Chapter 1: The Day Everyone Forgot How to Play

When I woke up, every shooter player in the world had lost their skill—by a factor of a hundred.

It was like some kind of digital apocalypse. I remember blinking at the ceiling, sunlight leaking through the cheap dorm blinds, not quite believing what I'd read on the forums that morning. The whole internet was buzzing with confusion and panic, but I was still half-asleep, thinking maybe it was a meme—until I logged in.

Even the basics—like holding steady or moving and shooting—were suddenly impossible for everyone.

It wasn’t just the noobs. Even the guys who used to out-aim me on a bad day looked like they’d never played with a mouse and keyboard before. There were Reddit clips of Diamond-tier players running into corners or shooting the floor, and the comment sections were brutal.

But I was the only one unaffected, still holding onto my trusty C+ rank.

It was surreal. My hands felt the same. My crosshair snapped to heads just like always. I messaged my group chat: "You guys seeing this? My aim feels totally normal." They all thought I was trolling.

When I queued up for ranked squads with my roommates, I single-handedly wiped out the entire enemy team.

The round started. My palms were already a little sweaty, Mountain Dew can sweating next to my mousepad. But my teammates? They couldn’t even hold a corner right. I ended up going 1v5 and winning, my heart pounding as I listened to their stunned silence on voice chat.

Next thing I knew, I was accused of cheating and roasted all over the internet. My stomach dropped. Was this really happening? I wanted to laugh it off, but the knot in my chest only tightened.

Screenshots of my killstreaks were popping up on Discord, Twitter, even some streamer’s reaction video. DMs flooded in: “Nice hacks bro.” I was trending for all the wrong reasons. I scrolled through the comments, thumb frozen. Was I really that much better—or had I crossed some invisible line?

Later, I signed up to become a pro player.

Figured if the world was gonna accuse me anyway, might as well go all-in. I dusted off my old resume, sent it to every org with a half-decent logo, and spammed my highlights everywhere.

I led my team to win the Major championship in Chicago, shocking the world.

Chicago’s United Center was packed. I walked out under blinding lights, the roar of the crowd vibrating in my chest. My teammates high-fived me, some of them still half-convinced it was all luck. I clutched the trophy, camera flashes strobing. The haters online? Silent for once, or maybe just in awe.