Chapter 1: Promotion Match Meltdown

Before my promotion match, my online boyfriend got called away for team practice.

I drummed my fingers on the desk, nerves buzzing. One win away from ranking up—if I blew this, I'd have to start the grind all over again. Curling up in my chair, I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers and put on my sweetest voice. "Babe, good luck with your scrims! I'm heading to bed now—don't forget to think of me." I dragged out the last words playfully, knowing he'd eat it up.

God, pretending to be a pro gamer's girlfriend is just too much fun. The power I wield in that tiny Discord channel—it's almost criminal. I could practically hear him grinning on the other side of the country.

He left the Discord call reluctantly, his voice lingering for just a second too long before the line clicked off. For a moment, my screen felt emptier. Then adrenaline kicked in—showtime.

The moment he was gone, I immediately queued up with four top-tier teammates from the North American server. The glow from my monitor painted my face blue as I slipped on my headset, the familiar plastic creaking under my hands. My fingers danced across the keyboard as I slid into my role. I couldn't help but smile at the familiar crew popping into voice chat, each voice a burst of energy.

"Y’all ready? ‘Cause my jungle’s gonna carry this game, promise you that," Derek boasted, his Southern drawl playful and rooted deep in Georgia charm.

"Natalie, Natalie, what song do you want to hear? I'll sing for you while we play," crooned Marcus, whose Spotify playlists were somehow both terrible and legendary.

"Natalie, just ride on my back—I'll keep you safe," chimed in Kevin, who always acted like a knight in digital armor. His avatar even looked the part, all shiny pixels and bravado.

I was basking in the attention, surrounded by eager teammates. I leaned back, letting the praise wash over me. It was like being the main character in a high school rom-com, except the football field was the Summoner’s Rift—the main battlefield in League, where legends are made and friendships get tested.

But then the mid laner suddenly asked, confused, "Natalie, why do you have a couple tag with the enemy jungler?" His tone went from casual to suspicious, and I could almost picture his eyebrow arching up in real life.

I glanced at the enemy jungler's familiar username. My heart skipped a beat—he was using our couple tag! A flush crept up my neck. Was he doing this on purpose? Was he watching me? I wanted to crawl under my desk. I panicked and immediately exited the game. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, embarrassed even though no one could see me. My hands hovered over the keyboard, debating what to do next. This couldn't be happening—right?

The enemy jungler, with the username [BigBear Honey] and a level 52 couple tag linked to me, had suddenly shown up in my match. It was like getting caught FaceTiming your ex during homeroom—except the whole squad had front row seats.

The mid laner asked again, "Natalie, do you know the enemy jungler?" He sounded genuinely curious, but I could hear the tease bubbling under his words.

The top laner munched on popcorn: "Of course they know each other. One's LilBear Sugar, the other's BigBear Honey, and they're couple-tagged. Yikes." I could hear the crunch through his mic. Probably watching the drama unfold as if it were a Netflix series.

The marksman said slyly, "Natalie, you're playing with us four guys—won't your boyfriend get jealous?" He let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. Boys and their drama—honestly.

I snapped out of my daze and quickly quit the match. My mouse couldn't move fast enough. I almost knocked over my water bottle in my rush. My hands were slick with sweat, mouse slipping as I tried to click out.

An Instagram DM popped up. As if on cue, the universe decided to make things worse.

AAA Online Boyfriend: Babe, you out?

Feeling guilty, I swiped the chat away. My thumb hovered over the block button for a second, but I couldn't bring myself to do it—yet.

AAA Online Boyfriend: Did you let someone else play? Should I take it easy?

A spark of inspiration hit me. There was still a way out. I bit my lip, trying not to grin.

I hurriedly logged back in. I could practically hear my heart pounding in my ears.

"Sorry, I just disconnected." It was a weak lie, but it was all I had. My voice wobbled, and I prayed my mic didn’t pick it up.

"I don't know him." I tossed out the excuse, hoping they'd buy it.

Since I hadn't replied on Instagram, Caleb (my boyfriend) messaged me in-game:

BigBear Honey: [Is this the account owner?]

I replied quickly:

LilBear Sugar: [Hello, I'm a friend of the account owner.]

Caleb didn't say anything else. He just went radio silent, and for a second I wondered if he'd called my bluff. The cursor blinked. Each second stretched, my heart hammering louder.

Looked like he believed me. Or maybe he just didn't care anymore? Either way, it stung a little more than I expected.

But I couldn't help feeling a little upset. Why was he even online? What about those scrims you said you had? Yet here he was, playing ranked in the canyon. Liar.

I couldn't resist probing: [The account owner said you're a pro player?]

BigBear Honey: [Yes.]

Hilarious. Keep up the act. I nearly rolled my eyes out loud.

[Don't you have team practice right now?]

His teammate chimed in: [Miss, we're doing a five-man team queue.]

They were really putting on a show—even getting others to play along. It was like watching a bad improv skit, and everyone had the same script.

I hopped onto our jungler Derek's character: "Derek, go get them!" My voice was a mix of pep talk and challenge, the kind you give when your school's basketball team is down by ten points.

Derek: "At your command, Princess Natalie!" He even threw in a mock salute, and I couldn't help but snicker. If only bravery was enough to win games.

The next second, Caleb wiped out both me and the jungler, sending us back to base. It happened so fast I barely had time to react. The death screen glared back at me, accusatory and relentless.

The voice chat went dead silent. No one even breathed. It was like someone had unplugged the whole room. All the playful banter dried up, replaced by an awkward hush that hung in the air. You could've heard a pin drop—or, in this case, the sound of my self-esteem crumbling.

