Chapter Text
Although Pat has been expecting the news for some time, it’s still a shock when the announcement is officially posted on the Club’s website and social media pages. To see it in black and white makes what he has, for weeks, been hoping is just a bad dream, finally real.
Phone in hand, he watches in disbelief as the comment count increases as the news is shared across the e-sports community. Five minutes after posting there are over six hundred comments, and the post has been shared more than a thousand times. How is it that of all the e-sports news, this topic is the one to catch everyone’s attention?
The notice has barely been up for ten minutes when his phone begins lighting up with incoming messages. There’s one from the team coach and a couple from the few friends he has left outside the gaming industry.
All those years of hard work to get to this point and just as thinks he might be on the cusp of being promoted to the main team, Global Power Synergy, better known as GPS, has announced it will be disbanding its League of Legends e-sports team and associated academy after the summer season tournament. This includes Pat’s team, GPS Academy, informally known as the Nexus Knights.
Momentarily startled when his phone starts buzzing, he looks at the screen to see an incoming call from his dad and his brows knit together in a frown. Unable to face the conversation he knows is inevitable, he waits until it times out to voicemail then turns the phone off and throws it down amongst the trash on his gaming desk. He can’t deal with his dad right now.
“How’re you holding up,” says a voice at the door and Pat looks up into the face of the Nexus Knight’s top-laner. Quill’s black hair is pulled off his face in a bun revealing his undercut, and his eyes look hollow below his bushy, dark eyebrows.
Pat shrugs, and with a sigh, pushes himself away from his desk, giving himself space so he can swivel his chair in slow circles, only coming to a stop when Quill drops into the chair at the gaming desk next to him. “Well the news is finally out,” he replies, “so I suppose I’m kind of relieved we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore and can start looking for a new team.”
Quill nods. “Well it’s not like you’re going to have a problem finding a spot on another team, is it?” he says, his voice full of conviction, “Look how many league points you have. You’re already in the Challenger tier on the Thai server for both Solo and Flex, and at the end of the summer season you’ll be even higher. Now the news is out I bet lots of teams will be looking to sign you.”
Despite the situation they’re in, and the uncertainty of what will happen next, Quill is his usual optimistic self.
“I guess,” Pat replies. Finishing the season with a high number of league points would certainly be an achievement for an academy player looking for a position on a main team. It would also go a long way to showing any interested clubs how valuable he could be.
“With me on your team, how could you not?”
“Right,” Pat laughs, choosing to let himself bask in the warmth of his best friend’s positivity. “Together we’re unstoppable.”
While Pat and Quill wait for their computers to boot up, the other LoL players gradually drift into the gaming room and take a seat behind their designated monitors. They’re all young men. The oldest is not more than twenty three, the youngest just eighteen. Recently turned twenty, Pat is amongst the younger ones.
The chatter between players is unusually subdued. Pat gets it. Like him, everyone is feeling low after the official announcement. They’re all worried about their future.
Situated mid way up the city centre skyscraper that houses GPS’ headquarters, the LoL gaming room could be mistaken for any corporate, open plan office. There are fifteen desks set out in three rows of five, each with its own large screen monitor and powerful computer, a huge whiteboard dominates one of the walls. The only thing that hints that this room is used by e-sports players rather than mid-level office workers is the choice of personalised accessories cluttering the desks.
Ban Ru, the manager of GPS’ LoL teams, makes an appearance after the last player is seated and comes to stand in front of the whiteboard next to the LoL teams’ coach.
“Ahem,” he coughs and the whispering in the room fades to silence. “I’m sure you’re all aware that the news of the disbanding of the LoL teams has just been made public, but can I remind you that you need to put your feelings to one side. You all still have a job to do.”
“Easy for him to say,” whispers Quill in Pat’s ear. “When your cousin is the Vice Chairman of the board you won’t have to worry about finding a job at another club.”
“Shh,” mouths Pat, glancing around. Every monitor is mounted with a webcam, and there are cameras everywhere in the common areas, who knows who’s listening? But he nods his agreement. Ban Ru was almost certainly appointed because of who he knows, not for his ability to manage a team.
A few weeks previously when he’d held the meeting with the LoL players to advise them of the decision by GPS’ board to disband their LoL teams at the end of the summer season, he was unable to stop it descending into chaos.
“So will someone from GPS be available to help us find a new team?” Aiming, the scrawny mid from the main team had asked.
“And help with contract negotiations?” This question came from FeiYan, the stocky top-laner on the same team.
“Yeah, how much are we going to get paid and when?”
“What about the outstanding prize money that’s still owed?”
“We will, of course, do everything we can to assist you in finding a new team,” Ban Ru stuttered.
“When will we have to move out of the dorms?”
Like a floodgate had been opened, the questions came in thick and fast. Increasing in volume as players from the main and academy teams, as well as the substitute players on the game’s roster, began to shout over the top of each other to be heard.
“Settle down, settle down. I’m sure it won’t come to that.” Ban Ru, tried to project his voice over the din, a red flush deepening on his cheeks.
But there was no sign of the players calming down.
Today however, the players listen quietly as their manager speaks. Their silence is almost eerie.
“The summer season playoffs are coming up and the team has done well to qualify, but we don’t want to stop there, we want to win,” Ban Ru says. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that lots of other clubs will be there so the better you do the more likely you are to be recruited to another team.” He looks around the room, but doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. “Well then, I’ll leave you in Coach’s capable hands. Get to work everyone.”
“You know the drill,” the coach says. “Your LP’s won't earn themselves. Whoever drops in points will get additional practice hours as a champion of my choice.”
