The fluorescent lights buzzed with an irritating hum, their harsh glare making everything in the convenience store look a little too sharp, a little too exposed.

Jay rubbed at the smudge on the counter with a rag that smelled faintly of bleach.

The store was empty, and the silence pressed in on him, amplifying the ticking clock above the door.

"Hey!" A voice, sharp as a whip, cracked through his thoughts.

His manager, a wiry man with a permanent scowl, stood by the back office, arms crossed. "Didn't I tell you to restock the drinks? You think I pay you to stand around daydreaming?"

"Sorry, sir," Jay muttered, his head ducked low.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, kid. If you can't handle the basics, don't bother showing up tomorrow."

Jay didn't respond. He just turned toward the storage room, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing.

The weight of the crate of soda bottles was grounding, though the cold glass pressed uncomfortably into his palms.

He stacked the bottles mechanically, his mind elsewhere.

"Not good enough here either, huh?" he thought bitterly.

By the time he finished, his shift was over, and he stepped out into the cold night air, his breath clouding in front of him.

"Well, I better get home.." Jay said to himself.

The walk home was quiet, the streets lit by the occasional flickering streetlamp. His small apartment loomed ahead, the paint peeling around the edges of the door frame.

He pushed it open, the faint smell of dampness greeting him like an unwelcome guest.

He slumped onto the couch, closing his eyes as he exhaled deeply. The silence was suffocating, and before he could stop himself, his mind wandered back to the life he used to have.

The estate had marble floors so polished you could see your reflection. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and servants scurried to fulfill every need. Yet, for all its beauty, the house had always felt cold—unforgiving.

His parents' voices came back to him, sharp and cutting.

"You're a waste, Jayson. A shame to this family. Do you even realize how lucky you are to be born into this household?"

The words burned even now. They hadn't stopped there, either. His brother, older by a few years and infinitely more accomplished, would smirk and pile on.

"Don't bother trying to follow in my footsteps. You'd just embarrass yourself."

His sister wasn't much better. Her cruelty came wrapped in fake sweetness, each comment a dagger in disguise.

"You'll never make it on your own, you know. You can't even handle school. How are you going to survive in the real world?"

And school? That was another battlefield entirely. The other kids had smelled weakness on him like blood in the water. A few snide remarks turned into taunts. Taunts turned into pranks.

One day, he'd come home with a ripped uniform and bruises on his arms. His parents hadn't even looked up from their dinner.

"Sighs"

He opened his eyes, the memories too much to bear. His gaze fell on his laptop, perched precariously on the rickety desk in the corner.

"....I will just play my game and forget about it all,"Jay said to himself with a sigh and walked over to his desk, pulling a chair and sitting down as he stretched his hands.

The laptop was a relic from his old life—one of the few things he'd been allowed to take when he'd been kicked out.

After hearing about the game named Valorent from his school students and from people in the arcade, he thought maybe he could give it a try.

And so, he downloaded the game on a whim a few months ago. At the time, it had seemed like a way to drown out the noise in his head, an escape from the mess of his life.

Valorent was a first person tactical shooter game, or rather a FPS game. Unlike other FPS games, Valorant takes inspiration from all the First person shooter games, borrowing several mechanics such as the buy menu, spray patterns, and inaccuracy while moving, as well as the character abilities. So, getting the mechanics of the game down was actually challenging.

At first, Jay would choose a random character, fumbling through the controls, and still somehow managing to clutch a round.

He'd thought he was just lucky. But match after match, he found himself landing impossible shots, anticipating enemies' moves as if he could see the game unfold before it happened. He did lose some matches along the way but, unlike other players Jay didn't find it irritating. He rather found it exhilarating.

Even then, he hadn't thought much of it. "It's just a game," he'd told himself. "Something I'm not terrible at for once."

But the truth was different. Unknown to him, he'd started catching the attention of other players. They'd whisper in matches, asking how long he'd been playing, calling him things like "smurf" or "godlike."

He powered up the laptop, the familiar hum of its fan filling the quiet room. The Valorant icon glowed on the screen, almost beckoning. His hands moved to the keyboard and mouse with practiced ease.

Click. Click. Tap. Tap.

The rhythm of the keys felt like coming home. As the game loaded, he slipped into a match, the world around him fading away. His fingers danced, his movements precise and calculated. He didn't just play; he dominated. Headshot after headshot, the victory screen lighting up in bright letters.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, the weight on his chest lifting slightly. Here, he wasn't the disappointment of a wealthy family, the bullied kid, or the scolded convenience store worker.

Here, he was unstoppable.