Irina stared at the crimson screen in front of her, her fiery amber eyes narrowing as the glowing letters [Defeat] burned into her vision. She slumped back in her chair, the controller slipping slightly in her hands as her frustration simred. Her jaw tightened, and a low growl escaped her lips.
"Four losses," she muttered under her breath, the words dripping with disbelief. "Four fucking losses in a row."
Her gaze darted to the ga stats flashing on the screen, and her anger only deepened. Her own performance had been stellar—top-tier damage dealt, perfect rotations, precise plays—but it wasn't enough. It never was when her team refused to cooperate.
She yanked off her headset, her fiery hair spilling over her shoulders as she slamd the controller onto her desk. "What the hell!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "Just defend the base! Why are you face-checking without ?!"
She gestured wildly at the screen as if the offending players could sohow see her. "You're a carry! A carry! You don't go wandering into the enemy jungle alone at thirty minutes! That's basic gaplay!"
Her frustration reached a boiling point as she leaned forward, glaring at the scoreboard. Her team's carry had racked up five deaths in the last ten minutes, each one more reckless than the last. anwhile, Irina's stats glowed with perfection—a spotless KDA, clutch assists, and flawless map control.
"And I still lost," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, her anger simring just beneath the surface. "Because of that idiot."
She groaned, burying her face in her hands as the defeat screen lingered mockingly on the display. For a mont, she considered logging off, calling it a night, and saving herself further frustration. But then she shook her head, her fiery hair bouncing as she straightened her posture.
"No," she said firmly, her amber eyes burning with renewed determination. "I'm not ending like this. One more ga. Just one more."
Her fingers hovered over the controller as she queued up for another match. The familiar hum of the loading screen filled the room, and her heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and lingering frustration.
"This ti," she muttered, gripping the controller tightly. "I'll carry them myself if I have to. No more depending on morons who can't even hold a lane."
Irina's focus remained fixed on the screen as the queue tir ticked down. She leaned forward, her controller gripped tightly in her hands, her frustration simring but contained. Just as the ga began searching for her next match, a notification popped up on the side of the screen.
[Firebrand] has entered the lobby.
Irina blinked, her fiery amber eyes narrowing slightly at the familiar na. Firebrand was the unmistakable nickna of Julia Middleton, and the appearance of her na was both surprising and oddly fitting for the chaotic evening Irina was having.
Before Irina could react, another notification appeared—a ssage from Firebrand.
[Firebrand]: You're on? Wanna play more?
Irina hesitated, her fingers hovering over the controller. She considered ignoring the ssage and diving straight into her queued match, but the idea of having a competent teammate—one she could actually rely on—was too tempting to pass up.
She quickly typed out a response.
[InfernoQueen]: You better not drag down.
It only took seconds for Julia to reply, her trademark confidence bleeding through even the screen.
[Firebrand]: Pfft. As if. I'm the MVP every ti. Let's queue.
Irina rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. Julia's arrogance could be infuriating, but it was better than playing with randoms who didn't understand the basics. At least with Julia, there was a guarantee of synergy—or at least chaos with purpose.
She accepted Julia's party invite, and the two quickly ford a duo in the ga lobby. Julia's character model popped up next to hers, the fiery-thed avatar matching her real-life personality perfectly.
[Firebrand]: Let's crush these noobs.
Irina's finger hovered over the Queue button, her focus razor-sharp as she prepared to launch into another match. But the button didn't respond. She frowned, pressing it again with more force. Nothing.
"Huh?" she muttered, her fiery amber eyes narrowing. A ssage popped up at the bottom of the screen in glaring red text.
[Queue Failed: Rank Difference Too High Between Party mbers]
For a mont, her brain struggled to process what she was seeing. Then her gaze darted to the party details displayed on the screen. It didn't take long to spot the problem. Her eyes widened as the words jumped out at her.
[Firebrand: Platinum I]
Irina's jaw tightened as she slowly glanced at her own rank displayed just beneath her userna:
[InfernoQueen: Silver III]
The realization hit her like a freight train.
"She's Platinum?" she whispered, her disbelief turning to horror.
Before she could react further, a ssage from Julia popped up on the screen.
[Firebrand]: OMG HAHAHAHA YOU'RE SILVER?!
Irina's fingers tightened on the controller as her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassnt and frustration. Julia's mocking laughter felt like it was echoing right in her room, amplified by the taunting ssage.