Stifled groans ripple across the room at the coach’s threats, but the players immediately capitulate and soon the rapid clicking of fingers dancing over the keyboards can be heard as they all focus on their games.
Pat pulls on his headphones and queues up a playlist, then navigates through the start-up screens until he finds Solo and Flex, the two ranked queues where he can earn league points. He clicks on the Solo queue, drumming his fingers impatiently on the mouse keys while he waits for the game servers to match him into a team.
The unpredictability that naturally comes with the random teams in the Solo queue lets players practice adapting to the unexpected. It’s a fast-paced battle for supremacy where they’re having to strategise on the fly and usually Pat thrives in the chaos.
Once allocated to a game as the team’s mid, he casts his eyes over the list of champions. In the interest of just getting the game over with, he avoids any of the more challenging ones and the ones most likely to be banned by the opposition. Instead he selects Orianna, a strong mid-lane champion, and loads her Star Guardian skin.
Messages soon spam the team chat but he’s adept at skimming his gaze over them, ignoring the irrelevant ones. A skill that he’s refined the higher up the tiers he’s climbed.
“Love the skin, dude.” This message is clearly aimed at him.
The Star Guardian is a collector's skin and Pat thinks it makes her look bad ass. “Thx,” he fires back, a half grin lifting the corners of his mouth, it had cost him a lot of in-game currency to buy it.
Although the match starts slowly, the pace quickly picks up as everyone tries to kill as many minions in their lanes as they can. They all need to earn maximum gold. But five minutes in, Pat misses one and he grits his teeth in annoyance. It’s unlike him to be so distracted. The atmosphere in the room must be affecting him more than he realised.
Sighing heavily, he shifts in his seat and rolls his shoulders, stretching out the crick in his neck. He needs to focus, he can’t afford to let his current mood affect his performance, not when his career depends on all the league points he can get.
Throwing himself back into the game, he joins his teammates in a fight, successfully landing a killing blow on the enemy support. Pushing on, his team soon takes the advantage and it isn’t long before they’re sweeping all obstacles to victory.
Amid the familiar sound of the enemy’s Nexus collapsing, he types “Thx, cya,” into the chat, his fingers flying over the keyboard, and he allows himself a little victory fist pump which turns into a twist of the wrist to ease the cramp.
Exiting the game, he navigates back to the start. Once again clicking on the Solo queue, and in the next game he’s matched into a team as jungler.
If he wants to attract interest from other teams, Pat knows he’ll need to maintain his Challenger rank in the Flex queue as well as Solo. It’s crucial he shows his all round capabilities. So later, he’ll Flex as a team with the Nexus Knights and they’ll practice different strategies and team fights, but for now he’ll play some solo games.
When the afternoon practice session is over and Pat switches his phone back on, the buzzing and pings associated with incoming messages seem to go on forever. A thumb swipe sets the notifications scrolling on his Lock Screen and when he sees the number of missed calls from his dad, a hard lump that feels like the size of a grapefruit forms in his throat.
He knows his dad means well, but the thought of how badly he might have taken the news makes Pat’s stomach churn uncomfortably and he decides to head home to get the conversation over with. From experience he knows the longer he puts it off, the worse it will be.
So once he’s back in his room Pat throws some overnight things into a bag. Despite the circumstances, the long training hours mean he’s well overdue a visit home so, if nothing else, it’ll be nice to see his family again.
✰
When the lift doors open at the LoL floor, Pat finds there’s a young man already in the car. Although his face is unfamiliar, he’s dressed in a set of slim fitting burgundy track pants and matching zip up tracksuit top, just like the ones Pat is wearing. It’s only the patch sewn onto his left breast that’s different, showing he’s on GPS’ roster of Overwatch players. The name ‘Neo’ is embroidered underneath the patch in a fancy white font.
“Hey,” Pat says as he enters and presses the button to close the doors.
Neo looks up and smiles. “Hey,” he replies, pocketing his phone. “Heading out?”
Pat twists slightly to show his backpack. “Yeah, home to the folks for the night. You?”
“Oh, I just need to touch grass after being hunched over the damn keyboard all day.” Neo rolls his head and rubs at the back of his neck. “So much for my ergonomic gaming chair, I seem to ache everywhere.”
It’s not surprising. The practice sessions are lengthy and intense. Only relieved by the mandatory hours in the gym.
It’s both physically and mentally demanding.
“Tell me about it,” Pat replies, nodding. “No matter how much time I spend in the gym I still can’t work the kinks out.”
Neo’s eyes flicker to the patch on Pat’s breast. “I was sorry to hear the news,” he says, and Pat gives a little jerk of his chin in acknowledgement. “I thought the LoL main team was doing so well, getting to the playoffs and all.”
“Thanks. And it is, but I guess LoL’s just not as profitable as Overwatch,” Pat says, his face pulling into a little grimace.
Neo shrugs. ”Perhaps, but it should be considering the high view count. Did you know LoL has four and a half times the views that Overwatch has with a quarter of the tournaments being broadcast?”
“You know your stats.” Pat lets out a little chuckle, amused at how animated the other guy seems to be talking numbers.
“Sorry, I just have a head for figures,” Neo mumbles, his cheeks pinking up a little. “But seriously, given the current stats, LoL should be getting way more sponsorship than it does.”
“Word. I bet if we had your level of sponsorship we’d be given all sorts of perks, like those premium snacks I hear you’re provided with.” Pat winks, slyly.
“Is that what you’ve heard?” Neo asks, his eyebrows raised, and Pat nods. “Hm. In that case, maybe you should come up and visit sometime and find out.”
“What and risk getting altitude sickness?”
