The Beginning
BAAAOOOOWWWW
The blaring horn of the school bus shattered the peaceful veil of morning like a war trumpet summoning soldiers from dreams
And with it, a boy shot upright in bed with the precision of a startled cat, limbs flailing, heart thundering as if he'd been yanked from a battlefield instead of a dream about TFT and… steam buns?
His black hair was a storm of angles, an unholy hybrid of bedhead and natural chaos, jutting out in every direction like a forest after a hurricane.
"AH—!"
His yell came a half second before something soft plopped against his foot.
"Mordred!" he gasped.
There she was, sprawled on the hardwood floor like a tiny casualty of his morning panic- his treasured plushie, a squishy chibi version of the knight herself, arms outstretched and eyes locked in their permanent, smug embroidered glare. Her little cape was twisted, and one stubby arm pointed accusingly at the ceiling, as if scolding him for the betrayal.
He snatched her up with one hand and cradled her like a wounded comrade. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to drop you!"
Another horn blared outside. Longer. Angrier.
He froze.
"...Oh no!"
He said, this time pausing for a second to look at the door, usually one of his parents would be here to berate him for being la- CRASH -there he is.
"Quin, what'd I tell you about being late? There's alarms for this, you shouldn't keep relying on your mother or I to wake you up and bring you in-"
His father said roughly as he barged into the room like a whirlwind in a human form, already half-dressed in his office wear, tie undone and mug of lukewarm coffee sloshing dangerously in one hand.
Quin flinched, one leg tangled in his blanket, the other already halfway off the bed. "I know! I know! The alarm did go off- I just didn't hear it!"
"That's the problem, you never hear it!" his father snapped, voice rising above the blare of the bus horn still groaning impatiently outside. "You think the bus driver's gonna wait for your daily drama again?"
Quin scrambled up at last, Mordred tucked securely under his arm like a knight heading into battle with his trusted banner. "Okay, okay, I'm moving! Five minutes! No—two! One and a half!"
"You have thirty seconds, Quin."
"Thirty?! That's not even—!"
But his father was already gone, footsteps echoing down the hall like the ticking of a countdown clock. Quin bolted into motion, tripping over his own socks in the process- somehow -and his room becoming an even bigger mess' uniform yanked from the chair, toothpaste squirted directly into his mouth to save time, shoes nowhere to be found and probably hiding out of spite.
Mordred, still clutched tightly in his arm, stared up at him with the same smug little grin.
"Don't you judge me," Quin muttered, spitting into the sink. "You're the one who let me sleep through three alarms."
The plushie just stared at him, the eyes somehow piercing into him… it may have been his fault. He did stay up until 3 a.m. playing RimWorld again- this time building an underground bunker powered by hydroponics and the shattered morale of his colonists. But you couldn't blame him for that. The game was fun. Unreasonably, addictively fun. The kind of fun that blurred the line between "just one more hour" and waking up to your father's war cry.
"I was so close to stabilizing the colony," he mumbled, jamming his legs into his pants while hopping toward the door. "Everything was going fine until that one mechanoid raid—stupid Randy Random…"
Mordred continued to say nothing. And yet, her embroidered smirk spoke volumes.
"I know, okay? I'm working on it."
He made it to the kitchen in record time- shirt only halfway buttoned, bag slung over one shoulder, a slice of cold toast clenched between his teeth like a tragic anime protagonist. His mother gave him the look from across the kitchen island.
"Quin. Again?"
"Morningmomloveyoubye!"
He was already out the door.
Quin looked… not half bad, considering he'd had exactly thirty seconds to get his life together. The black hoodie he threw on covered most of the chaos, and though he'd forgotten to swap out his checkered pajama bottoms, it somehow worked. Call it accidental fashion. Call it sleep-deprived chic. The important thing was- he didn't look like he'd just sprinted out of a collapsing house. At least not entirely.
He might've even pulled it off with a bit of roguish charm…
…if he hadn't immediately tripped on the last step and nearly face-planted onto the pavement.
"Waugh-!"
He caught himself mid-fall, flailing like a startled bird, Mordred now dangling upside down from his hand like a disapproving acrobat.
A snort of laughter erupted from one of the bus windows. Someone clapped, slow and sarcastic.
"Real graceful, Quin!" Came the familiar voice of his best friend, Kaelen, from the back seat. "Could even make the cut for gymnastics team~"
Red-faced but unbroken, Quin straightened, muttered a curse under his breath and climbed aboard. The doors hissed shut behind him.
He'd made it and with only… no seconds to spare, realistically he actually owed like 27 seconds.
Quin stumbled down the aisle as the bus groaned into motion, narrowly avoiding a second fall thanks to a well-timed grab at the nearest seat. Mordred peeked out from his hoodie pocket, her little plush face still judging him.
Kaelen was exactly where he always was: fourth row from the back, hood up, earbuds in, head tilted against the vibrating window like he was communing with some distant plane of peace and caffeine withdrawal.
Quin collapsed into the seat beside him with all the grace of a falling bag of laundry.
"I live," he muttered.
Kaelen responded with a slight nod- his version of a standing ovation.
Without another word, Quin yanked out his phone like it was a lifeline, thumbs already tapping in the code. No way was he going to stare at the back of someone's head for forty minutes like some kind of unplugged caveman.
He opened WebNovel, scrolled past a dozen meme dumps, and pulled up the RimWorld subreddit.
What?... If he was going to suffer through homeroom and math, he at least deserved to read about someone else's colony getting eaten by Insects for the time being.
