The fuel station was always the same buzzing lights, the faint smell of gasoline, and the tired faces of people rushing from one place to another.
Liam scanned another energy drink, with a half-hearted smile for the customer. His brown hair was messy from the rushed mornings, strands flopping over sharp, tired eyes the color of stormy skies.
"Have a good one" he said automatically as the man grabbed his change and left without a word.
The bell above the door jingled again, but Liam didn't bother looking up this time. It would just be another stranger passing through.
He glanced at the clock.
Two more hours.
Two more hours before he could boot up Vanguard again.
Later That Night
The ancient PC Matt had lent him whirred to life like a wounded animal.
Liam sat back, tugging his worn hoodie tighter around himself. His apartment was always freezing at night, the cracked window letting in the chill.
Vanguard's menu loaded in, the dark blues and flashing icons now strangely familiar.
He clicked into the Practice Range, the way he always started.
Routine.
Breathe in.
Steady aim.
Crosshair head level.
Click.
The dummies fell in neat, satisfying shots.
Not perfect, but better.
Much better than a day ago.
He decided to queue for an Unrated match, casual but chaotic perfect for learning.
The Match
His teammates loaded in.
One of them had a mic that sounded like it was broadcasting from a tunnel underwater.
Another had a thick accent and kept screaming "rotate! rotate!" every time they were pushed.
Liam picked his Operator Sora again a fast-moving scout with short silver hair and tactical armor.
She reminded him of himself, somehow. Quick, nervous, but determined.
The game was a mess.
He died to grenades.
He missed easy shots.
He forgot to use abilities.
But he also managed three kills.
Small victories.
At the end, the score flashed:
5 - 13.
Still a loss.
Still bottom frag.
But somewhere in the middle of the chaos, Liam realized something he was starting to understand.
The language of movement.
The flow of the match.
The rhythm of danger.
It wasn't just reaction time. It was instinct.
Anticipation.
He typed a polite "gg" into chat and left the lobby, feeling... lighter.
Next Day: At Home
Liam stumbled into his apartment after another exhausting shift.
The smell of cheap instant noodles filled the air.
Sitting cross-legged on the couch was his younger cousin, Mia, flipping through some anime on her phone.
Mia was a ball of chaotic energy dark hair cropped into a bob, nose ring, hoodie two sizes too big. She was one of the few family members who didn't think gaming was a "waste of time."
"You look like death" Mia said, tossing a packet of chips at him.
"Thanks" Liam muttered, catching it weakly.
"You playing that shooty game again?"
"Vanguard" Liam corrected automatically. "And yeah. Trying to get out of Unrated hell."
Mia grinned. "If you ever need a real gamer, you know where to find me."
"You play farming sims."
"And I'm amazing at them."
Liam laughed for real the first real laugh in days.
First Ranked Game
That night, Liam hovered over the "Ranked" queue button.
Sweat slicked his palms.
Ranked was real.
Ranked was where people cared.
Where mistakes mattered.
He clicked.
Queue started.
He picked Sora again she was starting to feel like second nature.
His teammates were... oddly supportive?
One of them, a guy named "Grade1Noob" even gave him tips between rounds.
"Yo, Haze hold your crosshair a little tighter to the corner, bro. You're wide swinging like a noob."
Another, a girl with the username "Seresa," spoke with a calm no-nonsense voice.
"Don't peek alone. Wait for backup. Play tight angles."
They sounded older. Experienced.
For once, Liam didn't feel like a complete idiot.
The Match Itself
Round after round, he followed orders, played smart.
He got kills not flashy ones, but solid trades.
Held angles properly.
Used Sora's recon at smart times.
His teammates started trusting him.
Calling out for him.
Backing him up.
They won.
13 - 9.
Liam stared at the victory screen like it was a hallucination.
[New Rank: Bronze I]
A stupid grin split his face.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.
Next Day
Saturday afternoon.
Matt dragged him out of the house for burgers.
Matt was tall and broad-shouldered, with wild blonde hair that made him look like he had just walked off a beach somewhere, even in jeans and a hoodie.
"So" Matt said between bites, "you finally did it. Ranked."
"Bronze" Liam said, embarrassed.
Matt shrugged. "Everyone starts there. Hell, I was Bronze for months when I started Vanguard."
They sat outside on the curb, watching cars go by.
"You still thinking about the tournament?" Matt asked casually.
Liam hesitated.
He hadn't thought about it much lately.
Grinding ranked had become its own goal.
Its own addiction.
"I don't know" he admitted. "Feels like a lot. I'm just a gas station guy who plays at night."
Matt punched his shoulder lightly. "Bro. Everyone starts somewhere."
He nodded toward the sky, where the sun was starting to set behind the skyscrapers.
"You don't have to be a pro tomorrow. You just gotta show up today."
Back at Home
That night, Liam sat by the window with a cheap energy drink in hand, watching the city lights flicker.
He thought about his life.
About the dead-end job.
The hollow days.
The invisible ache of feeling... irrelevant.
And now?
Now, there was something.
A goal.
A reason to keep moving.
Not for fame.
Not for money.
But for the pure, stubborn joy of getting better at something that mattered to him.
Tomorrow, he'd queue ranked again.
And the day after that.
No big leaps.
No miracles.
Just grinding.
Just getting 1% better every day.
Because deep down, Liam Foster "Haze" had remembered what it felt like to fight for something.
And he wasn't ready to let it go.