Neo bursts out laughing, dimples popping deeply in his cheeks. “Man, we’re literally two floors above you.”
“Yeah, but those two floors make all the difference.” Pat snickers. “LoL players aren’t allowed past the tenth floor.”
“You know that’s an urban myth?”
“Maybe, but I can’t be too careful. I heard a rumour that once you enter the Overwatch floor you can never leave,” Pat whispers conspiratorially.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you just wander around all those empty offices with the horrible ugly carpets for an eternity, because you can never find the exit.”
Neo is laughing so hard he struggles to reply. “Oh my God,” he eventually hiccups out. “You’ve totally been reading The Backrooms haven’t you?”
“Hell yeah,” replies Pat, struggling to keep a straight face as laughter threatens to bubble out of him. “I have to be vigilant. Who knows when a high flying Overwatch player is unexpectedly going to try and entice a lowly LoL Academy player back to their floor to sample their premium snacks.” He makes air quotes as he speaks.
Neo props himself against the side of the lift with a hand, his shoulders shaking as he laughs even harder. “Are you always like this?” he splutters.
“No,” says Pat. “Usually I’m worse.”
“Well, if you ever decide it’s a risk you’re willing to take, know that you have an open invitation to visit anytime,” Neo eventually manages to say, still chuckling to himself as they pause outside the entrance. “I think our snack selection is excellent and I promise to personally escort you back to your floor when you want to leave.”
Pat gives a little salute. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, knowing full well he’ll never take Neo up on the offer, no matter how much fun the guy seems to be.
Even if he did have time for socialising after all his training commitments, GPS doesn’t make it easy for players on different game rosters to mix with each other. All the teams have their training rooms on designated floors, along with dorms, recreational areas, and canteens. He’s heard other clubs run things differently, but to GPS, its players are just commodities and are treated as such.
Two years into being an professional e-sports player and he’s finding it isn’t half as glamorous as he imagined it would be.
✰
“All hail the mighty Zhurong,” Pa says when Pat arrives home, poking a finger into the name embroidered on his breast, just under his LoL team patch.
“Ma,” Pat shouts. “Tell her—“
“Stop making fun of your brother,” their mum says, stopping in the hallway to accept the kiss on the cheek Pat bends down to give her.
Has she gotten smaller or have I gotten taller? he thinks.
“Dinner’s in fifteen minutes, if you want to go and freshen up.”
“Well I still think it’s pretentious,” Pa calls after him, as Pat heads to the bottom of the stairs. “Anyway, why are you still in your uniform?”
“Because I have to wear it when I’m training and I couldn’t be bothered to change before I left,” Pat calls back over his shoulder as he begins to climb the stairs.
In his bedroom he drops his backpack on the floor just inside the doorway and takes a quick look around. Nothing looks like it’s changed since the last time he was here, despite Pa’s repeated threats to turn it into her personal dressing room.
Out of habit he crosses the room and hits the power button on his computer. While the machine starts up he looks across at the neighbour’s house—he can see it through the window above his desk. The room opposite is in darkness, just like it has been for years.
Pat snorts dryly to himself. He’s not sure why he does it, but it’s become part of his ritual whenever he’s here—switch the computer on, check to see if Pran is home.
Pat’s dad makes an appearance when dinner is ready and he takes his place at the head of the table. Pat to his left, his wife and daughter to his right.
“So what happened?” he asks when the food is served, “and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Pat shrugs. “We weren’t allowed to say anything until the official announcement. Something about it affecting share prices.”
His dad harrumphs noisily. To Pat’s relief he’s unable to find fault with the statement. From running his own company he’s fully aware how business works.
“Anyway, we were told that the LoL team and associated academy are no longer profitable so they’re disbanding it in favour of Overwatch and DOTA2, the games that bring in more sponsorship.“
“Well that’s just bullsh—“
“Ming!” exclaims Pat’s mum.
“Well it is,” Pat's dad says. “LoL has way more views, the manager should be capitalising on that.”
“Hm.” Pat nods in agreement.
“So what will you do now?” Pa asks.
“Continue training and hope to get signed by another team,” Pat replies. “The main team has got through to the summer season playoffs. They start in a few weeks. But in the meantime the Nexus Knights have some skirmishes lined up with a couple of other academy teams, so my focus is on doing well in those.”
“Which teams?” asks his dad.
“Thai Solar Energy and Bangkok Telecom.”
“Bangkok Telecom, is that BKT?” Pa asks and Pat nods. “Pran’s team?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I saw Pran earlier this evening.” she says offhandedly, as if unaware she’s dropping the equivalent of a nuclear bomb into the conversation.
“What? Where?” Pat blurts out before he can stop himself. A tiny surge of happiness floods through him at the thought that Pran is nearby.
“Just outside the gate, he was getting off a motorbike. He looked really hot—ow!” she exclaims as her mum slaps her arm. “What did I say?”
“Be quiet and pass your dad the rice.”
“But he did,” Pa mutters under her breath, a little surly. “Perhaps there’s a position on his team you can take.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ming snorts before Pat has a chance to reply. “I don’t want Pat anywhere near BKT, not while that woman is associated with it.”
Pat wonders why his dad only ever refers to Pran’s mum, as ‘that woman’, never Dissaya.
“But isn’t BKT doing well—“
“Enough.” Ming slams his hand down on the table making everyone jump. “No more talk about BKT. Pat isn’t going to sign with them even if they are the only LoL team with a space on their roster.
Pat sits quietly, there’s a lump in his throat which he struggles to swallow down and his appetite is gone. BKT would be the perfect team for him.
