September 4, 2014 part 2 - Skirmish

June somehow managed to grab three more players. The eight of us headed to the nearest computer shop – the kind with humming air conditioning, the faint smell of instant noodles, and that sticky-floor charm only LAN cafés can pull off. The walls were plastered with faded anime posters and tournament flyers so old they might’ve been from before Wi-Fi. The cashier looked like he hadn’t blinked since 2009.

Thankfully, there were enough free spots for all of us.

We logged on, found our stations, and the familiar click-clack symphony began. The blue glow from the monitors made everyone look like cave trolls who hadn’t seen sunlight in years.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t seated next to Jackie. Two chairs away – close enough to hear her voice, far enough to regret every decision that led me here. Every time she laughed, my ears perked up like a dog hearing the crinkle of a treat bag.

It took forever to start the match. You know how LAN setups go – the excitement always dies halfway through endless troubleshooting.

“Who’s hosting?”
“Wait, why can’t I connect?”
“Bro, restart Steam!”

It was the universal ritual before every digital war.

When the game finally began, I was both ready and absolutely not ready.

To put it bluntly, Jackie’s team sucked. June and Jackie were solid – actually pretty damn good – but their other three teammates played like toddlers trying to play piano with their elbows. I could’ve farmed my jungle blindfolded and still ended up richer than them.

I was the core player, which, for anyone who doesn’t play Dota, basically means this: you farm gold for twenty minutes, buy fancy items, and then show up at the end looking like a god who carried everyone to victory. Think of it as being a manager who gets the credit while the employees – in this case, Kyle, Mike, and our two café buddies – do all the actual work.

We stomped them early, which was perfect. I had a brilliant plan.

If I didn’t kill Jackie and we still won, maybe she’d notice.

Maybe she’d think I was merciful and I’d earn gold in the Jackie Olympics of life.

So I farmed quietly, avoiding fights like a monk on a vow of silence. I stacked camps, counted last hits, pretended I was following a master strategy.

Then, out of nowhere, Jackie’s hero appeared on my minimap.

My heart skipped. I sidestepped politely, like, Don’t mind me, your hero-ness, just farming peacefully here. She didn’t have much gear yet and she was a hard support, so she wasn’t a threat.

Then June blinked in.

A split second later, I was dead.

I mashed my keyboard like I was typing an apology letter to God, but it didn’t matter. My hero exploded in a flash of gold, numbers, and regret.

And who got the gold?

Jackie. And June.

Suddenly, June was the strongest hero in the match, Jackie was right behind him, and I was the sad hamster chasing both of them on a flaming treadmill.

It was then that I realized that I wasn’t even the only idiot trying to impress her.

June was clearly on the same mission – swooping in to save her every time she got in trouble, blocking skills for her, acting like the guardian spirit of her MMR.

And Jackie? She was loving it.

“Get shit on, noob!” she shouted in a hilariously deep voice that didn’t match her face at all, then immediately broke into laughter. “Oh my god, that sounded way cooler in my head!”

Even though she was talking about me, I smiled. Couldn’t help it. She was having fun – real, bright, unfiltered fun – and somehow that made losing sting less.

Still, there was hope. One perfect team fight, one miracle turnaround, and we could still win.

Then I died again.

And again.

By the end, I wasn’t losing – I was donating. If Dota had a charity system, I’d have unlocked a platinum donor badge.

The final fight rolled around, and I died without buyback – which in Dota terms basically means you’ve messed up so badly the game’s over.

While their team destroyed our throne, I just sat there hoping Jackie had noticed that I never once attacked her. Not even a single spell.

That fragile hope shattered the moment June leaned back and said, “Easy game, boys!” like he’d just solved gravity.

“Good game!” Jackie said brightly. Then, with a grin I could hear even without looking, she added, “Thanks for feeding us, Allen. You were delicious.”

That one hit right in the fragile male ego. But her tone was teasing, not mean – and even though it burned, I found myself laughing quietly.

“You were so good, June!” she said next, her voice all warmth and admiration.

Kyle and Mike turned to me at the same time with the same dead-eyed look.

We trusted you.

When we left the café, June and Jackie walked ahead, talking and laughing. June gestured wildly like he was narrating the story of their glorious victory, and Jackie laughed at everything he said.

Kyle and Mike hung back with me. They stayed quiet for a while before exchanging a look. Then, like stage performers unveiling a work of art, they stepped aside dramatically and motioned toward the pair walking ahead.

“Behold,” Kyle whispered in mock reverence. “Your masterpiece.”

Mike clapped slowly, pretending to wipe a tear. “Beautiful. Inspirational. A true idiot’s magnum opus.”

I stared at the pavement, half-hoping it would open up and do me a favor.

Then Jackie laughed again – loud, bright, real.

And despite everything, I smiled.

Kyle and Mike weren’t looking, so I let it linger. June and Jackie were up ahead, closer than I’d ever been, but hearing her laugh still felt worth it.

Even if I was the punchline.

They didn’t even wait until we got home.

The second Jackie and June turned a corner and vanished, Kyle jabbed a finger at me like an angry coach reviewing replays. “After all the dum-dum things you’ve done,” he said, “this one takes the dum-dum cake.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “If dumbassery was a ranked mode, you’d be immortal tier.”

Kyle groaned. “You know Minnie doesn’t even want me playing games this much, man. The least you could do is try. Kill the supports first – even if it’s your dream girl. That’s Dota 101!”

I didn’t argue. I just nodded, eyes on the road.

There was nothing to defend. I’d lost the game, the pride, and whatever illusion I had of being cool.

Then – out of the corner of my eye – I saw it.

At the edge of the streetlight where Jackie and June had disappeared.

A black dog.

It stood perfectly still, half in shadow, half in light. Watching.

When I blinked, it was gone.

I didn’t hear a word of Kyle and Mike’s lecture. My heartbeat was too loud, drumming in my ears. I glanced around, half-expecting to see it again. The dog. I hadn’t spotted it in a while. Sometimes, I’d slow down when crossing the bridge, hoping it might appear like before. That was the only place it ever showed up. Honestly, I thought it was gone for good. It had looked sick the last time I saw it — bones under skin, breathing like each inhale was a gamble.

Maybe it had followed me here. Maybe it smelled the kibble I always carried in my bag.

Or maybe – and this thought hit like a quiet echo – maybe it wasn’t just the dog.

Maybe it was something else.

The reason my pulse thudded in my ears. The reason my chest felt tight.

Maybe it was karma – reminding me what kind of story I was really living in.