When she thought she was doomed, a male voice suddenly sounded in her headphones.
"Vivian, don't panic, I'm here."
Almost before he finished speaking, a golden figure charged in from the side.
Second skill dash, ultimate instantly locks down the enemy.
His movements were smooth as water—before the opposing jungler could react, he was taken out in a flash.
Vivian caught her breath, hurriedly turned on her mic and said softly, "Thanks, Wyatt."
She watched the respawn countdown hit zero on her screen, a wave of lingering fear rising in her chest.
Wyatt Morgan and Curtis Prescott have been close friends for years.
She'd seen him a few times at gatherings, so she was fairly familiar.
Whenever they played with friends, Wyatt would hand her a drink with a smile, or help pull her chair closer to the table.
He talked with wit, but never crossed the line—always so reliable and friendly.
She recognized the voice immediately.
Back then, she called Curtis "big bro," and those guys would egg her on to call them "brother" too, saying "uncle" sounded too old-fashioned, and wasn't cute.
A bunch of people gathered around the hotpot table, clinking glasses, someone deliberately teasing her.
"Little Vivian, we're all your big brothers. If you ever need anything, just find us!"
She blushed, looked down and chuckled, then softly called, "Wyatt," which sent the whole group into laughter and applause.
Over time, she got used to calling them that.
On the other end, Wyatt let out a chuckle.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it."
He cleared the minions while casually asking, "Opposing jungler started red, he'll be rotating mid soon. Watch your position."
Vivian obediently nodded.
Even though he knew she couldn't see him: "Yeah, yeah, I'll back up."
The game went on, and every time Vivian got caught, Wyatt always showed up in time to save her.
The second time, their jungler and mid ganked together. She'd just finished clearing the wave and tried to recall when two enemies jumped out of the bushes.
She hadn't even had time to use Purify before Wyatt's ultimate slammed down beneath the enemy's feet.
The third time was a side lane wraparound. He even abandoned the dragon he was fighting and came straight to mid for backup.
By the end of the round, she'd said "thanks, Wyatt" six times.
And every time Wyatt just laughed and answered, "No need, it's a big brother's job to protect his little sister."
They finally won, and as soon as the victory screen popped up,
the team chat was filled with easy laughter.
Elara Joyce said with excitement, "That was such a smooth game!"
Curtis Prescott laughed as well: "Let's keep going next round."
But just then—
"I'm the one who saved you, why are you only thanking him? Am I not good enough to be your big brother?"
Vivian froze, her face heating up instantly.
That voice…
It wasn't Wyatt.
Her fingers became rigid on the keyboard, and her heart suddenly sped up, ears burning red.
Wasn't it Wyatt who saved her?
She'd definitely heard his voice.
Saw his moves on the screen—every rescue felt like he'd come himself.
But if…
If it wasn't him…
Did that mean all those "thanks, Wyatt" were misunderstood?
And the real person who saved her had kept silent all along.
"Hahaha, Vivian, every time it was actually Tristan who rescued you. He was jungling, I was on top lane."
Wyatt laughed through the phone.
Vivian was completely dumbfounded, her hand gripping the phone stiffly.
She licked her dry lips.
Remembered seeing him yesterday.
That man standing at the entrance of the esports arena, wearing a black jacket, sharp-featured.
She spoke in a low voice, "Thanks, Tristan."
"No problem."
The reply was deep and pleasant.
It came from her headphones, mixed with a hint of static.
Vivian's heart started to race. She lowered her head in a panic, her fingers unconsciously twisting the headphone cord.
She's always been a bit scared of Tristan Sterling.
His family was well-off, distinguished background.
Father was a giant in business, mother from an eminent literary family.
He himself was a star student at King's University Law School.
Had a sharp tongue, never spared anyone—every sentence hit right where it hurt.
Back when she went to gatherings with Curtis, she'd only seen him twice.
And every time felt like an unspoken torment.
The first was when she got into Law School—she wore a light blue dress that day.
Curtis's friends all congratulated her.
They praised her for being outstanding and full of promise, saying she'd become a legal ace.
Only Tristan said blandly, "If you ever go to court, remember to hire me."
Vivian was confused, her brows knitting slightly as she couldn't help asking, "Why?"
Tristan replied, "I just want to see how you embarrass yourself."
Vivian had always been overlooked growing up.
Hearing that kind of comment, she would always avoid it.
From then on, whenever she saw Tristan, she'd steer clear.
Stay far away, dread getting anywhere near.
Later, at Mrs. Prescott's birthday banquet,
she unexpectedly saw Tristan standing in the hall, upright, expression cold.
She instinctively backed away, even bumping into the vase behind her in her panic.
She ended up hiding behind Curtis.
Tristan saw it and let out a cold snicker.
"Curtis, since when did you get yourself a tagalong? She looks like a little rat hiding from the light."
"Maybe I should grab a small shovel and dig her a hole to crawl into—at least then she wouldn't be an eyesore."
Vivian's face flushed scarlet.
Her ears felt like they were burning, even her breath came hard.
Her heart felt jabbed, hurting with every beat.
She'd honestly never met anyone so mean.
Later, any time she knew Tristan would be at an event, she'd always bail, not reply to any message.
It wasn't out of spite, but self-preservation.
"You guys still gaming, or what?"
Wyatt asked cheerfully.
"I'm done."
As soon as she knew it was Tristan, Vivian lost interest at once.
"Huh? Why not?"
Wyatt sounded disappointed, full of confusion.
Curtis sensed the tension, quickly cleared his throat.
And chimed in to help her out: "Vivian just got back from abroad, her body's not used to it, caught a cold, needs rest. She's been adjusting lately, probably needs some proper recovery."
Wyatt immediately said, "Then hurry up and get some sleep, your health comes first. Don't push yourself, we'll play some other day. No rush."
Vivian quietly exited the room.
Elara stood up with a bright smile and said, "Little niece, rest up. Your uncle and I won't disturb you."
"Mm."
She forced her lips into a strained smile.
At the instant the door closed.
She finally felt like all the air left her body, relaxing completely.
Her limbs felt drained of strength.
But no matter how she tossed and turned, she couldn't fall asleep.
Thinking about the emails she'd sent, regret swept through her heart.
She shouldn't have come back, truly.
That thought circled round and round in her mind.
Her phone suddenly buzzed twice. She reached out from under the covers, hand trembling as she answered, "Hello?"
"Heard you've got a fever? I just got back from a charity gala and didn't see the message until now. Is it bad?"
Lynn Shea's voice came from the receiver.
"It's nothing, just a regular cold."
She spoke while lying down, her voice a bit nasal and soft.
Lynn went from worried to frantic: "You've been frail since childhood—catch cold and you get sick. Now you're all alone back here, how can I not worry? I'll come home now. The driver's already on his way, forty minutes at most and I'll be there."