Ego Check: The Game That Changes Everything Rewrite

The clock on his desk glowed 1:34 a.m. The faint hum of his PC filled the room, broken only by the relentless clacking of his keyboard. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the messy strands of his hair. It wasn't from the heat—his room was cold, the fan in the corner whirring on high. No, this was something else. Adrenaline. Frustration. Desperation.

He was this close. One win away from Diamond IV. One game from stepping out of Emerald hell and proving to himself—and everyone else—that he had what it took to make it big. Diamond wasn't just another rank; it was validation, a step closer to rubbing shoulders with pro e-sport teams. If he wanted a shot at that dream, he couldn't afford to lose. Not tonight.

But he wasn't winning.

His Ekko was grayed out on the death screen, the enemy Yasuo recalling just outside turret range. That damn recall animation again—how Yasuo tossed his sword into the air, catching it effortlessly before taking a long, casual sip of sake.

Yeah, you better enjoy that sake, asshole.

It mocked him every time.

Raxian tightened his grip on the mouse, teeth grinding as the words burned into the screen:

AkarisLite (Yasuo) is unstoppable.

"Where's the gank?!" he growled, his voice sharp with frustration. His mouse darted to the minimap, spamming pings on his jungler's location. Twelve minutes. That's how long they'd been farming passively in the jungle, ganking every lane that wasn't his, while Yasuo turned mid into his personal highlight reel. Raxian's fingers flew over the keyboard:

"Hey man, didn't you see how low he was??!! Where are you??!! Should've ganked me!!"

The reply came instantly:

"Honestly, Ekko, this guy's profile might not show it, but based on how he's playing? Don't push your luck, kid. Do us all a favor and play safe. This guy is way beyond your league."

Raxian's blood boiled. "Way beyond my league?" he spat, slamming his fist onto the desk. His fingers clattered against the keyboard:

"Maybe if someone actually ganked mid, this wouldn't have happened! Stop blaming me for YOUR mistakes!"

His hand hovered over the Enter key, but the respawn timer hit zero. He slammed his finger onto the F key, teleporting back to lane while muttering under his breath. That death didn't even leave him with enough gold for an item upgrade, dammit. And now Yasuo had a full item lead. His stopwatch might be the only thing that could save him at this point—but even that felt like a long shot.

Focus. You've got this. Just bait him under turret. Land the stun. Play it cool.

Yasuo was already waiting for him. Of course, he was. The samurai glided through the minion wave, each slash carving a precise path through the air, setting him up for another stack of Steel Tempest. He sidestepped Raxian's Timewinder effortlessly, as though he'd predicted it before it even left Ekko's hand.

"Alright, you cocky little—" Raxian muttered, leaning closer to the screen. Let him burn Wind Wall. Then he's yours.

He waited for his moment. Yasuo dashed forward with Sweeping Blade, landing a quick jab before stepping just outside turret range. Raxian's fingers hovered over his abilities. Now's your chance.

He blinked into the zone with Phase Dive, his Parallel Convergence field flaring to life. The glowing dome shimmered behind Yasuo, ready to stun him if he stepped even an inch too far.

But he didn't.

Instead, the wind began to howl. Raxian's stomach dropped as a cyclone spiraled toward him.

No. No, no, no—

Last Breath.

Yasuo blinked onto him, the blade cutting through him in a flurry of slashes. Ekko crumpled. The gray death screen flashed again.

"You have been slain."

Yasuo marched on ahead, cutting through the team like a storm that couldn't be stopped. Raxian watched in helpless frustration as his teammates crumbled, one after another. They stood no chance. The enemy Yasuo didn't just play the game—he commanded it, each movement deliberate, his confidence unshakable.

Slamming both hands onto his desk, Raxian clenched his teeth as Yasuo stood at the nexus, almost leisurely watching as it shambled into pieces.

The red Defeat screen burned into his monitor, mocking him as it painted the screen crimson. A message blinked in the chat, the final twist of the knife:

"Yas diff."

"Better mid wins lol."

—----------------------------------------

The screen faded to black, replaced by the results lobby. Raxian's fingers hovered over the mouse, trembling slightly as his eyes locked onto the post-game stats.

AkarisLite (Yasuo): 18/2/6.

His own score glared back at him like a neon sign of failure: 3/7/4.

No way. There's no way.

He clicked over to the damage chart, his stomach sinking as Yasuo's towering bar eclipsed the rest of the team's efforts. It didn't make sense. Nobody—nobody—landed every Steel Tempest, every Last Breath, with that kind of precision.

He had to be scripting.

Raxian's cursor darted to the Report button, hovering over Cheating. His fingers typed furiously: "scripting Yasuo." His heart pounded as he stared at the comment box. Maybe this would get him banned. Maybe it would at least make the loss sting a little less.

His phone buzzed on the desk.

With a groan, Raxian grabbed it, his thumb swiping across the screen. A familiar name lit up the notification:

Raze.

"Hey man, what's up?"

Raxian exhaled sharply, his anger simmering just below the surface. He jabbed at the screen, typing back:

"Lost my promos. Got stomped by a smurf Yasuo."