Since they took over OpTic Gaming’s LoL roster about six years ago and made significant changes to the management and coaching staff, the team has gone from strength to strength. Nowhere near as big an operation as GPS but BKT is making an impact on the competitive landscape.
“Pat, with me,” Ming says when he’s finished eating, standing up and throwing his napkin down on the table.
Pat immediately obeys.
They spend the rest of the evening analysing how many league points Pat has gained since the last time he was home. These discussions always make Pat feel like a school kid presenting his end of year report card, desperate to please. And even though he’s gained a significant amount of LP’s it’s still not enough according to his dad. No matter how Pat tries to discuss the details of the games he’s played to put the scores into context, all his dad does is circle back to how he needs to do better. He can’t let that woman’s son beat him.
Pat tries not to let it bother him, he knows his dad only wants him to succeed, but it’s hard not to when the criticism is relentless, without even a tiny bit of praise thrown in to soften it.
Eventually when he’s had enough, Ming pours himself two fingers of whisky and throws himself down on the couch. Without a word he switches the television on, effectively dismissing Pat.
Feeling like a popped balloon, Pat checks the time. It’s late, but if he’s quick he can make it to the corner store before they close, so he pushes his feet into his sandals and heads out of the house.
Outside, the air has lost some of its heat and as he walks he takes a few deep breaths, feeling the tightness in his chest beginning to ease, and by the time he’s on his way home, ice cream in hand, he’s feeling like he can finally breathe again.
Pat eats his ice cream as he walks, it’s a rare treat as meals and snacks at the base are highly regulated to ensure the players stay in good physical condition, so he eats it slowly, savouring the cold, sweet flavour. By the time he's approaching home the remains of the chocolate shell is soft and the inside is beginning to drip down his fingers.
Up ahead he sees a figure putting a bag of rubbish in the bin outside the neighbours' house and his steps speed up as adrenaline bursts through him, driving him forwards. He doesn’t need to think who it is, his brain is hard-wired to recognise Pran, even though it’s been years since they last physically met.
But when he reaches him, Pat finds he’s not quite sure what to say, so he just nods and averts his gaze, carrying on past towards his gate.
“Pat,” Pran’s voice behind him stops Pat in his tracks.
“Yeah?” he replies, his back still to Pran.
“I’m sorry about GPS.” The way Pran speaks is so gentle, so unlike the way Pran usually speaks to him that Pat whirls around, needing to stop Pran talking.
When their eyes meet, Pran’s expression is soft, his lips quirked into a familiar half smile that’s caused the dimples in his cheeks to pop, and Pat can’t stand to see it. He’ll accept any other emotion from Pran: anger, frustration, even hatred—considering what went down the last time they were together, that might even be justified.
But not this. Not pity.
“Oh please, spare me the fake sympathy,” Pat spits out, and his chest tightens painfully as he watches hurt flicker across Pran’s handsome face before his expression hardens.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pran demands, all trace of concern wiped from his tone.
It’s what Pat wants but it still makes him feel like shit that he’s had to hurt Pran to get it. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Like you actually care. I bet you’re glad GPS is disbanding. BKT will have an easier time next season without us around to wipe the floor with you.”
Pran snorts. “It’s true that GPS’ main team has done better this season, but that can’t be said for the academy team can it? I mean, how far did you get in the last tournament both our teams played in? Oh yeah, you were knocked out in the second round. Where as BKT—”
A tiny ember of excitement flares inside Pat. This is more like it. Pran is pushing back at him and it makes him feel better than any amount of sympathy ever could.
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts. “You made it through one more round, but that’s only because we were knocked out before you could play us.”
Pat shoves the ice cream in his mouth and sucks the remainder off the wooden stick, making sure to leave a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. He grins internally as Pran’s lips tighten in disgust.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Please. You know I’m right,” exclaims Pat. “In fact, I bet we’ll win the upcoming skirmish and prove it.”
“In your dreams. Not if you keep making mistakes like you did against BCPG last week. You showed pitiful judgement.”
“As I recall we won that skirmish, so please, Khun Mid” — Pat crosses his arms firmly across his chest — “enlighten me on where I went wrong.”
“You were playing Ahri,“ Pran’s voice has gotten steadily more heated but he still keeps the volume low, obviously not wanting to disturb anyone.
So?”
“So—” Pran pauses, emphasising the word. “In the laning phase you should have kept farming and waited until you were at least level six before roaming, especially as your opponent was hugging his tower.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, you should have focused on—“
His mind spinning, Pat stares at Pran as he continues to explain in detail where Pat went wrong, animatedly waving his hands as he speaks. Sure, academy matches are public but you’d have to be following the team closely to have seen a random skirmish like that. It wasn’t like it was a competition game.
When Pran finally realises Pat isn’t saying anything he stops. “What?” he questions. “It’s the truth.”
“Yeah but—“ Pat says and then takes a half step forward, bringing himself into Pran’s space, his hands dropping to his hips. “Why were you watching a random GPS Academy skirmish match?”
“I—” A pink flush blooms across Pran’s cheeks and he opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “We’re required to watch lots of other teams’ skirmishes, you know that.”
“Uh-huh.” Pat nods. “But you seem a little too invested in my performance. Why don’t you just admit you’re keeping tabs on me.”
“It’s only because we have that skirmish coming up, it’s not like I’d be interested in you for any reason other than that,” Pran insists, the rosy blush on his cheeks deepening.
Pat laughs. “If you say so.”
Pran rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated huff. “Anyway, I’m heading in,” he says, before spinning on his heel and disappearing through the opening in the gate. It slides shut with a clang, hiding him from view.