The marksman, who loved singing, stopped mid-song and muttered under the tower, "Natalie, their team seems kind of scary..." His voice had lost all its usual bravado.

The jungler, who'd promised a win, sounded strained: "Natalie, don't worry. If we lose, I'll pay double..." You could tell he was sweating behind his keyboard, probably regretting every word he'd said earlier.

Watching my North American server's armored chariot get crushed by BigBear Honey, I finally couldn't take it anymore. The defeat was so thorough it felt personal.

"You guys, follow me! Hurry!" My tone was desperate, like a coach in the last seconds of a playoff game. I was determined to save what little pride I had left.

I led the marksman and jungler to hide in the bush where Caleb liked to lurk after killing the big dragon. My plan was risky but familiar, the kind of move we'd pulled together before on late nights.

Sure enough, after he took the dragon, he strolled right over. My palms were sweating as we lay in wait.

Derek launched a combo with me, and the marksman followed up with damage. Our coordination was on point, years of friendship channeled into this moment.

But Caleb reacted instantly and escaped with barely any health left. The guy was a machine, nerves of steel. My plan crumbled. I could only watch as his health bar blinked red, just out of reach.

BigBear Honey: [?]

My teammates thought he was taunting us. Derek grumbled something under his breath about "BM trash."

Only I felt a jolt of panic. Did he realize it was me? My hands shook. Maybe he could tell by the way I played—maybe he always could.

I didn't dare show myself again, obediently sticking with my teammates. I became a shadow, letting them take the lead while I played safe and small.

Until all three lanes' inhibitors were down. My heart sank with every lost turret. One more wave and my promotion match would be lost. My finger hovered over the surrender button, but I couldn't bring myself to press it.

I gritted my teeth and decided to gamble. "They're probably going for double dragons. The jungler might bring support top. Let's sneak over." I pitched my voice low, hoping they'd trust me.

This was Caleb's usual move when we played together. The memory stung, but I pressed on. The four of us quietly moved up, nerves strung tight.

Sure enough, Caleb was soloing the dragon. We were thrilled—if we could take him out and steal the dragon, we might just make a comeback. Hope flared for just a second.

But suddenly, four burly guys jumped out of the bush. It was an ambush. My whole team was wiped out. I stared at the screen, stunned, mouth agape.

Caleb stopped attacking the dragon and stood in front of me. For a moment, the game felt like it had stopped. His avatar loomed large, sword gleaming.

BigBear Honey: [Natalie, speak.]

BigBear Honey: [Stop pretending. I know it's you.]

I stubbornly played dumb: [I told you, I'm not the account owner. Start the next game already. Don't waste time.]

Just my luck. No way I'll run into you again next match. I crossed my fingers, hoping the matchmaking gods would cut me a break.

But Caleb just ignored me and led his teammates to camp outside my base. It was as if the rest of the game didn't matter. He wanted answers.

My teammates were about to respawn, so I hurriedly recalled back. Panic set in. My breath caught in my throat.

I jumped onto the marksman's character to protect him while he cleared minions. My hands shook as I tried to keep us both alive.

Caleb rushed in and sent the marksman packing. But he let me go. He was sending a message—loud and clear.

I switched to the jungler. The jungler got sent away, too. It was methodical, calculated. I could sense the rising frustration in our voice chat.

The mid laner grumbled, "Their four teammates aren't even moving. Are they looking down on us?" He sounded more offended than anything.

"Natalie, come up here, I want to see—" Before he could finish, the mid laner was sent back to the fountain as well.

The top laner, guarding his 1-5 score, kept his distance: "Natalie, this is my main NA server account. If my stats look this bad, my reputation will be ruined..." He sounded genuinely desperate, as if he could see his ranking slipping in real time.

"Natalie, please talk to your boyfriend, let us go..." There was a whine in his voice, almost comical if I hadn't felt the same dread.

BigBear Honey stood in front of me with a huge sword: [Speak.]

Their super minions were bigger than me, poking at my fragile crystal one after another. It was like watching the slow-motion crash of a train you couldn't stop.

I stood next to the crystal, weak, helpless, and pitiful. The feeling settled in my bones. I wanted to say something, but my throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed a lump of shame.

Caleb just stared at me in silence. The weight of it was heavier than any words. In that moment, I felt completely seen—and exposed.

The super minions did their work quietly. The game timer ticked up. My teammates’ icons flashed gray, powerless.

When the crystal finally exploded, I exited the game in frustration. The defeat screen flashed, cold and final. I wanted to throw my mouse across the room.

Caleb's Instagram messages kept popping up. Each notification buzzed like a mosquito, impossible to ignore.

[Why did you lie to me? Didn't you say you were going to sleep? Why are you playing with so many guys?]

[Did I do something wrong? Was I not enough for you?]

My mind was still replaying the scene where he made me stand alone against him. The betrayal, the confusion, the way he used the game as a stage for our private drama.

A wave of grievance surged up in my chest. My eyes burned. My hands balled into fists, nails digging crescent moons into my palms. The urge to scream pressed against my chest.

[I hate you. Let's break up!]

He was the one who lied about being a pro player, lied about scrims, and ditched my promotion match. Now he made it sound like I was the one who betrayed him.

I hit block. The red icon glowed for a second, and just like that, he was gone—at least from my phone.

Looking at the game icon, I felt nothing but annoyance. I deleted it, out of sight, out of mind. The little chime as it disappeared from my desktop felt almost liberating.