The blade at Ezreal's throat didn't waver.
Cold. Precise. Close enough that he could feel the edge press lightly into his skin every time he swallowed.
He stayed on one knee, hands loose at his sides, breathing steady despite the way his heart still hammered from the fight. The forest was quiet now—too quiet. Only the faint wind through the leaves and the soft, fading chime of defeated monsters turning into data broke the silence.
Ezreal tilted his head just enough to look up at her.
"You gonna keep that there," he said lightly, "or can I at least get your name first?"
Her eyes didn't soften. Didn't flicker.
"I don't have a reason to tell you," she replied, voice flat and cold.
Ezreal chuckled under his breath. "Fair enough."
He shifted slightly, careful not to give her an excuse to finish the job.
"Ezreal," he said. "Assassin. Nightblade. And… I've gotta say—your footwork's insane. The way you chained your skills, the timing on your counters? Clean. Really clean."
The sword pressed a fraction closer.
"Flattery won't change anything," she said.
Ezreal shrugged as much as he could while kneeling. "Wasn't trying to. Just calling it like I see it."
Her gaze sharpened. "Then tell me this," she said. "Why did you save me?"
Ezreal blinked once, genuinely surprised.
"Because you needed help," he answered simply.
The blade moved.
A thin sting blossomed at his neck.
"Don't lie to me," she said quietly.
There was no anger in her voice. No panic. Just certainty.
Ezreal laughed—soft at first, then a little louder, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. You caught me."
He stopped laughing.
When he looked up again, his expression had changed. The smirk faded, replaced by something sharper. More serious.
"I saved you because I knew you were someone special," he said.
Her brow furrowed. "Special?"
"Yeah." He nodded once. "No ordinary player fights like that. You weren't just swinging and praying. You were reading them. Predicting. Managing cooldowns under pressure."
He exhaled slowly.
"If I had to guess," he continued, "you're either from a competitive gaming club, a league… or you grew up with resources most people don't get. Training. Time. Maybe even pressure."
Her eyes didn't leave his.
"And now," Ezreal added calmly, "you owe me a favor."
She scoffed.
"Owe you?" she repeated. "Why do you think I owe you anything?"
Ezreal smiled again—but this time, it wasn't playful.
"Because I know your type."
She didn't interrupt him.
"People like you hate owing favors," he went on. "You hate the idea of needing someone else. Of being saved. Especially by someone you don't know."
His gaze stayed locked on hers.
"That feeling?" he said quietly. "It eats at you. You'll replay it in your head. Wonder if you could've handled it alone. Wonder if people saw."
She said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Finally, she pulled the sword back.
The pressure vanished.
Ezreal let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
She turned away from him, sheathing one blade with a smooth, practiced motion. When she spoke again, her voice was measured—controlled.
"Meet me tomorrow," she said. "At the fountain in town."
Ezreal raised an eyebrow. "That a date?"
She glanced over her shoulder, unimpressed.
"Don't push your luck."
She reached into her inventory and pulled out a scroll etched with glowing runes. The air around her shimmered as she activated it.
"Be there," she said. "Or forget this ever happened."
And then she dissolved her form breaking apart into countless pixels before vanishing completely.
The forest was silent once more.
Ezreal stared at the spot where she'd been for a long moment.
Then he stood.
His legs protested, but he ignored it, brushing dirt from his armor. He rolled his shoulders once, wincing faintly, and exhaled.
"Interesting," he murmured beneath his breath.
He opened his system window.
Notifications flooded his vision.
Levels gained. EXP surging far beyond what he'd expected. Rewards stacking faster than usual.
Ezreal's lips curled into a slow grin.
He closed the interface and looked up at the dark canopy above, red light filtering through the leaves.
"There's a lot more to this game," he said quietly, "than I thought."