Key Story (1) - Chapter 2
The morning light crept in through the blinds, casting pale lines across the ceiling. Raxian stirred beneath his blanket, his head pounding with a mix of fatigue and frustration. He wasn't sure if it was the defeat or the lack of sleep, but the weight in his chest hadn't gone away since last night.
He groaned, flipping onto his back, staring up at the Ekko posters that covered his walls. Normally, they were sources of inspiration—a reminder of where he wanted to be. But today, they felt like accusations. His eyes lingered on the biggest one, where Ekko stood poised, ready to strike.
Diamond IV... so close, yet I'm stuck here. Again.
With a sigh, Raxian threw off the blanket and reached for his phone on the nightstand. His fingers hesitated for a moment before unlocking the screen. A part of him didn't want to see what was waiting for him. But old habits die hard.
Notifications greeted him—a couple of messages from Raze, the usual memes, and a few League discussions in group chats he rarely joined anymore. Nothing too alarming. His thumb hovered over the friends list as he scrolled through, catching sight of a familiar name.
AkarisLite.
They were online. Of course they were. Probably already queuing up, maybe climbing the ladder while he sat here, stewing in the mess he'd made.
The memory of their conversation last night stung like salt on a wound. He had been so quick to confront them, to throw out sarcastic remarks and excuses. But they had stayed calm, picking apart his defenses with their responses. He cringed just thinking about it.
He considered messaging them—just something small to brush it off. But his thumb didn't move. No. He couldn't. Not after how things had ended. The embarrassment was still too fresh.
He locked his phone again, tossing it onto the bed with more force than necessary. The soft thud felt almost mocking in the quiet of his room.
With another sigh, Raxian swung his legs off the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. He stood up, stretching out the lingering stiffness in his muscles. There was no point sitting around stewing over last night. The defeat clung to him like a shadow, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he headed for the bathroom.
The cool water on his face jolted him awake a little more, though the lingering frustration from last night still simmered beneath the surface. As he dried off, he caught his reflection in the mirror—dark, tousled hair with the signature golden streak falling over one side of his face. His golden eyes, still heavy with tiredness, studied his reflection, the contrast between his eyes and hair giving him the distinct look he had grown used to.
For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. He knew how the world saw him—confident, maybe even cocky at times—but today, his reflection felt like it was mocking him. He ran a towel through his hair, taking extra care to smooth out the golden streak, making sure it sat perfectly. Even when everything else felt off, his appearance had to be just right. It was one thing he could control.
Satisfied for the moment, he shook off the lingering self-criticism and turned his attention to getting dressed.
He turned his attention to the school uniform hanging on the back of his door. The standard-issue blazer and tie were reminders of the conformity he had to blend into each day, but Raxian wasn't one to let the uniform restrict him. He threw on the white shirt, adjusting the collar, and then slipped into the blazer, giving it a quick tug to make sure it sat just right. He fastened his tie loosely, enough to meet the dress code but casual enough to maintain his own style.
His accessories came next—rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrists, and his thin chain necklaces that glinted faintly as they settled around his neck. Even though school rules were strict about uniforms, they couldn't take away his flair. His earrings—small but noticeable—added just enough edge to his otherwise formal attire. Everything had its place, a balance between fitting in and standing out.
With one last glance in the mirror, Raxian gave himself a final nod of approval before grabbing his backpack and heading downstairs.
As he descended the stairs, the familiar scent of eggs and toast hit him. His mom, just as he expected, was already up and moving around the kitchen. She worked late into the night, but somehow, she always found the energy to make him breakfast before school. It was something he admired about her, even if he wished she'd take a break once in a while.
"Morning," she greeted him with a warm smile, setting a plate of food on the table. "Eggs and toast, just like you like it."
"Morning," he replied, his voice still tinged with grogginess. He slid into the chair, feeling the warmth of the meal before him. It was routine, familiar, comforting. But even the food couldn't completely distract him from the sting of last night's defeat.
His mom took a sip from her coffee, glancing over at him. "You okay, sweetie? You seem a little off today."
Raxian forced a small smile. "Yeah, just tired," he said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He didn't feel like explaining the frustration over the game—he knew she wouldn't really get it, and besides, she had enough to worry about.