✰
Back at home, the house is quiet when Pat makes his way upstairs, there’s just the occasional muffled sound of his dad’s snores penetrating the silence.
His bedroom is mostly in darkness. The only sources of light come from the built-in LEDs in his computer tower, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colours, combined with the soft light from the streetlights streaming in through the window.
Stripping off his T-shirt, leaving himself in just his shorts, he makes his way to his desk and sits down in the large gaming chair, hearing it creak as the springs bend to take his weight.
To his delight, Pran’s window is no longer black, Pat can see the faint glow coming from his computer monitor. He’s probably training just like Pat is about to, and the familiarity of it—of them playing LoL in their rooms late at night, neither one wanting to stop before the other—settles like a comfort blanket around him.
Reaching over to his monitor, he switches it on, turning the brightness down low so as not to affect his night vision, and navigates to the LoL main menu.
Although he was teasing Pran earlier about his interest in Pat’s performance, Pran’s right. Knowing your opponent is a key part of LoL strategy. Studying the players, their statistics, which champions they favour, and being able to counter them, is all part of good game preparation.
Experienced players have a pool of champions they play consistently and focus on mastering and, for a while, Pat sits hugging his knees, considering which of his champions he needs more practice with.
He’s just decided he’ll play Taliyah when a soft ping alerts him to the e-mail notification that’s appeared in the corner of his screen, and he moves the cursor across to dismiss it. But just when it hovers over the box, the notification expands and Pat can see in the ‘To’ field the email is addressed to one of his secondary ID’s.
Intrigued, he drops his feet to the floor and rolls his chair forward.
Like most pro-gamer’s, Pat has a number of secondary IDs which he uses to practice different skills with, but this ID holds a special place in his heart. It was his original one and seeing the notification makes him think of when he created it, back when he and Pran were fourteen and Pran was first showing him how to play LoL.
Back then, they’d just finished lessons for the day and as Pat headed to football practice the heavens opened. Before he’d even gotten to the locker room he was soaked to the skin and cursing the rain. Pushing his wet hair out of his face, he looked around, expecting to see Pran behind him, drenched as well.
When he realised Pran wasn’t amongst the crowd of boys tricking into the locker room, chattering to each other as they began changing into their kit, he frowned. If Pran wasn’t here that meant it was the third session in a row he’d missed. Something must be going on with him that Pat didn’t know about. Normally so conscientious, it was out of character for Pran to miss even one of their team’s practices, let alone three, especially when they had an important match against Assumption College at the weekend.
Pat knew Pran wasn’t off school because they’d been in lessons together all day and in their last period, the teacher had had to separate them when the disagreement for who came first in the maths quiz—they’d both got the same score—became a little too heated. Afterwards Pat had headed out to the locker room and somewhere between the classroom and here, Pran had disappeared.
For a moment Pat considered asking one of Pran’s friends where he was, but he couldn’t, the boy would immediately blab to everyone that Pat had been asking after Pran and still not tell him.
No, he needed to find out another way.
In the end he’d hung around after practice to bring in the stack of training cones, and gather the coloured bibs they’d been wearing to indicate who was on which team.
“Do I need to pass on any messages to Pran about the match on Saturday?” Pat asked the coach as he threw the last bib into the cardboard box ready for the next session. “He wasn’t at practice today.”
“Pran?” the coach replied, taking the box from Pat, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “I thought everyone knew, he quit the team a few weeks ago.”
“Quit?” Pat repeated, just in case he’d misheard, and the coach nodded.
Why? What possible reason could Pran have for quitting? He loved playing football and was a brilliant attacking mid fielder, creating chances and delivering passes to Pat and the other forwards. But there was no point asking the coach, he wouldn’t tell him, even if he knew the answer.
In the end Pat headed home alone, which was strange in itself. Usually he and Pran walked home, not together—they had an unofficial agreement never to speak in public—but at the same time, in the vicinity of each other.
He headed straight up to his room which was where Pa found him sometime later sitting on his bed, gym bag at his feet, still in his muddy football clothes.
“Hia, what are you doing?” she exclaimed. “You’re getting the bedding all dirty. Take your sports kit off and go shower.”
Pat barely heard her, his mind still obsessed with Pran quitting. They’d always been on the school team and when playing against other teams it was the one place they put their rivalry aside and worked together. The thought of that no longer being the case was like a punch to the guts.
“Hia,” Pa said again, louder this time.
“Hm?’
“Take your sports kit off so I can put it in the wash, and go clean up.”
For the rest of the day, Pat couldn’t stop his mind returning to the news. It bothered him like an itch he was unable to scratch and kept him from being able to concentrate on his homework. Instead he found himself repeatedly looking out of his window at Pran’s, wondering what was so important that Pran had quit the football team because of it.
At some point in the evening he heard voices outside and when he got up to look, he could see Pran’s parents getting into their car and driving off down the street.
Now was his chance.
Pat grabbed the bag of crisps he’d brought up earlier for snacking on, and headed out onto his balcony. Holding the bag firmly between his teeth so he had both hands free, he climbed over the wall and, with practised ease, carefully made his way across the garage rooftop, his bare feet gripping the wet tiles.
Outside Pran’s window, he paused and peered in through the glass, taking in the posters of Pran’s favourite bands neatly covering his walls, and the shelves holding his beloved collection of manga figurines.
Pran was sitting at his desk, his headphones on and his fingers were flying over the keyboard. He was so engrossed in what he was doing he didn’t appear to notice when Pat quietly slid the window open and climbed in over the ledge.
Pat’s lips curled into a mischievous grin and he stepped forward, dropping a hand on Pran’s shoulder.