Another ssage appeared almost imdiately:
[Firebrand]: I CAN'T BREATHE LOL! SILVER?! IRINA, WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?!
Irina growled under her breath, her pride taking a brutal hit. "Oh, shut up, Julia," she muttered, but she knew it wouldn't stop there.
Julia's voice crackled through the headset as she switched to voice chat. "Irina, babe, you an to tell you've been sitting here raging for hours, and you're Silver? Silver Three? I thought you were better than this!"
"Will you stop?" Irina shot back, her voice edged with irritation. "I don't play ranked as much, okay? I actually have a life outside of this ga."
Julia cackled, completely ignoring her protest. "Oh, this is too good. You, with your fancy chanics and 'perfect rotations,' stuck in Silver. anwhile, I'm up here in Platinum, carrying scrubs to victory."
Irina's pride flared hotter. "You don't even play half as seriously as I do! How are you Platinum?"
Julia's grin was audible through the mic. "Skill, my dear InfernoQueen. Raw, untad skill."
"More like dumb luck," Irina shot back, though the edge in her voice betrayed her wounded pride.
Julia wasn't about to let it go. "Face it, Irina. I'm just built different. Maybe I should start giving you lessons. Want to teach you how to lane properly? Or maybe how not to die like a bot?"
"I don't die like a bot!" Irina snapped.
"Sure, Silver," Julia teased, the nickna dripping with mockery.
Irina ground her teeth, her amber eyes narrowing as she stared at the screen. She wasn't about to let Julia have the last word.
Irina's hands gripped the controller so tightly her knuckles turned white. Julia's laughter echoed through the headset, each chuckle poking at her pride like a needle. Her fiery amber eyes narrowed as she glared at the screen, Julia's mocking nickna flashing in the chat:
[Firebrand]: Sure, Silver.
Her jaw tightened as the words fueled a burning need to prove herself. 'Challenge her,' a voice in her head whispered. 'Wipe that smug grin off her face.'
"Alright, Julia," Irina began, her voice laced with defiance. "How about—"
She froze mid-sentence, the words catching in her throat. A mory flashed through her mind, vivid and uninvited: the last ti she had challenged Julia. The humiliation of a one-sided match. The sheer dominance Julia had displayed. Irina could still hear the mocking comntary, the relentless teasing that had lasted for weeks.
Her pride wrestled with her logic, but this ti, logic won. She cleared her throat, her fiery hair swaying as she leaned back in her chair, forcing a calm expression.
"Actually, you know what?" she said, her tone suddenly breezy. "I think I've had enough gas for tonight."
Julia paused, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt shift. "Wait, what? You're bailing already? I thought you were all fired up, InfernoQueen."
Irina forced a casual laugh, though the tightness in her chest betrayed her irritation. "Yeah, well, so of us have better things to do than babysit Platinum players who think they're gods."
"Aw, don't be like that," Julia teased, but her voice carried a hint of disappointnt. "I was just starting to have fun!"
Irina didn't respond imdiately, her fingers already hovering over the console's power button. She wasn't about to let Julia drag her into another round of taunting—or worse, another match where she'd risk adding to her losses.
"Goodnight, Julia," she said firmly, hitting the button before Julia could respond. The screen went dark, and the room fell into silence, save for the faint hum of her cooling console.
Irina stood from her chair, letting out a sharp exhale as she paced her room. Her fiery hair swayed with each step, but her mood was a storm of frustration and defiance. The teasing, the losses, the weight of the day—it was all piling up, and she needed to clear her head.
She flopped onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, her fiery amber eyes staring up at the ceiling as she reached for her smartwatch. The sleek device lit up at her touch, casting a faint glow across her face. Without much thought, she began scrolling, letting her mind wander as she browsed through news headlines, random posts, and the usual flood of digital noise.
But then, her thumb froze mid-swipe. A single post caught her attention, its bright thumbnail and bold caption standing out amidst the clutter.
Her pictures.
Her breath hitched as she stared at the screen, her eyes narrowing. The post wasn't just about her—it featured her and Astron together. Each image was familiar: the hug at the Spatial Gate station, her leaning into him at the Stellamare Museum, the two of them entering the high-class hotel.
The caption beneath the pictures was scandalous, dripping with innuendo.
"Heir to the Emberheart Legacy? Or Caught in a Forbidden Romance?"
"Heh…."
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