His mom gave him a knowing look but didn't push further. She wasn't the type to pry, especially when she could tell he wasn't in the mood to talk. Instead, she placed her coffee cup on the counter and turned back to the stove, stirring something in a pan, the soft clink of the spatula filling the quiet kitchen.
Raxian absentmindedly picked at his toast, chewing slowly as his mind wandered back to the game, to AkarisLite, and to the crushing weight of his own expectations. He hated losing—especially when it mattered—but there was more to it this time. Something about last night's conversation with AkarisLite gnawed at him in a way that other losses didn't. It wasn't just the game; it was how he had let his ego get the better of him.
"Do you need a ride today?" his mom asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and leaned against the counter, watching him.
"Nah, I'll walk," he said, standing up and grabbing his bag. The walk to school wasn't far, and besides, he needed the fresh air to clear his head.
"Alright," she replied with a smile. "Have a good day, sweetie."
"Yeah, you too," he muttered, his mind still elsewhere as he made his way to the door. He could feel his mom's eyes on him, her quiet concern palpable, but he brushed it off. She always worried about him, and while he appreciated it, he didn't want her to fuss. Not today.
He stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting him as he adjusted the straps of his backpack. The neighborhood was quiet, just like every other morning. The streets were lined with trees, their leaves turning shades of orange and red as autumn set in. Raxian walked down the familiar path to school, his shoes crunching softly on the pavement.
As he walked, he replayed the game in his head, each moment, each mistake flashing before him like an unwelcome highlight reel. He tried to shake it off, but the frustration was relentless, gnawing at him with every step. His fingers twitched, craving the feeling of the mouse and keyboard, the rush of adrenaline that came with every kill and every victory.
But it wasn't just the game. It was AkarisLite—the way they had responded to him, calm and unbothered, while he fumed and let his emotions spiral. He hated how easily they seemed to get under his skin, without even trying. It was like they saw right through him, and that made him feel exposed in a way that he wasn't used to.
He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts aside as the school came into view. Today was a new day, and he wasn't going to let last night's loss ruin it. He straightened his blazer and ran a hand through his hair, making sure everything was in place before heading inside. He had a reputation to keep up, after all.
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As Raxian walked into school, his mind still replayed the game with AkarisLite. He tried to shake it off, focusing instead on his surroundings—the familiar halls filled with students, the distant hum of morning chatter. He approached his locker and spotted his usual group of friends gathered nearby. He could already tell they were gearing up for their daily teasing.
"Hey, short king!" one of them called out, grinning widely.
Raxian's jaw tightened, but he forced a smirk, his eyes narrowing. Of course, he thought. The height jokes never stopped. "Original as always," he muttered, yanking his locker open with a little more force than necessary. His fingers twitched as he tossed his bag in. The jokes didn't get under his skin as much anymore, but that didn't mean he liked them. His height was just one more thing people liked to use against him, and he hated it.
"Come on, don't be like that," another friend chimed in, laughing. "You know we're just messing with you."
"Yeah, sure," Raxian shot back, his voice cool but with a clear edge. "Just like I'll mess with you guys when I hit Diamond and leave you all in the dust."
That got a reaction. His friends exchanged glances, some raising eyebrows, others smirking. "Diamond, huh? Last I checked, you were still stuck in Emerald," one of them teased, nudging him.
Raxian's eyes flashed, irritation bubbling up. His hand gripped the edge of the locker tighter than before. He hated when people doubted him. Especially when it came to League. "Almost made it last night," he said, shrugging nonchalantly, even though the memory of the loss was still raw. "Just got unlucky with a Fizz. You know how it is."
One of the guys leaned against the locker next to him, grinning. "Right. Unlucky. Maybe you just need to get better, huh?"
The comment stung more than he'd let on, and his temper flared. He slammed his locker shut with a sharp clank and turned to face them, crossing his arms. "Trust me, I'm better than anyone you've played against. It's just a matter of time before I'm climbing while you guys are still fumbling in Silver."
His tone was confident, but his eyes held a challenge. He wasn't one to take doubts about his skills lightly. The guys laughed, some shaking their heads, but no one pressed further. They knew better than to poke Raxian when his ego was on the line.