The response came faster than expected:

"Just checking in. Saw you online. Putting 2 and 2 together wasn't hard. Was gonna spectate, but seeing your reaction is priceless."

Raxian scowled, glaring at the message. Before he could reply, another popped up:

"Still struggling with your promos, huh?"

"I'm not struggling," Raxian typed, his thumbs jabbing at the keyboard with frustration. "That guy was insane. Landed every single tornado like it was scripted."

The three dots blinked for a moment before Raze replied:

"Sounds like someone's salty."

"Salty?" Raxian muttered, slamming his phone down onto the desk. His glare returned to the report screen, his finger poised over the Submit button.

But then he hesitated.

Was it really scripts? Or was this guy just… better?

The phone buzzed again, pulling him from his thoughts:

"C'mon, I'm just messing with you. What happened? Yas diff or what?"

Raxian growled under his breath, typing:

"Yeah. Yasuo diff. Smurfing or something. Nobody plays that clean at this rank."

Raze's next response made Raxian groan, throwing his head back against the chair:

"Yikes. Might wanna start dodging your counters, bro."

"Yasuo isn't even a counter to Ekko," Raxian muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard. "He doesn't have counters. His Wind Wall blocks everything, and his stupid dashes make him untouchable. He is the counter."

Raxian's phone buzzed again.

"You should add him. Let the salt flow. I want screenshots of the chaos."

He froze, staring at the message. His pride screamed at him to ignore it, to let it go and move on. But something else—curiosity, frustration, or sheer stubbornness—itched at the back of his mind.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally typed back:

"Why would I do that? I don't need to talk to him."

Raze's reply came instantly:

"Coward."

Raxian's nostrils flared, his jaw tightening. "Coward?" he muttered under his breath, glaring at the screen. The word gnawed at his pride, twisting uncomfortably in his chest.

With a sharp inhale, he turned back to the game client, his mouse hovering over AkarisLite's profile. His hand trembled slightly, but he wasn't sure if it was from anger or reluctance. "Fine," he hissed, clicking Add Friend and slamming the Send Request button harder than necessary. The chime that followed felt almost mocking.

Part of him hoped it would be ignored.

It wasn't.

The second chime rang out, sharper than the first. The request had been accepted almost immediately.

A chat icon blinked at the bottom of the screen, signaling an incoming message.

Raxian's heart skipped a beat as the chat window popped open. The message was short, casual, and almost annoyingly polite:

"Hey. GG."

He stared at the text, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. What had he expected? Smugness? Trash talk? Something that would justify the anger simmering in his chest? But this? A simple "GG"? It threw him off balance.

"GG?" Raxian typed back, his disbelief practically dripping through the screen. "That's all you've got to say after stomping me into the ground?"

The reply came almost instantly:

"What else is there to say? You played well."

Raxian blinked at the screen, his frown deepening. Played well? Was this some kind of joke? His fingers flew over the keys, irritation bubbling to the surface:

"'Played well'? You destroyed me. You landed every single tornado. No one at this rank plays like that. You're clearly a smurf or scripting. Which is it?"

AkarisLite's response took a moment longer this time, as if they were weighing their words—or savoring his frustration. Finally, the reply appeared:

"Neither. Just better."

Raxian's fist clenched. "Just better?" he muttered, his voice rising with indignation. His hands flew to the keyboard:

"Right. Better. Sure. Because spamming Q and dashing through minions takes so much skill."

The reply was almost immediate, calm and unshaken:

"It does if you're good at it."

Raxian leaned back in his chair, his glare burning into the screen. His jaw tightened as his mind raced for a comeback, but his pride wouldn't let him admit that AkarisLite might have a point. Instead, he settled on:

"Typical Yasuo player. Cocky as hell."

AkarisLite didn't bite.

"Only because I earned it. You weren't bad, though. You've got potential."

The compliment hit Raxian like a splash of cold water. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to respond. He had expected arrogance or mockery—not… encouragement?

"Potential?" he finally typed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've got the mechanics. You just don't use them well. You tunnel vision, waste your Phase Dive, and tilt too easily. Fix those, and you'd have a shot at climbing."

Raxian's face burned as he read the message. He should've been furious, but something about AkarisLite's words gnawed at him. They weren't wrong, and that stung. But did they have to say it like that?

"Oh, so you're a coach now?" he shot back, defensive.

"If I were coaching, I'd charge you."

Raxian almost laughed despite himself, shaking his head as he typed:

"Whatever. I'll climb without your 'advice.' Next time we queue, I'll destroy you."

AkarisLite replied with a single word:

"Sure."

The chat fell silent after that. Raxian leaned back in his chair, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. But something else lingered—curiosity.

Who the hell was this player?

He clicked on their profile again, scrolling through the match history. Still no clues. Still no mastery points. Still no answers.

The buzz of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. It was Raze:

"So? Did you blow up on them?"

Raxian hesitated, his fingers hovering over the screen. He finally typed back:

"No. They're… weird."

Raze's reply was quick:

"Weird? How?"

Raxian glanced back at the chat window with AkarisLite, their calm confidence still lingering in his mind. He frowned, trying to put the feeling into words.

"They're just… different."