Empathy Is Just Discomfort
I already knew that much.
Words flung out in a fit of temper were never going to land well with people. But then again, those who climb into the top lane have always lived with a quiet rage lodged somewhere in their chests.
…That was just an excuse, honestly.
In the moment, the words had come out raw and heated — but deep down, I was scared. Scared that hearing something like that would make people sick of me. Nobody wants to sit through barbed remarks, after all.
For now, the scolding was pouring onto the person who'd asked the question, not me. What kind of question was that? Why would you go poking at someone's trauma? That sort of thing. As if I were perfectly fine. As if I weren't the one who hated having attention stuck on it in the first place.
Still — nobody enjoys hearing something negative. Right now, pity was in the air, so people might offer comfort out of a sense that they ought to do something good. But pity itself is born from discomfort. Social creatures project themselves into someone else's misfortune and think, I would hate it if that happened to me — and that empathy is where it starts. Whatever the motive, however noble the intent, the people who take on a share of that sadness or anger or despair end up shouldering a discomfort that was never theirs to begin with.
So it wouldn't be strange at all if viewers who heard those words never came back. That wasn't a bad thing. It was only natural. They'd set aside time hoping to watch something fun, or to take something away from my League of Champions stream — and if all they got was discomfort, what reason did they have to stay?
So I typed into the chat.
What?
I'd already answered that. Why were they asking again? Had the flood of chat messages buried it? Curious, I scrolled the mouse wheel past a thicket of curses and looked around the area near the original question about my disabilities — and for some reason, my own chat message was nowhere to be found.
That was when it hit me. I hadn't typed the answer. I'd said it out loud.
I'd been so heated I hadn't even realized — and honestly, that was a lucky mistake. If I'd dumped that useless story onto the viewers in writing, people would have started peeling away for good. From now on, I decided, I simply wouldn't talk about things like that. Once I had a mic, even muttering to myself could become a disaster, so I would think twice before opening my mouth.
With that settled, I blocked the viewer who kept trying to drag the conversation elsewhere, then issued a warning to the rest.
I'd figured height was harmless enough to answer — and suddenly the viewers were ribbing me over the typo-riddled nickname I'd slapped together in a hurry. So this was what I got for cobbling together an ID while rushing a post on the League of Champions community boards. No phone verification either; I'd just skated through. I was starting to regret that.
Fortunately, the viewers kept it light, turning it into a joke and letting the mood move on. The problem was the soft, damp voice coming from behind me.
"Noel… so that was why…"
"Ah."
Viewers were people I'd part ways with the moment the stream ended. But Celesty was right here, face to face with me. Storming out just because I'd heard something ugly would have been rude — and kindhearted Celesty couldn't bring herself to do that anyway. She just stood there, voice thick, not knowing what to do with herself. So I had to be the one to speak first.
"Uh, it's fine now, really. You don't have to worry about it."
"…Alright. For now. You're sure you're okay, though?"
"Yes. I'll have a wheelchair in a few days, too. That's all thanks to you, Celesty. If it weren't for you, none of this would have worked out. Anyway — please just forget what I said earlier."
This meeting had started as a mutual arrangement, so I decided to hold back on the thank-yous. Still, I was genuinely grateful. Without Celesty, I never would have gotten to eat that pizza.
Even after hearing me out, though, Celesty still looked troubled.
"Noel… the thing is, I can't exactly pretend I didn't hear it. Everyone on my stream heard it too."
"Ah."
That was true. Celesty was live right now as well. I couldn't very well ask her to shut her stream off just because I was on air — streaming was her livelihood. The milk was already spilled.
I turned it over, looking for a way to salvage things, then decided this was a different situation and said so.
"Well — it's all in the past now. Just tell everyone they don't need to worry about it."
My own viewers might have been another matter, but this was Celesty's stream. She'd only come by to see me and gotten caught in the crossfire; I wasn't going to appear on her broadcast again, so neither of our audiences would have any reason to leave. It wasn't a big deal.
"If it really bothers you, Noel, I'll tell everyone not to bring it up."
"No, it doesn't bother me. It's just not something worth making a fuss over."
No matter what I said, Celesty seemed determined to stay solemn and heavy-hearted over my words. The way she jabbed at her phone with her thumbs, typing something out, looked almost resolute. I hated this kind of atmosphere. It really wasn't a big deal — so why did everyone have to get uncomfortable over it? The one who'd done something wrong was the father who'd left my foot like this, not me or Celesty.
She kept trying to take responsibility and sit with the discomfort, so I decided it was time to gently show her the door. At least that way she could escape a discomfort she had never asked for.
"Mmm, I went pretty far today and I'm a bit worn out. It's about time I slept, too, so I'll start wrapping up the stream. Just chat with the viewers a little more."
"Y-you're going to sleep? It's three in the afternoon."
"I usually sleep around this time."
If I insisted I was going to bed, that would be reason enough. I didn't have a fixed sleep schedule to begin with. Some days I gamed through the night and passed out the moment the sun came up. Some days I told myself I'd stop after one more win and kept playing past noon until I collapsed. Some days I woke in the middle of the night for a single game, got tired, and just lay back down. I'd taken a leave from school and had nothing regular to structure my days around, so my routine was a complete mess.
"Oh — then I came barging in during your sleep time… You must be exhausted."
"No, it's fine. If I go to bed late I just sleep at four instead."
I had a basis for saying it, so I could deliver the line with a straight face. This ought to keep Celesty from feeling too guilty — which was good. She seemed to ease up a little, offering a small smile as she waved.
"I'll head out, then. Let me know when your welfare card comes in. I'll help you go get a wheelchair."
"Just offering is more than enough. Take care on your way."
"Ah — you don't have to see me out."
"Alright, then."
Celesty left my room and slipped quietly out of the house. The door opened; the sound of low-heeled shoes — somewhere between a click and a tread — faded into the distance. Only then came the electronic beep of the lock engaging. She made sure to lock up on her way out. Back when the reporters had come, no one had bothered with any of that.
Only after Celesty was gone did I suddenly catch a faint, sweet, citrusy scent lingering in the air. I hadn't noticed it while she was here — so why now? Ah. Maybe because I was tired. Smell is a sense that fatigues easily; it dulls depending on a person's condition. Then, back in a familiar space doing familiar things, my energy had recovered a little — and only then had I picked up Celesty's scent.
Recovered or not, I had no intention of staying awake much longer. Still, cutting the stream without so much as a goodbye would have been rude to the viewers who'd come by.
Partly to close out the stream, and partly to stake out an identity for the channel, I tossed out some bait. The viewers bit immediately — though not in a way I'd expected.
You mainly play Fiora and Jaxson.
I'm curious what your main champions are, and what made you choose them.
They could have just asked in chat. And they were asking through a donation…?