As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, Raxian grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, his expression cool but his mood still simmering. He walked ahead of the group, not bothering to wait for them. He knew he was popular, sure, but that didn't mean he wouldn't cut people off when they got too annoying. His temper was too short for that.
And the sooner he got back on the Rift, the sooner he could prove to himself—and everyone else—that he was better than his last match had shown.
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Raxian made his way through the bustling hallways toward his first class, the familiar clamor of students filling the space. He walked with his usual confident stride, his group of friends trailing behind him. As they entered the classroom, his eyes briefly scanned the room, his gaze lingering for a split second on a familiar face sitting near the back—Fayne.
She was already seated, her head bent over a notebook, scribbling something down as if the chaos around her didn't exist. They never sat near each other in class. It had always been that way, ever since they were kids. Their parents used to hope they'd be close friends, but it never quite panned out. Now, they were just two people who happened to share a classroom.
Fayne didn't look up as Raxian passed by, and he didn't make any effort to acknowledge her either. He hadn't thought much about her in years, really. She was just… there. Quiet, reserved, blending into the background while he took center stage. They ran in different circles—she with her own small group of friends, and he with his.
He slid into his usual seat near the front, the laughter of his friends still echoing around him, but his mind wasn't fully present. It drifted back to the game, the loss, the infuriating presence of AkarisLite. He barely noticed Fayne as she quietly took notes at the back of the room, her focus on the task at hand.
Little did he know, Fayne's thoughts were elsewhere too. League of Legends, specifically. She had been practicing, secretly grinding games in her spare time, all because of him. Not that he would ever notice. Raxian probably didn't even remember that she played at all, let alone that she was now ranked Platinum III—a decent rank for someone who had only started for his sake. But Fayne wasn't doing it for recognition. She was doing it because, despite everything, she knew how much the game meant to him.
Their paths never really crossed in any meaningful way, but that didn't mean she wasn't paying attention.
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As the bell rang, signaling lunch, the classroom buzzed with the usual shuffle of students eager to escape their desks. Raxian's friends gathered around him, laughing and joking about plans for the break.
"Yo, Rax, coming to the cafeteria with us?" one of them asked, nudging him playfully. "They've got that weird spicy ramen you like today."
Raxian barely registered the comment. His mind was elsewhere—on the rumors. The whispers about the new student had been circulating for a few days now, and it was starting to eat at him. Sable. A League prodigy, or so the stories went. She was supposedly climbing the ranks faster than anyone had ever seen before, and the most infuriating part? She had supposedly already hit Master rank.
Master rank? No way. Raxian had clawed his way through Emerald and was on the cusp of Diamond, and that alone had taken him ages. The idea that someone could surpass him so quickly felt… absurd. The thought gnawed at him, a challenge to his pride, his ego. Who was this Sable, and what made her so special?
"Raxian? You good?" another friend asked, raising an eyebrow at his distracted expression.
Raxian blinked, snapping back to reality. "Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm good." He shook his head, standing up from his desk and grabbing his bag. "Don't wait up for me. I've got… other plans."
His friends exchanged curious glances, but Raxian didn't offer any further explanation. His focus had already shifted, his mind racing with the possibility that these rumors were true. As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he heard a couple of students nearby, whispering about the same thing.
"Did you hear about Sable? They say she's already hit Master. She's insane."
Raxian's ears perked up, his irritation flaring. Master? The very idea made his jaw clench. He turned, not bothering to hide his curiosity—or his irritation. "You guys talking about that new student?" he asked, stepping into the conversation uninvited.
The students glanced at each other, clearly surprised by his sudden interest. "Yeah, you've heard of her, right? Sable? People are saying she's, like, crazy good at League. Already climbed past Diamond. Probably one of the best players in the school."
Raxian's lips curled into a half-smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah? That's what people are saying?" His tone was cool, but underneath it, a flicker of irritation sparked. He hated hearing about players who were supposedly better than him. Especially when he was already so close to hitting Diamond himself.
One of the students nodded eagerly. "Yeah, man. Apparently, she's got insane mechanics. Some people are even saying she's playing at a near pro level."
Pro level? That stung more than he wanted to admit. Raxian crossed his arms, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "We'll see about that," he muttered under his breath, half to himself.
