Ethan logged off from Rebirth Online with a calm heart. It wasn’t the crushing sense of loneliness he had anticipated when he decided to play solo; instead, he felt… lighter. Being alienated by other players and losing touch with ChronoKnight hadn’t created the void he once feared. If anything, it had liberated him from the constant expectations and drama.

He was alone, sure, but it wasn’t so bad. He could go wherever he wanted, grind quests at his own pace, and enjoy the game on his terms. The toxicity that once suffocated him was now a background buzz, easily ignored. For the first time in what felt like ages, Ethan played simply for the joy of it.

Later that evening, as he scrolled through gaming forums absentmindedly, a bright online flyer caught his eye:

“Esports Qualifiers Open! Think you’ve got what it takes? Join now and compete for glory!”

Ethan paused, his mind drifting to his old life. It wasn’t long ago that he was one of the top players in the professional scene, hailed as a genius prodigy. The idea of joining the qualifiers, of stepping back into the limelight, flickered through his thoughts. He imagined playing in tournaments again, hearing the cheers of fans, feeling the thrill of high-stakes matches.

But then he closed the tab and shook his head.

“Not worth it,” he muttered to himself, lying back on his bed. The stress, the drama, the invasive scrutiny—none of it was worth sacrificing the quiet peace he’d found in his ordinary gameplay.

The next day, Ethan trudged into school, barely keeping his eyes open. His late-night grinding sessions were catching up to him, and he felt like a zombie shuffling through the halls.

“Ethan!” his teacher called as he walked into homeroom.

He blinked blearily. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You need to join a club for extra credit,” she said, tapping a clipboard. “You’re falling behind, and this could help pull up your grades.”

Ethan groaned internally. The last thing he wanted was to commit to some after-school activity when all he really cared about was logging back into Rebirth Online.

“Can’t I just, I don’t know, skip it?” he mumbled.

“No, Ethan. You’re required to pick one,” the teacher said firmly. “Check the board after class.”

Ethan wandered to the club bulletin board during lunch, his brain too fried to put any effort into choosing. Most of the options seemed dull—debate club, art club, chess club. He briefly considered the cooking club but decided it was too much work. He was about to randomly point at one and call it a day when someone tapped his shoulder.

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with their class president, a diligent and ever-enthusiastic student who always seemed to have everything together.

“Hey, Ethan,” the class president said brightly. “Got a minute?”

“Uh… sure?” Ethan replied, confused.

The president handed him a flyer. “Our school’s gaming club needs more members, and we’re in a bit of a bind. If we don’t hit the required number, they might shut us down. Could you sign up? You don’t have to do much—just putting your name down would help.”

Ethan stared at the flyer, his exhausted brain barely processing the words. Gaming club? That’s a thing?

He blinked a few times, shrugged, and said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Great! Thanks so much!” The president beamed and hurried off.

Ethan didn’t think much of it until the next day, when he found himself standing awkwardly in front of the gaming clubroom. He had half-expected the president to forget about his promise, but instead, they had insisted he show up to the first meeting.

With a sigh, Ethan pushed the door open.

The clubroom was a modest space with a few computers, some gaming consoles, and a small group of students gathered around a table. They looked up as he entered, their expressions ranging from curious to indifferent.

“Hey, new guy,” one of them said. “You’re the one who signed up yesterday, right?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, scratching the back of his neck. “Ethan.”

“Welcome to the gaming club,” another member said. “We mostly just play casually, but we’re thinking about entering the esports qualifiers this year.”

Ethan froze. “Esports qualifiers?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” the club member added quickly. “We’re not expecting much. It’s just for fun.”

Ethan relaxed a little. “Right. Fun.”

The club seemed harmless enough, and the members were friendly, if a bit overly enthusiastic. Ethan decided he could handle a couple of hours a week hanging out here. It wasn’t like they’d recognize him as Phoenix or pressure him to compete seriously.