“Boo,” he said, making the other shriek and Pat doubled over laughing.
“Shia Pat,” Pran eventually said when he’d stopped hyperventilating. He pulled his headphones off and spun his chair around to face Pat. “You’re so annoying. What do you want?”
Pat shrugged and dropped the bag of crisps onto Pran’s desk next to his keyboard. The keys were lit up with yellow lights that matched the smiley-faced strings of lights draped around the room, and for a moment Pat was distracted because it looked so cool. He made a mental note to ask his parents to buy him a keyboard just like it.
“Pat?” Pran said loudly.
“Huh?”
“If my mum comes home and catches you in here, we’ll both be in trouble so what do you want?”
“Oh, Coach said you’d quit the football team and I wanted to know why,” Pat said, finally getting to the point of his visit. He picked up a block of coloured post-it notes from the neat row of stationery on Pran’s desk, and began fidgeting with it.
“It’s none of your business,” Pran replied, watching Pat riffling his thumb over the edge of the pad. With a frown he grabbed it from Pat’s hand and put it back in its place on the desk.
“But I want to know,” Pat whined, using the special tone of voice he reserved especially for when he wanted something from Pran, and picked up the ruler instead. He began slapping it against his palm, but at the sharp look Pran gave him, he quickly put it back where he’d got it from. Carefully adjusting its position until its edges lined up with the desktop.
Pran leaned back in his chair and stared at him for a while, his big brown eyes wary and full of suspicion. “Why?” he prompted.
Pat perched on the edge of Pran’s desk and smiled back. “You love football,” he said brightly. “So it’s got to be something serious if you’ve quit the team over it. You’re not sick are you?” His stomach suddenly churned in horror at the thought.
“No, of course I’m not sick,” Pran replied and relief flooded through Pat.
“In that case what is it? C’mon, tell me what’s going on.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because it’s no fun on the team without you.”
Pran blinked rapidly, and then looked down at his shorts, carefully straightening them with his fingers.
There was a long pause before he finally looked back up at Pat and said, “Fine, if you’re really that interested. You know how my mum works for Bangkok Telecom?” Pat nodded. “Well about a year or so ago they decided to get into e-sports and bought out some other company’s LoL games roster.”
“LoL? As in League of Legends? The computer game?”
“No dummy, the laugh out loud emoticon,” said Pran, reaching across and flicking the centre of Pat’s forehead with his finger.
“Ow,” hissed Pat, rubbing at his stinging skin. “That hurt.”
“Yes, League of Legends, the computer game. The one produced by Riot,” Pran confirmed. “Anyway, about six months ago they transferred her to be the Marketing Director of this new e-sports division and, according to her, there’s a lot of potential in the game. So she convinced me to try it out and I’ve been really getting into it recently.”
“So you’re gonna be a pro e-sports player now?” Pat let out a disbelieving snort, but at the little shrug Pran gave, realised that might be exactly what Pran meant. “For real?” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool.”
“You think?” Pran asked a little shyly, the tips of his ears going red.
“Yeah,” Pat breathed.
“If their main team continues doing well they’re planning to expand their games roster to include a training academy, although I’d have to wait until I’m sixteen before I could join. So, yeah.”
“Wow.”
“In the meantime I’ve got to practice and get better at the game, which means that I’ve had to give up a few out of school activities.”
“Imagine becoming famous and making tons of money just for playing games,” Pat mused, thinking about all the things he could buy if he was rich.
Pran snorted. “It’s a lot of hard work, you know, e-sports players have to train really hard.”
“Yeah but still. Think of how much fun it would be spending your days battling orcs and elves, like in World of Warcraft.”
“What are you? A millennial? Nobody plays WoW anymore. At least not at a competitive level they don’t.”
“What are you? A millennial?” Pat repeated nasally, scrunching his face up. “Is that you speaking or your mum?” he continued in a normal tone. If Pat was honest, he’d never really played many on-line games, except for the odd game of Rocket League so he didn’t know much about them. “Okay, then tell me about it,” he suggested.
“So, LoL is a team based strategy game. You play against other players, not against the computer, the teams are five versus five,” Pran said patiently. “It’s usually set on a fixed map and you have to destroy the enemy’s defences and base while they try to do the same with yours.”
“Okay,” said Pat, nodding his understanding.
Pran spun his chair around to face his screen and pulled up an image of a map. It looked like a square, with two opposing sharp corners connected by two paths at the edges, and one in the middle. A blue stripe that looked like a river divided the square diagonally. The rest of the map was filled with green objects that reminded Pat of hedge mazes.
“Look,” Pran said, pointing at the sharp corners. “These are the bases. These,” he pointed at the connecting paths, “are called lanes. And this area,” he pointed at the green part of the map, “is called the jungle.”
Turning around and kneeling down beside Pran’s chair to get a better view of the screen, Pat listened to Pran’s explanation, his eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and Pran’s animated face, and smiled. Watching the way Pran’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he got into the details of game play, released something inside Pat’s chest that felt remarkably like contentment.
“The five players on the team each have a specific role and position,” continued Pran as Pat grabbed the bag of crisps and absently ripped it open. He dipped his hand inside and pulled out a handful which he held up to Pran’s mouth.
Pran jerked his head back a little. “Oh, no thanks. I don’t eat at my desk,” he said, and the apples of his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “I don’t want to get crumbs on my keyboard.”
Pat shrugged and shoved the handful into his own mouth, sucking the salt off his fingertips and chewing noisily.
He motioned towards the monitor, encouraging Pran to continue and ate another handful.