He didn't want to admit it, but the rumors were bothering him more than they should. He didn't like the idea of someone coming into his space, into his school, and making waves in the one area where he excelled. League was his thing. He was the one climbing, making a name for himself. The thought of Sable surpassing him so easily—it was like a thorn digging into his pride.
Raxian made up his mind right then. He was going to find out who this Sable was, and more importantly, whether the rumors were true. Because if there was one thing Raxian couldn't stand, it was competition he hadn't seen coming.
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The rest of the school day dragged on, but Raxian's mind was elsewhere. No matter how hard he tried to focus, thoughts of Sable gnawed at the edges of his mind. Who was she? He had no real information—just rumors and whispers, but the idea of some new student climbing the ranks so quickly bothered him more than it should. He couldn't shake it. First AkarisLite, and now this?
Two rivals, he thought, leaning back in his seat as the teacher's voice faded into the background. Two players I have to prove myself against.
As the final bell rang, his friends were quick to gather around him, their voices filled with plans for the evening. "Yo, Rax, you coming to the arcade later? We're thinking of hitting it up after school."
But Raxian shook his head, his mind already made up. "Not today," he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Got other plans."
His friends exchanged looks but didn't push further. Raxian always had his own agenda, especially when it came to gaming. He wasn't in the mood for distractions—not when the sting of yesterday's defeat was still fresh, and especially not when his mind was buzzing with the need to prove himself.
It's time to grind, he thought as he made his way home, a determined fire lighting up behind his golden eyes. He wouldn't let AkarisLite's comments get to him. Not after that humiliating defeat. He had played normals with Raze to blow off steam yesterday, but tonight? It was back to business. He was going to climb out of Emerald once and for all—prove to himself, and anyone else, that he belonged in Diamond.
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The moment Raxian got home, he didn't waste any time. He threw his bag onto the floor and booted up his computer, the familiar hum of the machine kicking into gear as the screen lit up with the League of Legends logo. He was already itching to get back into the grind. Yesterday's defeat had booted him down to Emerald I, 75 LP—a setback, sure, but nothing he couldn't overcome.
I'll get it back tonight, he told himself as he logged into the game, determination coursing through him. I'm not letting one loss ruin my run.
But as the games began, something wasn't right. His frustration, his anger, his need to prove himself—it all clouded his focus. His movements felt sloppy, his mechanics off. Every misstep, every missed kill only added to his mounting irritation. He tried to brush it off, shake it out, but the more he played, the worse it got.
Game after game, the losses piled up. He could feel it—his arrogance getting the better of him, blinding him to what was really happening. He was playing too aggressively, too recklessly, and it was costing him. Every time he queued up, his frustration only grew, until, after hours of grinding, the cold, hard truth stared back at him on the screen:
Emerald II, 40 LP.
Raxian leaned back in his chair, the weight of the losses pressing heavily on him. He had started the night determined to climb, to prove that yesterday's loss was just a fluke. But instead, he had fallen—further than before. His arrogance, his impatience… it had all caught up with him.
What the hell happened? he thought, running a hand through his hair. He was stumped. Defeated. The confidence he had started the night with had evaporated, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth.
He stared at the screen, the realization settling in like a weight. I'm back in Emerald II. The words echoed in his mind, mocking him.
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Raxian stared at the screen, his fingers twitching with the urge to queue up one more game. One more could turn it around. But he knew better. His focus was shot, his frustration bubbling too close to the surface. Another game like this, and he could fall even further.
He pushed himself away from the desk, the chair creaking beneath him as he leaned back. The glowing letters on the screen mocked him—Emerald II, 40 LP. It wasn't the crushing defeat he feared, but it was close enough to rattle him.
His mind raced. How did I let this happen?
But the answer was obvious, gnawing at the back of his mind: AkarisLite. The loss from yesterday. The humiliating defeat that started it all. And then, on top of that, the rumors about Sable, a player who might already be miles ahead of him. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut.
Two rivals. Two challenges. And he was falling behind.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight, determination flaring back up, but with it came a wave of doubt.
Tomorrow will be different, he promised himself. Tomorrow, I'll fix this.
But deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him. Could he really climb back up?
What if I can't?