Chapter 2: Blackmail, Blocklists, and Sibling Revenge

After the performance, the second I got my phone back, I was bombarded with texts.

Here we go.

The notifications wouldn’t stop buzzing. I scrolled through the messages, feeling the dread pool in my stomach.

[What did you do with my account?!]

[You played Mage that round, didn’t you? I know you were hyped to run into your idol, but why’d you call him ‘babe’ on my handle?!]

[And now you wanna sleep with my teammate?]

[Do you know how much psychological trauma you’ve caused me?!]

[Don’t play dead, sis, you little—]

The texts read like a rapid-fire interrogation. I could practically hear Cody’s voice in my head, each message getting louder and more dramatic.

I immediately took a screenshot.

My thumb moved faster than my brain.

Blackmail material, secured.

And sent it to Mom: [Mom, your son’s cursing at you! Do something about him!]

I added a few crying emojis for effect, knowing Mom would side with whoever seemed most pitiful. I grinned, picturing Cody’s face when he realized what I’d done.

Cody went silent for two minutes.

Those two minutes felt like forever. I could almost see him pacing in the hallway, plotting his revenge.

Then he texted back, fuming: [You win.]

[Calling in the parents, huh?]

[Just you wait, I’ll get you back for this!]

He was all bark and no bite, but I knew better than to let my guard down.

I promptly added “Gentleman” to my blocklist.

With a satisfied smirk, I blocked him faster than you could say ‘sibling rivalry.’ He’d thank me later. Probably.

For two weeks, I didn’t dare peek at Ji Maddox’s stream.

Every time I opened Twitch, my finger hovered over his icon, then chickened out. I’d scroll past, pretending I didn’t care, but my curiosity gnawed at me.

Every now and then, I’d sneak into Cody’s stream incognito.

I’d watch from a burner account, lurking in the chat, heart in my throat. It was safer to spy on Cody—at least he didn’t know who I was.

After he pulled off some sick plays, he’d smugly show off his highlight reels to Ji Maddox.

He’d replay his best moments. Over and over. Angling his phone so the camera could catch every detail. The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“How about that, bro? Wasn’t that aggressive?”

He puffed out his chest, looking for approval. The chat egged him on, hungry for drama.

Ji Maddox politely pushed his hand away. “Keep your distance, thanks.”

He didn’t even look up, just nudged Cody’s arm aside with a practiced flick. His tone was cool, but you could tell he was trying not to laugh.

Cody: “…Come on, man, don’t be so sensitive!”

He pouted, rolling his eyes for the camera. But you could tell he was only half-joking.

Chat:

[Oh? Sensitive?]

[Who’s sensitive? Where?]

[Speaking of aggressive, your man’s pecs…]

[And speaking of pecs, your man’s…]

The chat was relentless, never missing a chance to stir the pot. Cody’s fans were as shameless as they were creative.

Cody stared blankly at the chat.

He looked like he’d just been hit by a truck, eyes wide and mouth open. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Ugh.”

“How many times do I have to explain!”

“I’m not dating him! I didn’t call him ‘babe’!”

“And I definitely didn’t sleep in his bed!!”

His voice got higher. More desperate. The drama was almost too much.

[Oh? Not in his bed? Then what, on top of him?]

The chat had no chill. I snorted, stifling a laugh.

Cody was about to combust.

His cheeks flushed bright red, and he slammed his fist on the desk. “Y’all are impossible!”

“How could I sleep on him? Seriously, me and Ji Maddox, we’re both guys!!”

“We’re as straight as it gets!”

He leaned into the mic, trying to sound convincing. The chat, of course, wasn’t buying it.

[Guys? So what.]

Someone replied with a rainbow emoji, and the chat burst into a wall of laughing faces.

Cody silently withdrew his hand.

He looked down, lips pressed together, then spun his chair away from the camera. The mood shifted from chaotic to awkward in a heartbeat.

The wheels squeaked as he scooted back, putting as much distance as possible between him and Ji Maddox. It was the most dramatic retreat I’d ever seen on stream.

Chat:

[We’re not bullying you, the stream replay is hard evidence.]

