint scent of soy and ginger curled through the air, soft and homely—though it never quite erased the emptiness.
"Hey," Raxian mumbled, already halfway to the bathroom.
By the time he returned, hair damp and hoodie loose on his shoulders, dinner was ready.
They sat at the kitchen counter, stools angled just enough to almost face each other—but not quite.Plates clinked.Outside, city lights blinked like distant stars beyond the balcony glass.
"How was school?" she asked.
"Fine."
"Did you eat lunch?"
"Yeah."
"Who with?"
"The usual."
It went on like that—the same script, reheated.Polite questions. Short answers.Smiles thin enough to crack if pushed too hard.
Lillian didn't ask if he was happy.Raxian didn't ask where his dad was.
He used to.When he was small—back when he still believed the door might open and his father would walk in, proud of him.He'd draw things. Win games. Win anything, just to show him.
It never worked.The man would glance at him like background noise, nod once, and vanish again into the world that actually mattered to him.
So Raxian stopped asking.Stopped trying.
Now his dad was more ghost than person—a coat sometimes in the hallway,a voice down the line,a shadow Raxian could never catch.
And his mom—kind, patient, endlessly adaptable—never said a word against him.She just folded herself into the role of housewife like it was all she'd ever wanted, even though Raxian still caught the quiet ache in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.
So they ate.Talking about everything except the things that mattered.
---
After dinner, Raxian retreated to his room.
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality, muting the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
Here, it was different.Here, the air hummed.
Soft neon from his monitor washed the walls in shifting hues, spilling over tangled cords, scattered cans, and the stack of old match notebooks littered with timestamps and player names. His chair creaked as he collapsed into it, spinning once before letting himself settle.
He slid on his headset.The familiar weight clicked into place like armor.
Then his gaze lifted.
The poster loomed above his desk — Ekko, frozen mid-leap, wreathed in streaks of violet-blue chronoshift light. That same wild, defiant confidence etched into his face — the look that had hooked Raxian as a kid.
Not just a champion in EGO.A legend.
True Damage rapper. World-ranked pro. The street prodigy who had rewritten what it meant to be a player.
Ekko wasn't just good.He was known. Feared. Respected. Admired.
Raxian wanted that.Needed it.
Sure, he'd bombed his promos yesterday. That Yasuo had carved through him like paper.But so what? Everyone stumbled. What mattered was getting back up.
He wasn't going to rot in Emerald forever.He could feel Diamond just ahead — just a few wins away from clawing out of ELO hell and into the tier where people actually played like they meant it.Where mechanics mattered more than luck.Where names started to mean something.
He wanted his name to mean something.
At school, he was already known as one of their best.But that wasn't enough.Not until the world knew it too.
With a quiet exhale, he launched the client.
The screen flared to life, bright and alive, the lobby music spilling from his speakers like fuel.
Back in the chair. Back in his element. Time to climb.