Chapter Text
The neon-pink LED strip framing Cater Diamond’s vanity mirror flickered once, hummed with a low-voltage whine, and then completely died.
Cater stared at his reflection in the sudden, depressing gray twilight of his dorm room. Without the rose-tinted glow, the dark circles under his eyes looked less like "trendy indie musician chic" and more like "haven't slept since the last Magicam update dropped." He groaned, dropping his forehead onto the polished wood of his desk with a hollow thud.
"No, no, no," he muttered into his sleeves. "This is a disaster. If Lilia sees me under standard fluorescent lighting, he’s going to think I’m actually decaying."
He reached for his phone, his thumb automatically flying to his banking app. He didn't even need the biometric login to know what it would say, but seeing the actual numbers always felt like a bucket of ice water down the back of his collar.
Available Balance: 420 Madol.
Four hundred and twenty. That wasn't even enough to cover the seasonal limited-edition strawberry tarts at the town bakery, let alone replace a high-end ambient lighting kit, buy the special hair serum Trey had recommended, and keep up appearances for his upcoming weekend outing with the sophomore crowd. Being the most popular, high-energy, perfectly curated student at Night Raven College was expensive. The lifestyle didn't maintain itself. Magicam deals were dry this month, his allowance from home had been strictly capped after he "accidentally" maxed out a secondary card on clothing rentals for a single photoshoot, and Riddle was threatening to chop off the head of anyone who took on unapproved off-campus part-time work during exam season.
"I’m broke," Cater whispered to his empty room. "I am officially, tragically, utterly destitute. Cay-Cay is down bad."
He rolled onto his back, tossing his phone in the air and catching it. He needed fast money. Discreet money. Money that didn't involve standing on his feet at a café where Vil Schoenheit might stroll in and witness him wearing an apron that wasn't designer.
He unlocked his phone, swiping past his usual social media folder until he hit a less-frequented screen. There, nestled between a rhythm game he hadn't opened in three weeks and a photo editing suite, was the little white gaming controller icon inside a blue bubble. Discord.
Cater didn't use Discord for his main brand. Discord was too chaotic, too uncurated, too full of text walls and weirdly specific subcultures. But a few months ago, an influencer acquaintance from another school had told him about a highly exclusive, semi-underground server called The Vault. It wasn't a server for gaming; it was a server for transactions. High-rolling tech nerds, wealthy shut-ins, and anonymous trust-fund gamers went there to hire "e-kittens"—essentially, cute online companions to sit in voice chats, play co-op games, send aesthetic selfies, and pretend to care about their achievements in exchange for serious cash, nitro boosts, and digital gifts.
“It’s literally free money,” the acquaintance had laughed over a voice note. “You just use a fake name, put on a cute voice, and let some lonely whale buy you whatever you want from your Amazon wishlist. They never see your real face if you don't want them to. Just use cute filters.”
At the time, Cater had laughed it off. He was Cater Diamond! He didn't need to sell his digital companionship to anonymous internet weirdos.
He looked back at his dead LED strip. Then at his banking app.
"Well," Cater sighed, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across his face as he tapped the app open. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
Deep within the cavernous, permanently shadowed interior of the Ignihyde dorm, the only source of light came from a massive wall of triple-monitors. The blue-tinted glare illuminated a face that hadn't seen direct sunlight since the previous semester.
Idia Shroud slumped so low in his ergonomic gaming chair that his spine was practically a horizontal line. His long, flame-blue hair was tied back in a messy, frayed knot, a few stray wisps flickering erratically near his cheekbones as he aggressively clicked his mechanical mouse.
"Trash team," Idia hissed under his breath, his voice cracking slightly from hours of disuse. "Absolute, certified, brain-dead casuals. Imagine picking a tier-four support into a hard counter composition because 'the skin looks pretty.' I'm surrounded by actual NPCs. My MMR is bleeding out on the floor and my teammates are playing dress-up."
He slammed his hand on the desk, causing three empty cans of energy drinks to rattle dangerously. A loud, flashing notification popped up on his leftmost monitor, accompanied by a sharp, high-pitched chime.
It was from Discord. Specifically, a direct message from an admin of The Vault.
