Archive of Our Own

The blue light of the phone screen was a physical assault on Keonho’s retinas.

He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow as his nightstand continued to vibrate with the intensity of a dying hornet. It was only 10:30 AM. Hell, practically dawn in streamer time—and the ungodly buzzing meant only one thing: the group chat had reached a state of absolute nuclear meltdown.

Squinting through one eye, Keonho swiped the lock screen. His stomach did a slow, nauseating somersault. He knew that notification count. Usually, it meant someone had been "canceled" or a new game trailer had dropped. But as he scrolled, the names Seonghyeon and Leaderboard kept popping up in a blur of frantic capital letters.

He sat up abruptly, his expensive silk sheets sliding off his chest. He didn't even bother with water. He tapped the Global Creator Dashboard shortcut on his home screen.

The loading circle spun. For fourteen months, that circle had always ended with the number 1 in a gold-plated frame. The page snapped into focus.

Keonho stared. He didn't blink. He couldn't. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. The "Trend" arrow next to his own name was a sharp, jagged red downward spike, while the name above his—a name he’d only started seeing a few weeks ago—carried a neon green percentage that felt like a slap to the face.