Over the next few weeks, Ethan’s life settled into an oddly comfortable routine. He’d go to school, spend some time in the gaming club, and then log into Rebirth Online at home. The club sessions were surprisingly enjoyable—low-stakes gaming with a group of laid-back players who didn’t care about rankings or stats.

For the first time in a long time, Ethan felt like a regular gamer.

But every now and then, the club members would bring up the esports qualifiers, brainstorming strategies or debating which games to focus on. Ethan mostly stayed quiet during these discussions, offering noncommittal responses when asked for his opinion.

“Ethan, you’re pretty good at this,” one of the members said one afternoon, after Ethan had casually dominated a multiplayer match. “You should totally be on the qualifiers team.”

“Pass,” Ethan said quickly.

“Aw, come on,” another member chimed in. “You’ve got natural talent. We need someone like you if we’re going to stand a chance.”

Ethan shook his head. “I’m just here for fun, remember? No pressure.”

The others didn’t push further, but Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that his skills were drawing more attention than he’d like.

______

Meanwhile, in Rebirth Online, Ethan’s newfound solo freedom was starting to yield unexpected results. Without the distraction of group dynamics or external drama, he’d been able to focus entirely on his character progression. His unconventional healer build was finally starting to pay off, and he found himself tackling higher-level content with surprising ease.

One evening, as he defeated a particularly challenging boss, he received a message from a random player.

[Whisper from UnknownPlayer]: Hey, are you Ash? The one who’s been soloing all the crazy stuff lately?

Ethan sighed and closed the chat window without responding. He didn’t need more attention—especially not now.

Back in the gaming club, the qualifiers were fast approaching, and the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement. Ethan watched from the sidelines as the other members practiced, their energy infectious but their strategies… questionable.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” the class president asked one day, catching Ethan as he packed up to leave.

“I’m good,” Ethan said with a small smile. “You guys have got this.”

As he walked home, Ethan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for his competitive days. But he reminded himself why he’d left that world behind.

I’m happier now, he thought firmly. This is enough.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

And for now, that was the truth.

______

Ethan’s life had fallen into a predictable rhythm, and he liked it that way. School was dull, but it was something to get through.

The gaming club was a nice distraction, though he mostly hung back and avoided getting too involved. After school, he’d log into Rebirth Online and lose himself in his solo grind, free of any obligations or drama.

It was a far cry from his hectic days as Phoenix, but it was exactly the low-key existence he wanted.

He was content with his routine.

One afternoon, as the gaming club wrapped up for the day, the class president called everyone’s attention.

“Hey, guys, just a heads-up—there won’t be any club activities tomorrow,” the president announced.

A murmur of confusion spread through the room.

“Why not?” someone asked.

“The room’s going to be used for a friendly match between our school and the neighboring one,” the president explained. “They’re trying to build some camaraderie between the clubs or something. Anyway, it’s just for one day.”

Ethan frowned but stayed silent. No club tomorrow? That’s annoying. The club had become part of his routine, a reliable buffer between the monotony of school and his gaming sessions. He didn’t care about some random match, and now he’d have to find something else to do.

“That’s so unfair,” a club member muttered nearby, echoing Ethan’s thoughts.

Ethan wanted to agree, but he wasn’t the type to speak up. Instead, he decided he simply wouldn’t show up the next day.

The following day, Ethan went through school as usual, but he felt restless. He had told himself he didn’t care about the match, but curiosity began to nag at him. What kind of “friendly match” was worth shutting down the club for a day? He tried to ignore the feeling, but by the time the final bell rang, he found himself heading toward the clubroom instead of home.

The door to the clubroom was open, and a small crowd of students had gathered to watch the match. Ethan hung back at the edge of the room, trying to blend in and avoid attention.

Inside, two teams were seated at the gaming setups, their screens mirrored on a large monitor for the audience to watch. The match had already started, and the announcers—two enthusiastic students—were narrating the action.

