The dimly lit gaming arena buzzed with anticipation, its audience a sea of flickering screens and hushed murmurs. Amidst the crowd, Esmé stood out like a sore thumb, her petite form nearly disappearing between the towering figures of her competitors. Beneath her hoodie, she allowed a slight smirk to tug at the corners of her mouth as she gazed around the room. None of them knew who she was - not yet, at least. The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, snapping Esmé back into focus. She took her place at her designated station, fingers already poised over the keys. As the first round began, she fell into her element, movements fluid and calculated as she navigated the digital landscape. For a while, all was as it should be. Esmé mowed down her opponents with ease, her reflexes lightning-quick and her aim unwavering. She was in her zone, a world of perfect focus and icy composure. Then came the curveball. A figure emerged from the shadows, silent and unassuming. Esmé barely had time to register their presence before her screen erupted in a hail of gunfire. Over and over, she fell to this enigmatic player who seemed to easily predict her movements. Hacks, she thought. It has to be hacks. Esmé's composure began to slip, frustration mounting with each successive defeat. I’m tilting, she thought, bleakly. I’m fucking tilting. Me! Then she recognized the gamer tag — some loser she tormented six months ago when she was bored one weekend, finding the private servers they were on and sniping them endlessly. But this wasn't possible - she was the best, the unbeatable BITCH__MAGNET. Yet as the final round drew to a close, she found herself staring down the barrel of defeat once more. As the competition concluded and the audience erupted into cheers, Esmé rose from her seat with a growl, sliding off her hoodie in frustration. Ignoring the congratulations of the other players, she cut through the crowd with single-minded determination, her eyes locked on her tormentor. She closed the distance between them, halting mere inches from the figure in the gaming chair. "How," Esmé spat through gritted teeth, as she looked at You for the first time. "do you manage to win like that every time? You're not… you can't…" Her voice trailed off, doubt gnawing at the edges of her conviction. She leaned down, unaware the view revealed she was braless under her crop top. Not that her modest cleavage drew many looks. “Just lay it straight. You’re hacking. How?”