[Even if you can’t see the handle in Ranked Peak, you can see it on the results screen!]

[Sweetie, next time you call him ‘babe’, remember to use a smurf.]

The chat was merciless, never letting him off the hook. I almost felt guilty for starting the whole mess.

Cody rubbed his forehead. “That wasn’t me playing my account that day! And I wasn’t the one calling him ‘babe’!”

He sounded desperate, like a man clinging to his last shred of dignity. I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

[I get it, classic ‘blame it on the cousin’s kid after going 0-10’.]

[So who was it, then?]

[Your sister?]

[Pretty sure the streamer has a sister, accidentally let it slip last time.]

[Could it really be the sister? By the way, what does Star’s sister do?]

The chat started sleuthing, piecing together clues like they were auditioning for a true crime podcast. I felt a chill run down my spine—these fans didn’t miss a thing.

Cody’s face turned red, then pale, then red again.

He looked like he was fighting an internal battle, jaw clenched and eyes darting off-screen. I held my breath.

He held back, and in the end, he still didn’t out me—his celebrity sister.

He just stared at the camera, lips pressed in a thin line. Loyalty, even when it cost him. I made a mental note to buy him something nice for Christmas.

He clicked out without a word. The chat spiraled into chaos. The sudden silence was deafening.

“Whatever, I don’t even wanna live anymore.”

He flopped back in his chair, arms splayed, the very picture of teenage despair. I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I was relieved.

My manager sent over screenshots of Cody venting to her.

She texted them to me with a single, exasperated emoji. I scrolled through, half-amused, half-worried.

[What did you do to your brother? He was fine, why’s he suddenly losing it?]

Of course she was curious. She lived for this stuff.

I deflected, guilty: [Nothing. He cursed, so I reported him to the Queen.]

[By the way, how’s that variety show you mentioned last time?]

I tried to change the subject as smoothly as possible, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

My manager immediately called, excited.

Her voice was practically buzzing through the phone. I could tell she was pacing, probably waving her hands in the air.

“Listen, Emmy, this is a rare opportunity.”

I could hear the excitement in her voice, the kind she only got when something big was on the horizon.

“The game company took ages to finalize the contract with us.”

She paused for dramatic effect, as if I didn’t already know how long these things took.

“This game is huge, and it’s a star-player joint variety show with tons of buzz. You have to make the most of it.”

I could practically hear her flipping through her planner, already plotting social posts and hashtags.

“Aren’t you a huge fan of Wolf Guard’s jungler? He’s going to be on the show, too.”

I froze. Phone pressed tight to my ear. The words echoed—thrilling and terrifying.

“So keep it together, don’t go fangirl-crazy or act wild.”

She laughed, but I could tell she was only half-joking. I swallowed hard, nerves jangling.

My smile froze.

I stared at my reflection in the car window, trying to will myself to calm down. This was my chance, but it also felt like walking a tightrope without a net.

To test Ji Maddox’s attitude, I quietly removed Cody from my blocklist.

My thumb hesitated over the unblock button, but curiosity won out. I needed to know where I stood.

[Booked a table at a Michelin-star place. Want me to pack some up for you?]

I typed it out, trying to sound casual, like this was just another day. My heart thudded as I hit send.

Cody replied coolly: [.]

Just a single period. Classic Cody—never giving more than he had to.

I persisted: [They’ve got your favorite roast duck. Supposedly better than 99% of the duck in the country. I’ll bring you two, deal?]

I added a duck emoji for good measure, hoping to sweeten the deal.

Cody: [Fine.]

Victory. I did a tiny fist pump, relieved he was at least talking to me again.

I probed further: [Do your teammates want any?]

I tried to sound casual, but I was really just fishing for information. Maybe, just maybe, Ji Maddox had let the whole thing go.

It’s been days. Ji Maddox must’ve forgotten about the whole ‘babe’ thing, right?

I crossed my fingers, hoping the universe would cut me a break for once.

Cody, with a sarcastic tone: [You mean your man, right?]

[Hold on, I’ll ask.]

I could picture him smirking, already plotting how to make this as awkward as possible.

