Chapter 2: Diamond IV Blues

The season was about to end, and my best friend and I still hadn't even touched Master rank—we were stuck at Diamond IV.

We’d spent so many late nights on Discord, snacks scattered across my bedroom floor, empty Red Bull cans stacked like trophies, the faint smell of pizza rolls lingering in the air, the glow of monitors making us look like raccoons. Diamond IV was our glass ceiling, and with the season timer ticking down, desperation was setting in like finals week stress.

So, we decided to just pick random top players from the North American leaderboard to be our emotionless duo-queue point boosters.

It was pure American pragmatism—like hiring a math tutor or paying for SAT prep. If you can’t do it yourself, outsource to the best, right?

She picked a top-ranked Jack, and saw me hesitating for half an hour. She clicked her tongue, then chose a top-ranked Will for me.

"Better to find two from the same team—share the luck and the drama together."

She winked at me, her voice dripping with that typical best friend mischief. “It’s like buying a two-for-one at the grocery store—why not save yourself the trouble?”

We quickly updated our profiles.

DanaDoesntGetIt: [Super shy, doesn't voice chat, mute, looking for Jack main?]

Attached: photo of her left leg.

SamCantEven: [Circle's clean, only plays with besties except for duo, looking for Will main?]

Attached: photo of my right leg.

We took those photos in my bathroom, giggling uncontrollably, the shower curtain accidentally making a cameo in the background. It was silly, but that’s what made it feel like ours.

After editing, we both felt a little shy.

There was a moment of pause, hearts beating a little faster—like sending a crush a Snapchat and waiting for a reply.

"You send for me, I'll send for you."

"Deal."

Not even two minutes after sending, both of us got a reply at the same time—[OK.]

The speed of it made us jump, like we’d just won a flash sale online. We grinned at each other, excited and a little nervous about what we’d just gotten ourselves into.

At first, it was great. Sometimes I played Will, dashing around the map getting kills; sometimes my best friend played Will, riding Jack like a roller coaster.

Every night felt like a summer camp adventure—swapping roles, hyping each other up, making inside jokes about every win and loss. We’d high-five over headsets, sharing memes and silly voice lines in chat.

We breezed our way to Master rank.

It felt like hitting that last free throw at a high school game—the crowd (okay, just us) cheering as we finally broke through.

But in the last few days of the season, our two top players suddenly started getting serious.

No more goofing off or random picks. Their voices sharpened, calls got shorter. The energy shifted, and we felt it, like when you realize your group project partner actually cares about the grade more than you do.

We still won, but the games just weren't as fun as before.

The wins started to feel like chores, not celebrations. Instead of laughing between matches, we were just quietly queuing up again, chewing on stale pizza rolls and scrolling TikTok in between.

After one match, my best friend Rachel called me, furious. I could practically see her fuming through the phone.

The way she slammed her words, it sounded like she was pacing her living room, arms waving, phone in a death grip. I knew that tone—like when her dad once accidentally deleted her Animal Crossing island.

"I’m done. I want to break up with him, like, right now."

She hesitated, biting her lip and tapping her phone, torn between anger and a weird sadness. I waited, knowing she was about to spill everything.

I timidly asked, "What happened?"

I braced myself, knowing that when Rachel vented, it was like opening a shaken can of Coke.

She vented, "Seriously, what kind of teammate charges in as Will, dives into a crowd, then ditches me and runs, leaving me to get beat up inside?"

Her rant picked up speed, words tumbling over each other. It was classic Rachel—her loyalty fierce, her sense of fairness sharper than a debate club captain at regionals.

"Twenty times! He left me there twenty times this week. There were so many flashes and ultimates flying, I didn't even know who was hitting me."

Her dramatic flair made me snort, but I held it in, not wanting to set her off further.

"I want to break up. Will, are you breaking up or not?"

I could hear the challenge in her voice. Rachel wasn’t just asking—she was daring me.

My mouth was faster than my brain: "Yeah, sure. No big deal. I’m cool with whatever." But my stomach twisted, and I wondered if I was just pretending not to care.

There it was—no hesitation, no pleading. Sometimes in America, we pride ourselves on not begging for someone to stay. Independence first, pride a close second.

But as soon as I said it, I started to hesitate.

The words echoed in my head, heavy as leftover regret after a night out. Did I really mean it?

Actually, Will was pretty good to me…

I couldn’t help remembering the time he carried me in a hopeless match, or how he always made space for my favorite picks. Little things matter.

Except he had a tendency to trip over his words.

It was endearing—like the guy in English class who couldn’t quite get his essay started but always made you laugh.

The first time we played ranked together, he boldly declared in public chat:

[I'm the other team's master.]

[No... the foot-point master of the other team...]

[*** teach the other team a lesson]

I could practically hear him stumbling over himself, cheeks probably red as a cherry Slurpee.

Other than that, he had no bad habits.

No weird flexing, no random rage-quits. He was just… nice. That rare combination in gaming, like finding a friendly cashier at the DMV.

He especially loved buying me coupons, which was awesome. I was about to collect all the limited edition skins!

My locker was growing like a sneakerhead’s collection. It felt weirdly intimate, this parade of gifts, each one a little digital badge of his affection.

He basically turned a competitive game into a loot box bonanza for me.

It was like he’d hacked the system just to make me smile—a little American dream in pixel form.

But…

Who is Rachel? She's my best friend—my ride-or-die, the one who has 3GB of my ugliest photos.

She’s the kind of friend who’d bail me out at 2 AM, who knows my favorite ice cream flavor and all the embarrassing stories I hope my mom never hears.

No matter how great a top player is, my best friend comes first.

Loyalty is everything. Girl code is an unbreakable law—even the Supreme Court can’t override it.

Break up. It had to be done.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself: friends before gamers, always.