With a long sigh, Kaitlyn plopped into one of the audience seats. At this point, they had filled up pretty significantly—a detail she'd been happily oblivious to during the match.
It makes sense. We're finally in grand finals, after all. But that does explain why they sounded a little louder when I was playing Ian…
She watched as Lelas stalked across the stage toward his opponent. Ian faced him down from his seat, staring the guy in the face with determination. Lelas kept his attention studiously elsewhere. It could've been from a reluctance to make eye contact or sheer awkwardness. But Kaitlyn wasn't quite feeling generous enough to assume that.
As they sat down and prepared for the final match, she felt the adrenaline and post-game jitters begin to slowly subside. The fact that she was really eliminated sunk in slowly.
I mean, I've never been this far before. Not even close. So it should be easy to believe, right?
The rationalizations didn't really help. It was only once she'd checked the bracket that it really hit her.
…It's fine. Shaking herself, she turned her attention to the screen. It's what I wanted to begin with. Plus, third place really isn't that bad. Not at all. For an Ian ending, this is really about as well as things can go.
Besides… I'll have other chances to win the whole thing. A devious smile crept across her features. Other chances to pay Lelas back, too. One day.
The game began as CinnaBun and Corgo appeared on the large, platform-studded stage. To any random passerby, it might have looked just like the last match, save for the color of the Corgo. But to her, the games were like night and day.
Kaitlyn watched, awestruck as the pair fought. It wasn't just the speed and smoothness of the gameplay that made her jaw drop. It was the actual moves themselves. Incredible tech that was notoriously hard to pull off. Precise combos that took advantage of niche matchup knowledge. Ludicrously specific setups that she only knew because of literal years of practice against Ian. On both sides, each move was carefully calculated and picked for maximum effect.
The two guys weren't just good. They hardly looked like they were playing Bash Bros. The moves looked almost choreographed, like they were playing chess rather than a fighting game.
Dang, Ian. Were you actually holding back on me more than I thought?!
The longer she watched, though, the more she realized it wasn't the case. Ian hadn't always been this good. He'd gotten better over the course of this loop, sure, but this level of gameplay was a couple steps up from what he'd even been doing moments before. Once again, he was rising to the challenge of a difficult opponent. And he was doing it with flying colors.
Hot off the heels of his last victory, Ian took the first game against Lelas. Kaitlyn punched the air in triumph as cheers roared up from the crowd. Yes! He's got it this time. He's really got this!
She saw Lelas's scowl deepen slightly. The hunched figure leaned forward in his chair. The slight movement had a clear indication—he was finally taking this match seriously.
The shift reflected in the guy's gameplay. The green Corgo came back with a vengeance, starting off the next game with a bang. He rushed forward to attack CinnaBun, sliding deftly backwards as she lashed out to meet the advance with a kick. He blocked the carrot shurikens that followed, leaping forward to meet the rabbit in midair as she followed them up with an aerial attack. Corgo knocked the rabbit to the ground, but she landed on her feet.
Not to be outdone, CinnaBun fired back. She shielded against Corgo's attempt to start a combo, deftly leaping upward with an incredibly quick punch to catch him off guard. The meaty blow sent the dog reeling backward, giving Ian a slight chance to breathe before he dove in once again.
The match went on and on, Kaitlyn watching with bated breath. She felt her toes curl with nervousness each time her teammate was pushed into a precarious situation. Most of the time, he was able to miraculously recover. Sometimes, he was not.
They traded games back and forth, each even closer than the last. Soon it was 2-2, leaving one game left in the match.
Ian has to clutch this out. He has to. And then… the bracket will reset, and he has ANOTHER match against Lelas. Three more games.
Kaitlyn gulped. She certainly didn't envy his position. Coming up from losers' bracket was not only intimidating, but tiring. With how close each of these games were, she couldn't imagine that either guy was doing any less than their best. And there were only so many games one could go at full tilt before they burned out.
CinnaBun knocked her opponent offstage one more time, the damaged dog hurtling to the side. He didn't fly far enough to contest the ledge comfortably. Even if he had, the rabbit was pretty damaged at this point. She couldn't afford to take too many huge risks. So rather than chase him offstage, CinnaBun moved backwards in a move that allowed her to cover any of the dog's myriad recovery options.
It was a good move. A solid one that didn't lock Ian into any one single option. From his vantage, he'd be able to handle most of what Lelas could come up with, to various degrees of benefit. From experience, she even knew that his spacing was pretty impeccable.
Lelas darted for the ledge, grabbing onto it to roll up. But Kaitlyn wasn't looking at his character. She was looking at CinnaBun and her pulled-back, glowing fist. The one she'd been preparing since the dog went for the ledge.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
There's no way—
Kaitlyn's breath caught. This was too risky. It was too obvious. Even if it was strong, the move had such a slow wind-up that it was nearly impossible to use well. Lelas wouldn't be hit by it. There was no way.
Maybe it was a mistake on Lelas's part. Maybe it was him simply not registering the move mentally. Maybe he'd miscalculated the distance and thought it would miss. Whatever it was, it didn't particularly matter.
As if on autopilot, the dog rolled onto the stage and shielded. CinnaBun's shield-breaker punch crashed through the dog's defenses as though they were paper.