At first, Ethan was mildly interested. But as he watched the gameplay unfold, his expression shifted from neutral to disbelief.

What am I even looking at?

The match was an absolute mess. Players ran around aimlessly, missing key objectives and executing laughably bad strategies. Characters were dying left and right to basic enemies, and the teamwork was nonexistent.

Ethan suppressed a groan. He wasn’t expecting pro-level gameplay, but this was… painful.

“Hey, Ethan!”

Ethan turned to see one of his clubmates—a chatty, energetic guy whose name he couldn’t quite remember—waving him over.

“What do you think of the match so far?” the clubmate asked, grinning.

Ethan hesitated, his mind scrambling for a diplomatic response. He didn’t want to sound rude, but he also couldn’t bring himself to lie.

“It’s… uh…” he started, then trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

The clubmate’s grin faltered. “Wait, you’re not impressed?”

“It’s not that—” Ethan began, but the clubmate cut him off.

“Come on, man! They’re trying their best out there!” the clubmate said, crossing his arms. “You could at least show some enthusiasm.”

Ethan bit back a sigh. He didn’t want to argue, but he also didn’t want to fake excitement for a match that was objectively bad.

“Sorry,” he said finally, hoping to defuse the situation.

The clubmate huffed and turned back to watch the game, leaving Ethan feeling awkward and out of place.

______

The match dragged on, and Ethan couldn’t stop himself from mentally critiquing every move the players made.

Why aren’t they prioritizing objectives?

That build doesn’t even make sense for this mode.

Did that guy just ult into an empty lane?

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Eventually, Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. He quietly slipped out of the room and made his way home, feeling a mix of secondhand embarrassment and frustration.

That evening, as he logged into Rebirth Online, Ethan replayed the match in his mind. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t his problem, and he had no reason to care about the gaming club’s performance.

Still, a small part of him itched to do something about it. The skills he’d honed as Phoenix were still there, buried beneath his casual playstyle. He could help the club—teach them strategies, refine their teamwork, maybe even turn them into a competent team.

But then he shook his head.

No. That’s not my responsibility.

Ethan had left that life behind for a reason. Getting involved would only drag him back into the spotlight, back into the drama he’d worked so hard to escape.

With a deep breath, he pushed the thought aside and focused on his game. He was happy with his routine, and he wasn’t about to let one bad match change that.

Or so he told himself.

______

Ethan’s life at the gaming club had always been quiet. He kept to himself, joined in when absolutely necessary, and otherwise avoided drawing attention. But after his lukewarm reaction to the friendly match the other day, things had started to shift.

His clubmates, who had previously ignored him for the most part, now seemed to be going out of their way to alienate him further. At first, it was subtle—muted whispers and side glances when he entered the room. Ethan wasn’t surprised, nor did he particularly care. He was used to being an outsider, and he had long since learned to thrive in solitude.

But what started as passive-aggressive behavior soon evolved into something more deliberate.

One afternoon, Ethan was grinding through a dungeon in Rebirth Online during club hours. He was in the middle of a tricky boss fight when, without warning, his screen froze.

“What the…?” Ethan muttered, trying to move his character. Nothing happened.

A quick glance at his router confirmed the issue—someone had disconnected the Wi-Fi.

“Very funny,” Ethan said under his breath, though no one seemed to be paying attention.

When the internet came back on a few minutes later, Ethan logged back in only to find that his progress in the dungeon had been reset.

It wasn’t a big deal—he could redo the run—but it was frustrating. Still, he decided to let it go. Maybe it was an accident, he told himself.

But then it happened again.

And again.

One day, someone unplugged his computer mid-game. Another day, someone adjusted the room’s power settings so that his machine would shut off automatically after a certain period.

It wasn’t just about the interruptions. It was the smug looks, the stifled laughter, the barely concealed grins from his clubmates that accompanied each incident.

Ethan wasn’t stupid. He knew they were behind it.