Pran watched his mouth for a moment, lower lip caught between his teeth, then turned back to look at the screen.
“There’s one player in the top lane, called Top,” he continued. “One in the middle lane, called Mid, one in the jungle area, called Jungler and two in the bottom lane, ca—”
“Let me guess, Bot’s?” interrupted Pat with a snigger. “Or would they be Bottoms?”
With all the arrogance that only a fourteen year old can have, Pran chided him, “No you infantile jerk, they are called Attack Damage Carry, commonly known as ADC, and Support.”
“Why are there two players in the bottom lane? Is it harder?” asked Pat
“No, the lanes are the same, but the roles are different. ADC can do more damage, but they’re more fragile, like a glass cannon, that’s why the support is there to help them.”
“So the support is like a healer?”
Pran scratched his head. “Well, yes and no. They have other functions as well. Something to do with visions and crowd control, but I haven’t figured it all out yet,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, “I’m still learning.”
Pat grinned, feeling a little victorious that he’d made Pran admit there was something he didn’t fully understand about the game.
“So how do you play?” he asked, moving onto his next question.
Pran pressed some keys and brought the game that was still running in the background, back on the screen.
Pat stared at the various images and icons on the screen then spotted the name of the character in the middle. “Taku?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and looking at Pran. “Is that you?”
Pran’s eyelids flickered before he answered. “Yeah, that’s my Riot ID. It shows the same name, no matter which character I play. I’m currently playing Viego, he’s my favourite.”
Pat burst into laughter. “Why do you have a Japanese name? Sounds like an anime character.”
Pran let out a condescending huff, but didn’t respond. Instead, he continued his explanation. But before long, Pat had become dizzy with all the information Pran was bombarding him with, and he held up his hands, gesturing for a time out.
“Okay, okay,” he blurted out, stopping Pran in the middle of explaining spell rotations. “How do I get an ID?”
“Um, the game is free to play, so you can download and install it, but I can make an account and ID for you here if you want?” replied Pran, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t show Pat any more of his knowledge.
Quickly navigating to the game’s official website Pran hit the sign in button and then clicked on ‘new account’. When the page loaded, he typed Pat’s e-mail address and date of birth into the correct fields without asking, and then looked expectantly at him, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“What name do you want as your ID?” Pran asked.
“Uh, I don’t know,” replied Pat. “How about Smasher?”
Pran started to laugh.
“What’s wrong with that?” Pat felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.
“I always knew you had the mentality of a five year old.”
“Okay, I’ll choose something else,” Pat replied a little sulkily, then when he couldn’t think of anything asked, “What would you suggest?”
Pran shrugged. “Maybe something with a bit of meaning to it?”
“Why, what does your ID mean?”
“Taku is the name of a glacier,” Pran said. “Unstoppable. Slowly but relentlessly flowing across the landscape, destroying everything in its path.”
Why did Pran have to be so cool? It was typical of him to come up with something so creative for an ID, Pat thought to himself. Now he needed to think of something equally cool.
“Okay, how about Inferno?” he suddenly said, excitedly, as an idea took shape in his head.
ID name taken.
“Pat, it needs to be something unique, so maybe choose something a bit less common.”
“Hm. Wildfire?”
ID name taken.
“Blaze?”
“What’s with the fire related names?” Pran asked after Pat had suggested another few names and found they’d all been taken.
“Well fire and ice are considered opposites, just like you and me,” Pat said, momentarily confused. Couldn’t Pran see how well the elements represented them both. “We match.”
“Oh,” Pran replied, rather faintly. “Uh, I see.”
“So if you’re ice, all cool and collected then I’m fire, devastatingly hot and unpredictable which is perfect for me, because I really am hot. Don’t you think?”
“I think you’re a pain in the ass,” Pran snickered. “That’s what I think. Hey, I know—“
Pat watched as Pran’s fingers flew over the keyboard typing something in and then with an exaggerated flourish, he hit return.
ID name accepted.
“There you go,” Pran said proudly. “You’re now the owner of an official Riot User ID.”
Pat read the name Pran had chosen for him. “Anam Cara? What does that mean?”
“It’s Gaelic and it means pain in the ass.” Pran started laughing. “More specifically, you’re a pain in my ass.”
“Praaaan, you’re so mean.” Pat pouted and Pran laughed even harder.
“Look, it’s just to get you started. When you’ve thought about it and decided what you want your ID name to be, you can create another account. They won’t be linked and any league points you earn are ID specific, but you can use it to learn the basics of the game while you decide.”
“Oh,” Pat replied, feeling a little foolish. “Well in that case, if you can have multiple ID’s, I have the perfect name for you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Dimples.”
Pran rolled his eyes. “Dimples?” he queried, pursing his lips, and to Pat’s delight, the dimples in his cheeks deepened.
“Yeah, because your dimples are cute, especially when you do that.” Pat poked a fingertip into the nearest one.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Pran said, jerking his head so his flaming red cheeks were out of reach and slapping Pat’s hand away. He typed something else out on his keyboard. “So I’ve set your password to DONTFORGETTOCHANGEMEYOUIDIOT, all uppercase. Now get lost, my parents will be home any minute.”
Buzzing with anticipation, Pat jumped to his feet and stretched out the stiffness in his joints. He couldn’t wait to get back to his room and play his first game.
“I’m going,” he said. But before he left, he ruffled Pran’s hair, just to annoy him, and to his delight, when he climbed out the window, he could still hear Pran’s exasperated mumbles behind him.
-
When Pat’s screensaver activates displaying the Undercats team logo, he blinks rapidly as the movement catches his eye and realises he’s been so caught up in his thoughts, he hasn’t even opened the e-mail notification.