Then, they arrived
Forty minutes later, jolted slightly by the bus's final, lurching stop in front of the school gates, accompanied by the low grumble of teenagers re-entering the waking world.
Quin blinked his eyes open, phone still in hand, screen dimmed from inactivity. He'd only half fallen back asleep this time' a major improvement. He wasn't drooling, and his head hadn't crashed into Kaelen's shoulder like last Tuesday.
Progress.
Kaelen stood up without a word, slinging his bag over one shoulder and offering Quin the universal gesture of Let's Go: a slight jerk of the chin and a muttered, "C'mon."
Quin stuffed his phone into his hoodie pocket- right next to Mordred, who had spent the entire ride in suspicious silence. He gave her a small pat. "Shush, I was just resting my eyes."
The plushie remained unimpressed.
He followed the slow river of students out onto the pavement, squinting at the sun and wondering, not for the first time, why school started at an hour where they were all half asleep… or well, he was half asleep.
Quin trudged through the front doors like a man headed to trial, adjusting the strap of his bag as the stream of students split off into various hallways. Kaelen veered left toward his own homeroom with a lazy wave, and Quin returned with a nod of his own… nothing too fancy, the two had a plan to go to the internet cafe after-school anyways.
He made the long, fluorescent-lit march to his first class, eyes heavy, limbs heavier. The school's linoleum floor tiles passed beneath him like checkpoints in a video game he was losing at life.
Homeroom was a collection of yawns and bobbing heads.
Second period was math, he remembered that only because the clock seemed to actively mock him the whole time.
By third period, the day had become a blur.
His body was there, sure- taking notes, nodding when teachers looked his way, even managing the occasional grunt of acknowledgment when asked a question.
But his mind?
Absolutely elsewhere.
Specifically, neck-deep in theorycrafting a new TFT build. He'd been experimenting with Cypher again— against his better judgment. It wasn't even a good comp this patch, but something about trying to make it work scratched that part of his brain that loved losing with style more than forcing the same syndicate or exotic build for a top four
"Okay, but what if I open with Shaco, fast level to 7, pivot into Senna... throw in Gragas for tanking and replace with a Kobuko later…" he mumbled to himself during lunch, staring blankly at a sandwich he had no intention of eating.
His current loss streak- six games and counting -offered no encouragement.
But hope?
Hope was eternal… Nevermind, Sounded better in my head.
By the time the final bell rang, Quin couldn't remember what half his classes had even covered, but he did have a shaky new comp idea in his notes app and the stubborn optimism of a player who'd already accepted his LP would never recover.
He called that a win. Sort of.
Just let him be, he really needed one.
He shuffled out through the front doors, the late afternoon sun warm against his hoodie, the sky painted that perfect shade of lazy blue. Waiting by the bike racks, as usual, was Kaelen- earbuds out now, but still blasting the Billy Talent his friend was obsessed with.
"How was class?" Kaelen asked, eyebrow raised.
"Mind-numbing," Quin replied, immediately. "Absolutely barren wasteland of joy. I think I became a worse person by just sitting through it. Like, I left part of my soul in the second period."
Kaelen shrugged, adjusting his bag. "It wasn't that bad. Kinda peaceful."
Quin gave him a slow side-eye, as if his friend had just confessed to enjoying taxes. "Don't say things like that. You'll summon a pop quiz."
But he didn't argue further. They both fell into step, heading down the familiar sidewalk trail that wound through a couple of side streets, past a noodle shop, and straight to the haven that awaited them- the little Internet Café tucked between a stationery store and a nail salon.
It wasn't much, but it had decent PCs, mediocre snacks, and more importantly, freedom. And his mom knew the drill: call when you're hungry, dying, or ready to go home. Otherwise, enjoy your time out.
Quin shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, feeling the soft lump of Mordred still tucked inside, and grinned.
Now this- this was the part of the day worth staying awake for.
The little bell above the door chimed as they pushed into the café, the scent of instant ramen, old wood, and just a hint of fabric softener greeting them like a warm blanket.
Cool air washed over Quin's face, and the hum of dozens of machines filled the space like background music for a life he actually wanted to be living. Rows of monitors glowed faintly under the low lights, most occupied by students, regulars, and a few tired adults he could've sworn were here the day before… did they even leave?
And there- behind the counter, sipping from a thermos and wearing the same faded black hoodie he probably never washed -was Chris.
"Oi, boys!" Chris called, raising a hand without looking up from whatever idle clicker game was running on his monitor. "Thought I heard the sound of mid-tier tryhards slinking in."
Quin grinned. "Try aspiring mid-tier, thank you very much."
Kaelen gave a small nod. "Hey, Chris."
Chris finally looked up, dark circles under his eyes but a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The usual spots are free… Still mourning that loss streak, Quin?"
"I'm in the theory phase now," Quin replied, placing a crumpled five and a few coins on the counter. "It's very scientific."
"Mmm-hmm. Scientific. Right."
They paid up, and Chris handed them two numbered tags without getting them to pay- he already had the card on file due to how often these little freaks came in.
Quin and Kaelen veered off to the right, toward their usual pair of PCs nestled in the corner by the window. Far enough to avoid most of the noise, close enough to the snack bar for immediate soda deployment. The glowing towers hummed to life as they sat down, chairs squeaking slightly beneath them.
Quin cracked his knuckles, Mordred now perched on the desk like a tiny coach ready to witness more tactical disaster.
Time to lose more LP.
But at least here, it felt like home.
2164 Words
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Hello! Author here, I'm still trying to decide what Universes and etc to add to the system— so wouldn't mind any suggestions!