The crowd exploded as the victory screen splashed across the projector. Ian rose out of his seat, fiery determination flashing in his eyes. Kaitlyn shot to her feet as well, shouting in triumph.
YES!!!
As Kaitlyn grinned, she saw a look of annoyance cross Lelas's features. It was a balm to her soul. The guy was going to get what he deserved. He'd have to win three more games if he wanted to earn first place. But now, Ian had all the momentum on his side.
"You got this, Ian! One more match!"
She didn't know if the guy heard her. He was too focused. But she did see him crack his neck as he got ready for the final match.
With each game, Ian became more and more confident. Rather than getting exhausted, the competition seemed to fuel him, pushing his gameplay further and further. On the other hand, Lelas just got more and more frustrated and unable to handle the assault he was faced with. The crowd began to chant for Ian as he took two games off of his opponent, dropping only a single one in return.
It became a rout. CinnaBun ruthlessly tore apart Corgo, outclassing him and dismantling every approach he attempted. Lelas's tech skill, once so flawless and unreachable, seemed to crumble before her eyes as the guy became more and more flustered. He became more and more human as Ian locked onto his habits and playstyle, then dissected them in short order. By the time he took the final stock, the entire crowd was on their feet.
"Congratulations to Indy, our Bash Bros singles champion!!"
John's amplified voice was nearly drowned out by the din of celebration and shouting. Kaitlyn found herself similarly swept up in the excitement, an unquenchable grin spreading across her face. He had done it. Not just that, either—he'd done it in incredible fashion.
Dang, Ian. You really are good at this game.
Ian turned toward the crowd, raising a fist in victory. The spectators roared in approval, congratulating the underdog on his triumph. His eyes met Kaitlyn's, their clear blue irises sparkling with joy and satisfaction.
She shot him a smile back. Yeah. This was worth it.
***
After the tournament, the next step was obvious—they had to celebrate.
Once Bara Bash was over, Ian, Kaitlyn, John, and a crowd of other players they knew from the biweekly tournaments assembled to do just that. They hopped into the older students' cars and headed out to a nearby taco place to commemorate Ian's incredible showing.
The company was great. Seeing all of these people outside of their natural setting did feel a little strange, but in a good way. The tacos were terrible, though.
She grimaced, mouth working to choke down the dry chicken and mealy tomatoes. Honestly. Off-campus food is supposed to be better than this. I only get to go out so often! And this is a favorite of John's?! Maybe I need to stage an intervention…
After the initial rush of victory, Ian came back down to earth and mostly returned to himself. However, she noted that his smiles seemed a little more frequent and bright than usual.
She'd half expected a major encounter to happen as soon as they got back. But as she and Ian parted in the elevator, there was nothing. Their comfortable banter gave way to one last congratulations as each left to go to their dorms.
There was no encounter the next day, either. Or the next.
By the time finals rolled around, Kaitlyn was starting to worry.
As they ended, she began to panic.
***
It's gotta be today. It's gotta.
Kaitlyn paced nervously in her room, gripping her elbows to keep from fidgeting. Sunlight streamed through her partially-opened blinds, illuminating the uncluttered surface of her desk with bands of white. But she didn't so much as look outside.
I mean, it's the last day of the loop. SOMETHING has to happen.
She'd made extra efforts to hang around the guy—an easy enough feat between their finals studying and copious amounts of Bash Bros. But still, there was nothing. Not so much as a hint of a confession. Even with the slightly probing questions and attempts to divert conversations that way, Kaitlyn had no luck. However good the guy was at reading her Corgo's rolls, he was awful at reading between the lines.
We're closer than ever, though. Things are going so well. He got A's and B's on all his finals so far, and he won Bara Bash! Every time I see him, he seems so happy and content. Sure, he hasn't shown me his game yet, but…
The thought made her frown. It was true. As opposed to in the friendship ending, Ian's game had yet to make an appearance. But that was ok. Despite that, the guy seemed happier than ever, and why not? He had so much else going for him this time around. Plus, he'd kind of lost interest in it lately, from what she could see.
I don't see him working on it anywhere near as much in lecture, either.
In a way, it was a little sad. The game was a really cool project that she would love to see completed. But at the same time, it was clearly not doing Ian any favors when it came to the rest of his life. She knew as well as anyone the risks of throwing herself into one thing, and one thing only.
It's just not healthy. When I was focusing on just grades or lab, it wasn't the best thing for me, even if it did teach me a lot. No, he's gotta learn to balance it with everything else… even if that means taking a step back for a while.
Maybe one day, once he had some more practice at studying, Ian would be able to juggle both classes and his personal project. One day. But for now, this was better in the long run.
…It's nice to pretend that "one day" will actually come, sometimes.
Nervously, she chewed her lip as her thoughts turned back to the long-awaited Ian ending. Maybe it'll happen at the biweekly? Today's the last one of the loop. I mean, if Bash Bros is such a big thing this time around, then it would make sense, right? Right!
The room began to feel a bit too cramped and closed-in. Grabbing her jacket, Kaitlyn headed outside and made her way quickly to the venue. It was far too early for the event to start—Ian likely wasn't even awake yet. But she needed to get her mind off of things.