The early morning air was thick with humidity as Mark walked down the quiet suburban street.
It was Saturday.
He stopped in front of a narrow, two-story house and pressed his thumb against the plastic doorbell.
Ding-dong.
Mark stood on the concrete porch, shifting his weight.
Two minutes passed. He was about to press the button again when the heavy wooden door finally swung open.
A boy stood in the doorway, adjusting a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses. His hair was completely messy, sticking up in strange angles like he had just rolled out of bed.
"Come in," the boy with glasses mumbled, his voice raspy.
Mark stepped inside and followed him up a short flight of carpeted stairs. They went directly to his bedroom.
Mark stopped in the doorway and stared at the sheer volume of clutter. The room was a complete disaster area.
Clothes were piled in the corners. Empty soda cans covered the nightstand. Large, glossy posters of fantasy landscapes and heavily armored characters covered almost every inch of the drywall.
Mark's eyes immediately locked onto the desk. It wasn't a standard study table. It was a wide, reinforced metal frame supporting a customized PC tower.
Three large, high-definition monitors were arranged in a seamless curve. Cables snaked everywhere, glowing with faint LED lights.
"Did you already eat breakfast?" Carlo asked, suppressing a yawn.
"I already ate," Mark replied while stepping carefully over a stray sweatshirt.
"Do you want coffee or hot chocolate?"
"No, I'm fine, Carlo," Mark said while keeping his focus on the objective. "So, about what I told you. Will you help me convince Sheila?"
Carlo did not answer immediately. He walked over to his unmade bed, grabbed a pocket-sized gaming console resting on the pillow, and tossed it through the air.
Mark caught the plastic device instinctively.
Carlo picked up a second, identical console from his cluttered desk. "We talk about that later. We play now."
Mark looked down at the bright screen in his hands, then back at the boy with glasses. "A console? I've never played something like this before."
"You'll be fine," Carlo said, sitting down heavily on his mattress. "Let's play."
Mark stared at the small buttons. A quiet wave of frustration hit him.
This is a complete waste of time.
He needed leverage on Sheila to secure the dance group, and instead, he was standing in a messy bedroom holding a toy.
He let out a slow breath.
I should probably just play along. If humoring Carlo is the price for his cooperation, it is a cheap transaction.
He gripped the edges of the console.
Carlo briefly explained the mechanics of a specific fighting game. He kept the instructions short. "It will be PVP. Player versus player. You versus me."
Mark absorbed the explanation. Not asking questions for clarifications. He just silently analyzed the rules, the button mapping, and the objective.
They played the first round. The digital characters clashed on the small screens. Mark's avatar was destroyed in less than thirty seconds.
"I lost," Mark stated, lowering the device. "Now, for the main topic—"
"Let's play again," Carlo interrupted, entirely ignoring Mark's attempt to shift the conversation.
Mark froze.
He stared at the boy.
Why does he still want to play? The skill gap was completely obvious. Beating a total beginner offered zero challenge.
He looked back down at the screen.
Oh well, he thought, resigning himself to the pointless exercise. I should just play along.
The rounds blurred together. The sound of rapid button mashing filled the messy room. Mark's character was continually backed into the corner and systematically dismantled.
The eighth round ended with another flashy defeat screen.
"I lost eight times in a row," Mark said while rubbing his thumb over the plastic casing. "Let's stop."
"One more time," Carlo demanded, his eyes fixed intensely on his own screen.
"Again?" Mark frowned.
"Just one last time," Carlo insisted.
Mark had no choice. He needed the favor so he tightened his grip on the console and they started the ninth round.
The result was exactly the same. Mark lost again.
"Alright," Carlo sighed, finally setting his console down on the bedsheet. He looked satisfied. "Let's talk about Sheila now. The reason why you came here."
Mark did not respond.
He sat perfectly still on the edge of the desk chair. The room was silent except for the low hum of the PC tower.
He stared at the small screen in his hands. His fingers were trembling slightly, vibrating with an unfamiliar, intense adrenaline.
"What's the matter, Mark?" Carlo asked, tilting his head.
Mark slowly raised his head and looked directly at Carlo. "I want a rematch."
Carlo's eyes widened behind his thick glasses. A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. He stared at Mark's intense, unblinking eyes. He didn't see the polite, accommodating classmate anymore.
"Alright," Carlo agreed and picked his console back up.
The tenth round started.
Mark's thumbs flew across the plastic buttons. No hesitation. He had spent the last nine rounds silently mapping Carlo's attack patterns, identifying the exact frame delays between his specific moves.
