The Fire Doesn't Go Out

I was exhausted.

That damn focus, or whatever it was — the mental drain had sunk its claws into my body as well, stripping away every last scrap of will I had left.

Maybe I should just sleep.

The instant I closed Last of Quantum, the fatigue rolled in and my body went leaden. My skull throbbed. My stomach growled. Even after hours in-game, a crash like this was rare. I must have been more locked in than I thought.

I slipped into Bernie's stream for a peek. She was already rewinding the sparring footage. In that short a span she had started picking my movement apart and talking through counterplay, which was honestly impressive. And the viewers… there were a lot of them. Maybe that was just what happened when you were Diamond. Even for a solo stream, the crowd was thick. I was a little envious, I admit.

On screen, the key moment from the second match was playing. The shot of me slipping a bullet and cutting in with the knife rolled by in slow motion. A simple effect, and yet it looked intensely dramatic. Rewatching the VOD later would probably be a good time.

So that was what I looked like from a third-person view. It was more unsettling than I expected. Closing in expressionless, sliding past bullets — it was like watching a psychopathic killer work. The faint smile that flickered now and then did its part. So that was why some of the players I ran into in-game just turned and fled.

Curious how the chat was taking it, I glanced over — and the window was nothing but emotes, plastered end to end. A frog dripping sweat. Some rabbit-like creature trembling in place. They really had every weird thing imaginable. Emote-only chat. It hadn't started that way. She must have locked it down so people couldn't type anything strange.

A twinge of disappointment settled in. I guess I'd been looking forward to the viewers' reactions more than I wanted to admit.

Still, being Diamond, she could analyze a fight to some degree. The way she roughly pinned down the direction a round was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heading seemed to say that Diamond wasn't a tier you reached on raw mechanics alone. When they got to talking about how she should have played it, I found myself nodding along before I realized. Her eye for the game itself didn't look that bad.

Listening ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to her talk, though, she had far too much certainty in her own skill. If anything, climbing the ladder too easily had turned into a poison. When you win that easily no matter how you fight, you naturally start looking for whatever feels comfortable. And what she'd settled into was that shooting stance of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hers — the one where she didn't even shoulder the gun properly.

I wanted to drop some unsolicited advice in the chat, but it was emote-only, so I couldn't. I watched the window drown in stamps a little longer, then shut the browser.

The hangover still hadn't fully burned off. My head rang, dull and hollow, until even walking straight felt like work. I wasn't sure whether to count myself lucky it hadn't shown up during the spar with Bernie.

Sleep, it seemed, was beating hunger. The drowsiness hit harder than the emptiness pleading from my stomach.

Just sleep.

If I slept now, my schedule would go to hell again… ah, whatever.

I let myself fall into the soft bed. The blanket coiled around me, gentle and warm, and it felt good. Falling asleep would be easy.

I wasn't sleeping.

My body couldn't even sit up properly. In the pitch-dark of the studio apartment, I groped for my phone from inside the bed.

Eleven at night. My eyes cleared in a rush and took in the situation. I'd sworn I would go live in the evening, and that window was already gone. Waking at a fixed hour no matter when you fell asleep was a kind of talent in its own right. By that measure, I was hopelessly incompetent. I shoved the discomfort aside and threw the blanket off.

Cold air touched the back of my hand. I'd left the AC running too long.

Now that I was up, was there anything I actually needed to do?

I hated leaving the warm bed enough that I crawled right back into it. The soft blanket made my body go slack. I could have fallen asleep again like this. Consciousness, though, seemed to think it had already rested enough — it only grew sharper. More sleep was off the table.

Most of what you can do lying in bed is the kind of thing that herds a person straight into sloth. A human pupa, wrapped in the shell of a blanket. The difference between me and an insect was that I wouldn't be growing out of it.

I knew that, and my hand still went to the phone.

My eyes adjusted to the light fast enough that the glare wasn't as bad. Unread messages sat over the lock screen's clock. Seoyeon again? She might already be mad I hadn't answered last time.

I unlocked it, and it wasn't only Seoyeon. Jump had pinged me on Discord too. Messages from two people in the span of a nap. So this was the popular-kid life.

I checked my sister first.

It wasn't one or two. Seoyeon's texts had started the usual way — checking in — and then, at some point, the contents had begun to shift. Why was she this invested in my every move? Couldn't a person take a nap without answering her phone?

Jump's messages were, of course, all about Bernie. Why had I gone into someone else's stream and started stirring shit, and so on — mostly lectures with a little scolding mixed in.

It was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little late to reply. I'd have to wait until morning. Not that I'd be sleeping. I'd probably greet dawn with my eyes wide open. And honestly, I didn't particularly want to answer right now and walk straight into a lecture.

I closed the message window, and my fingers, robbed of a task, wandered in the air. Maybe I should install one of those mobile games that were trending. Having nothing to do while rolling around in bed was a genuinely tragic state of affairs. Wasn't there anything to look at?

Ah.

Those wandering fingers found the browser. I went straight to the Trisch community.

I didn't have a community of my own yet, so what I browsed was mostly whatever was trending. I should make one when I had the time.

Hot posts from countless boards sat sorted in a list. Before I even started scrolling, the top of the screen was already ranking the hottest threads from first place down. The hot posts.

What.

Why is my name up there.