At first, he tried to brush it off. He didn’t want to escalate the situation, and he figured ignoring them would make them stop. But if anything, his indifference only seemed to egg them on.

“Hey, Ethan, everything okay over there?” one of his clubmates asked innocently as Ethan rebooted his computer for the third time that week.

“Yeah, fine,” Ethan replied curtly, not looking up.

The group stifled their laughter, and Ethan gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction, but his patience was wearing thin.

______

It all came to a head one afternoon when Ethan was working on an in-game event. He had spent over an hour completing a series of objectives, carefully coordinating his moves to maximize his rewards.

Just as he was about to finish, the power to his station cut out.

Ethan stared at the blank screen for a moment, his fists clenching. He turned to see a couple of his clubmates struggling to suppress their laughter.

“Whoops! Must’ve been a power surge,” one of them said, not even trying to sound convincing.

Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Don’t react. Don’t give them what they want.

But when he turned his computer back on and logged into the game, he saw that all his progress had been wiped. Hours of effort, gone.

Something inside him snapped.

“You think this is funny?” Ethan said sharply, standing up. His voice cut through the room, silencing the laughter instantly.

The club members turned to him, startled by his outburst. Ethan rarely spoke, let alone raised his voice.

“Do you have any idea how annoying this is?” Ethan continued, his tone rising. “I don’t bother any of you. I keep to myself, and I don’t get in your way. So why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Some of them looked guilty, while others seemed more amused than anything.

“Relax, man,” one of them said with a smirk. “It’s just a joke.”

“A joke?” Ethan repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You think wasting my time is a joke? You think messing with someone who hasn’t done anything to you is funny?”

“It’s not that serious,” another club member said, but his tone was defensive now.

“Not that serious to you,” Ethan shot back. “Because it’s not happening to you.”

The room fell silent. Ethan’s outburst had taken everyone by surprise, including himself. He wasn’t usually the type to confront people, but his frustration had finally boiled over.

“I joined this club because I thought it’d be a quiet place to game,” he said, his voice calmer now but no less firm. “If you don’t want me here, just say so. But don’t pull this passive-aggressive crap and pretend it’s all in good fun.”

With that, Ethan grabbed his bag and walked out of the room, leaving the stunned club members behind.

As Ethan made his way home, he felt a mix of emotions—anger, exhaustion, and a surprising sense of relief.

He hated confrontation, but standing up for himself had felt oddly cathartic. For too long, he had let people walk all over him, thinking it was easier to keep the peace than to push back. But now, for the first time in a long while, he had drawn a line.

He wasn’t sure what the fallout would be. Would the club members apologize? Would they retaliate? Did it even matter?

As he logged into Rebirth Online that evening, Ethan resolved not to let their behavior get to him anymore. He had dealt with worse in the pro scene, and he wasn’t about to let a bunch of immature kids ruin his enjoyment of the game.

This was his space, his escape, and no one was going to take that away from him.

As Ethan walked home, he felt a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and a surprising sense of relief.

He hated losing his temper, but holding everything in had been eating away at him. Letting it out, even for a moment, felt strangely liberating.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made things worse. Would the pranks stop now, or would they escalate even further?

He decided he didn’t care.

If they wanted to alienate him, fine. If they wanted to kick him out of the club, even better. He hadn’t joined to make friends; he’d joined because it was convenient. If that convenience disappeared, he’d find another place to play.

That evening, as Ethan logged into Rebirth Online, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

This was his space, his sanctuary. No matter what happened at school, no one could touch him here.

He spent the next few hours grinding through quests, enjoying the quiet solitude of the game. For the first time in days, he felt at peace.

As he prepared to log off for the night, a message popped up in his inbox.

[Club Member]: Hey, man. Sorry about earlier. We didn’t mean to push you that far.

Ethan stared at the message for a moment before closing it without replying.

He wasn’t ready to forgive them yet. Maybe he never would be.

But for now, he was content to focus on the one thing that truly mattered—playing the game he loved.