The digital clash was entirely different this time. Carlo was violently pushed back against the edge of the virtual arena. He struggled, his fingers moving frantically to block the sudden, aggressive assault.
The round ended.
"Damn," Mark muttered, lowering the console. "I lost."
The room fell into absolute silence.
Mark looked over at the bed. "Why are you so silent all of a sudden, Carlo?"
Carlo stared at him, his mouth slightly open. He slowly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Is this really your first time playing it?"
"Yes," Mark answered simply.
Carlo didn't say another word. He jumped off the mattress and quickly opened his PC, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard.
Mark frowned, completely confused by the sudden flurry of activity. "What are you doing?"
"Sit here," Carlo instructed while pointing directly at his expensive, ergonomic gaming chair.
Mark stood up and sat down, facing the big curve of the three glowing monitors.
A few moments later, a complex game interface loaded across the screens. It was a chaotic, top-down view of a massive battlefield, filled with flashing lights and tiny, moving units. It looked entirely different from the simple fighting game on the pocket console.
"This is an online game," Carlo said, standing right behind the chair. "PVP. Try to play it."
"Wait, I don't know how to play this," Mark argued, looking at the overwhelming amount of information on the screens. "I need a tutorial."
"Just play," Carlo ordered, resting his hands on the back of the chair. "I will coach you while you play."
"What?"
Before Mark could argue, the match started. The screen flashed.
"Move!" Carlo yelled, his voice echoing in the small room. "You're going to be hit!"
Mark startled, his hand gripping the mouse instinctively. He jerked the cursor, clicking frantically to move his avatar away from a sudden explosion of red pixels.
For the next five minutes, the room was a chaotic mess of shouted instructions. Carlo barked precise orders, telling Mark exactly where to click, when to retreat, and when to attack.
Mark didn't have time to think or analyze the mechanics. He just reacted, following the rapid-fire commands under intense, immediate pressure.
Then...
The screen flashed a victory banner. The match ended.
Mark let out a long, heavy sigh and slumped back against the leather chair. His hand released the mouse.
But...
Carlo was completely stunned. He stared at the monitor, his breathing slightly shallow.
"This is your first time playing, right?" Carlo asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," Mark repeated, rubbing his tired eyes. "I already told you, I never play something like this before."
Carlo leaned forward and pointed a shaking finger at the screen. "The player you just beat... he is a high-level player. He is about to go pro."
Mark's eyes widened. He sat up straight. "Really? I probably won because you coached me."
Carlo shook his head slowly. "Coaching won't help much if you are just a beginner, Mark."
He looked down at Mark, a strange, intense light in his eyes. "You followed my instructions precisely, in real-time, under incredibly heavy pressure. You didn't panic and you didn't hesitate."
Mark felt a sudden chill crawl down his spine. The way Carlo was looking at him was entirely unnatural.
What is he talking about?
"Mark," Carlo said suddenly while grabbing his jacket from the floor. "We have to go."
Mark frowned, totally lost. "Go where?"
"To Sheila," Carlo stated while pulling the jacket on. "We have practice this afternoon. A major tournament will be held in two weeks."
Mark stared at him. To Sheila?Well, that was the entire reason I came to this messy room in the first place. But this sudden rush felt wrong.
"Carlo," Mark said carefully, standing up from the chair. "If I talk to her directly about the dance contest, she might reject it."
"Well, normally, yes," Carlo agreed while moving toward the bedroom door. "But this time, she won't."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's go, Mark," Carlo insisted, his hand on the doorknob. "Or you won't be able to speak to Sheila ever again."
Mark had no choice because he needed the connection so he followed Carlo out of the house.
They walked for twenty minutes, leaving the suburban streets behind and entering a highly exclusive, gated neighborhood.
They stopped in front of a huge, modern house. It looked more like a fortress than a home, featuring high walls and expensive landscaping.
Mark stood on the paved driveway, completely stunned. He stared at the heavy iron gate. He never knew Sheila was this rich. She always dressed casually at the university, blending right into the background of the gaming club.
Carlo pressed the intercom button near the gate.
A few moments later, the heavy front door of the house opened. Sheila stepped out onto the porch. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants.
She looked at Carlo, then her eyes shifted to Mark. Her right eyebrow twitched in obvious irritation.
"Who is this?" Sheila asked, her voice sharp and unwelcoming.
Carlo grinned, a massive, satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"Sheila," Carlo announced loudly, pointing directly at Mark. "I found our sixth member for the upcoming tournament. Problem solved."
Mark froze completely.