I hurriedly called him. “Cody, shut up! Don’t you dare ask him!”

My voice came out in a panicked whisper, desperate to keep my secret safe.

He drawled, “Not brave enough to use your real name online, but bold enough to flirt with your idol?”

He sounded way too pleased with himself. I gritted my teeth, knowing he had me cornered.

Figures.

I swallowed my pride. “You didn’t tell him it was me on your account that day, did you? Or that I’m your sister?”

My heart hammered in my chest. I needed to know, even if the answer scared me.

When I launched my career, I deliberately changed my stage name to Emmy Star so people wouldn’t connect the dots.

I’d spent hours agonizing over the decision, not wanting my career tied to my brother’s gamer reputation. Now, it felt like fate was laughing at me.

“Haven’t said anything yet. No promises about later, though.”

He let the words hang, relishing my discomfort. I wanted to throttle him and hug him at the same time.

I gritted my teeth. “Name your price.”

I was willing to bargain—anything to keep him quiet.

“I get to decide how much you put in my red envelope this year.”

He was ruthless, but I couldn’t blame him. Sibling blackmail was practically an American tradition.

“Deal.”

I barely hesitated. Money was a small price to pay for peace of mind.

“This year, you’re not allowed to insult me, hit me, or tattle to Mom.”

He was piling on the demands, but I knew I’d cave.

“…Fine.”

I rolled my eyes, but I’d take the deal if it kept him quiet.

“Hurry up, answer in three seconds or I’ll change my mind.”

He started counting down, voice smug. I caved before he hit one.

“…Deal.”

I let out a sigh, feeling like I’d just signed my soul away.

I kept digging: “How’ve you and Ji Maddox been getting along lately?”

I tried to sound nonchalant, but my curiosity was obvious.

Cody wailed, “He’s avoiding me like I’m radioactive! Won’t get within twenty feet of me outside the training room!”

His voice cracked, equal parts frustration and disbelief. I pictured him pouting in the team kitchen, watching Ji Maddox make a beeline for the opposite side of the room.

“Even at meals, he sits diagonally across from me!”

He sounded genuinely wounded. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

“He put a sign on his door: ‘No entry for Cody or any guys who like guys.’”

The image made me snort. Leave it to Ji Maddox to be dramatic in his own way.

“The closest we’ve been lately is crouching in the same jungle bush in-game!”

His voice was getting higher. More desperate. The drama was almost too much.

“Emmy! When are you going to clear my name?!”

He sounded like he was on the verge of tears—or maybe just a meltdown. I felt a pang of guilt, but the situation was too ridiculous not to find funny.

Sorry, little bro.

I almost laughed.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the giggles. Poor Cody—he really was suffering for my mistake.

I tried to sound reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’ll clear things up when the time’s right.”

Ji Maddox has been my favorite jungler for a long time.

I’d watched him since his rookie days, rooting for him through every tournament. His plays were always so clean, so calculated—it was impossible not to admire him.

Every night after work, the thing I looked forward to most was watching his stream—seeing him weave through the enemy, leading his team to win after win.

It was my nightly ritual: cup of chamomile tea in hand, curled up under a blanket, watching him make the impossible look easy. His calm, steady voice was like a lullaby after a long day.

I even became his number one supporter.

My username was always at the top of his supporter list, my name highlighted in gold. I’d sent enough gifts to buy a small car, but who’s counting?

But to Ji Maddox, I’m just a random nobody.

He probably didn’t even know I existed. Just another face in the crowd. Another username in the chat.

If he found out I called him ‘babe’ just because I recognized his voice in-game and was swooning over his plays…

I cringed at the thought, cheeks burning all over again.

I’d never live it down.

He’d definitely think I’m a creep, right?

He’d probably block me, or worse—laugh about it with his teammates. The humiliation would be legendary.

He’s so reserved, so proper—he’d probably think I have no self-respect.

I sighed inwardly.

Why did fate have to arrange such an embarrassing first meeting?

Why did I have to be so impulsive and type that?

My fingers always acted before my brain. It was like the universe had set me up for a sitcom-worthy disaster.