Clicking on it he sees he’s been sent an invitation to a duel from an ID he’s not familiar with and he stares at it for a long while, contemplating how to respond.
It’s well known in Pat’s small part of the LoL gaming community that Anam Cara is one of his ID’s, so it’s not unusual for him to get random challenges to duels—some fans use them as an opportunity to talk to him, or pit their prowess against a pro-player—but he doesn’t often accept. GPS’ rules about interacting with fans are strict and the consequences for disobeying, severe.
But considering the day he’s had, and perhaps craving the nostalgia that his Anam Cara ID brings, he decides to make an exception. Maybe the distraction will do him some good.
Pat’s challenger is called Jiuwo and while he knows he shouldn’t make assumptions about someone based on their ID sometimes he can’t help it, and he lets out a soft exhale through his nose as the name conjures the image of a petite fan-girl, cute like their ID.
The other player comes on line almost immediately after Pat accepts the challenge, and when he sees them select the cute kitty Yuumi as their champion his lips curl into a lopsided smile. Yuumi is mostly played as support, hardly useful in duels, but in Pat’s experience girly girls are known for choosing cute over suitable champions.
This should be easy.
Not wanting to intimidate the other player, Pat chooses Seraphine—with her flowing pink hair and sparkly mini skirt giving her the look of a K-Pop Idol, she’s the perfect opponent for Yuumi.
He opens the chat box but before he can even type a quick ‘Hi’, a message from the other player appears.
Jiuwo: Duel, top lane only, first to get 3 kills?
Pat frowns. This isn’t what usually happens when he’s invited to a game. No, usually he’s flooded with questions about himself, the upcoming games he has scheduled and when he’ll next live stream so they can see him. Although his fanbase is small, they’re passionate, and if the comments posted online are anything to go by, he’s making a name for himself for his looks as well as his talent.
Anam Cara: Sure. Limitations on heals or consumables?
The response comes almost immediately.
Jiuwo: None. Bring it on.
Surprised by the blunt message, Pat raises his eyebrows, then grins. The directness from the other is actually refreshing, and a thrill of anticipation runs through him.
Anam Cara: Show me what you’ve got.
Pat exits his base and heads out to meet his opponent. Soon spotting her across the river, he launches a quick attack, but Jiuwo dodges some of his blows, launching her own counterattack. Then… Jiuwo has slain Anam Cara! appears in the middle of the screen. Pat blinks rapidly.
Jiuwo: 55555
Jiuwo: That was too easy.
Pat huffs and drums his fingers on his mouse keys as he waits for his champion to re-spawn. Maybe this kitty has a set of claws.
Anam Cara: When I catch you, I’m gonna use your pretty fur as a rug in my base.
Jiuwo: 5555. Don’t make promises you can’t keep ;)
Jiuwo: Where are you? I’m waiting…
At the taunt, Pat charges out of his base and reaches the centre in no time, but he can’t see Jiuwo. He’s only spent a few seconds farming when he gets ambushed.
Jiuwo has slain Anam Cara!
“Dammit.” Pat shoves his mouse away from him in frustration. He stares at the screen in disbelief, the chat is flooded with 5’s as Jiuwo laughs at him.
Jiuwo: I thought you were better than that.
Just who the fuck is this player?
Anam Cara: You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention…
Jiuwo: Tarantino fan?
Pat lets out a pleased chuckle that the other player understands the reference.
Anam Cara: You could say that.
Preparing for the next encounter he cracks his fingers and rolls his head from side to side, loosening up his shoulders. The score is 2:0 and for the sake of his dignity, he can’t let some fan-girl get the better of him. Clearly he’s underestimated her skill level.
Pat spends a few minutes roaming around, killing monsters but doesn’t see any sign of Jiuwo. Where the hell is she?
Anam Cara: Here kitty kitty kitty
He taunts when impatience eventually gets the better of him.
Jiuwo: Looking for me?
This time, Pat is expecting the attack so he’s prepared and, taking advantage of his champion’s long range, he successfully pins Jiuwo down.
Anam Cara has successfully slain Jiuwo!
Pat lets out a victory whoop. “Yes,” he shouts, pumping the air.
Anam Cara: Jerry says hi!
Jiuwo: Wanna see my claws?
Anam Cara: Sure, I’ve time to give you a pedicure
Jiuwo: 55555555
Pat gives himself a mental shake and fully focuses on the duel. Now he has a feel for how the other player plays, he won’t let himself be ambushed so easily and he manages to land another kill, bringing the tally to two all.
The next kill is the decider.
After a few rounds of back and forth where his opponent gets away with barely any health left, Pat finishes Jiuwo off in an attack that is way more luck than skill.
Anam Cara has slain Jiuwo!
Anam Cara: Take that you little kitty cat
Pat expects the other player to immediately log off but when they don’t, he finds himself not wanting the encounter to be over just yet and sends another message.
Anam Cara: Did you enjoy your pedicure?
Jiuwo: Miaow 55555
Pat beams as Jiuwo seems to take her defeat in good spirits.
Anam Cara: This was fun. Thx, I mean it.
Jiuwo: Welcome, but next time, bring a bigger nail file.
At that, Pat let out a snicker. Wait a minute did that mean—
Jiuwo: L8r
Anam Cara: Wait
Jiuwo has logged off.
High on adrenaline, Pat sits back in his chair, and spins it around. The window opposite is in darkness and he can’t help but feel smug, Pran must have already gone to bed.
After a moment’s hesitation, he sends Jiuwo a friend request. Maybe the day hasn’t turned out so bad after all.