MuscleRed: @Gloomurai Hey, you still looking for a pocket healer for your Star Rogue rank push? Someone just posted a listing in #marketplace-advertisement who fits your specs. High tier, flexible hours, claims they can handle 'difficult personalities.' Thought of you lol.
Idia scoffed, his fingers flying across his customized, clicky keyboard with terrifying speed.
Gloomurai: i don't need a 'pocket healer' if they're just going to miss their skillshots and whine about ping. 99% of the profiles on that board are just people looking for a quick payout so they can buy gacha currency. their gameplay is absolute garbage.
MuscleRed: Check the listing first. This one’s new. Profile name is 'Sparkle_Cay'. They just posted five minutes ago. Verified voice-check, high-quality audio gear, says they play support at a competitive level. Plus, their introductory post isn't cringe.
Idia grumbled, clicking his tongue in irritation. He didn't want an e-kitten. The very concept made his social anxiety flare up, even through the safe, anonymous barrier of a fiber-optic cable. But the reality was grim: he was currently stuck in Elo Hell. Every time he tried to solo-queue in Star Rogue: Infinite, he was paired with trolls, children, or people who didn't understand basic map awareness. He needed a dedicated support player who would follow his orders, keep him alive, and not expect him to hold a real, terrifying, face-to-face conversation.
If he had to pay a few thousand Madol to hire a digital subordinate to get him to Grandmaster rank, it was a business expense. An investment in his mental sanity.
He clicked over to the #marketplace-advertisement channel and scrolled down to the freshest post.
Sparkle_Cay ✨
> Hii~! Is your team giving you a headache? Need a dedicated support who actually knows how to peel, keep your health bar full, and hype you up after an epic pentakill? Sparkle_Cay is here to save your rank! 🥰
> ✨ What I offer:
> Grandmaster-level utility support in Star Rogue, Apex Legends, and Radiant Arena.
> 100% focused on YOU. Your personal pocket healer.
> Cozy voice chats, chill vibes, and zero drama.
> Flexible availability (mostly active during late-night/gremlin hours).
>
>
> ✨ Rates:
> 500 Madol per hour of gameplay.
> 1,500 Madol for a full night session (includes voice chat & match analysis).
> Serious inquiries only! DM me with your main character and your rank. Let’s get those wins! 💖
>
>
Idia stared at the post. The emojis were slightly triggering—too bright, too energetic, radiating an aura of someone who probably went outside and talked to people on purpose—but the credentials were undeniably solid. Grandmaster-level utility support? It was rare for anyone on this server to actually be good at the game; usually, they just offered to look cute on camera while dying repeatedly in casual mode.
"Probably a scam," Idia muttered, shifting his weight. "Probably a dude using a voice changer. Or a hard-stuck Diamond player inflating their resume."
Still, his finger hovered over the mouse. He looked at his current rank display on his main screen: Master Tier, Division IV, 12 LP. He was one loss away from demotion. The sheer humiliation of dropping back to Diamond because of random teammates was enough to make his magical energy fluctuate wildly, the blue flames of his hair flaring into a sharp, nervous violet.
"Whatever," he muttered. "If they suck, I'll just block them and leave a terrible review on the server board."
He clicked the user's name and opened a private direct message thread.
---
In the Heartslabyul dorm, Cater’s phone buzzed with a distinctive, heavy vibration pattern he had set specifically for Discord DMs. He bounded off his bed, sliding across the polished floorboards in his socks, and grabbed the device from his desk.
“An inquiry already? That was less than ten minutes!”
He tapped the notification.
Gloomurai: heard you claim you can play grandmaster support. what's your win-rate on Chrono-Weaver this patch? if it's below 54% don't bother replying.
Cater blinked at the screen. "Wow," he murmured to himself, letting out a soft, amused whistle. "Straight to the point. No 'hello,' no 'hi,' just pure, unadulterated gamer aggression. A total basement dweller."
But Cater wasn't just a pretty face with a great social media feed. People often forgot that beneath the flashy outfits and the bubbly internet persona, he was a student at Night Raven College—a school for the elite, the fiercely competitive, and the inherently talented. When Cater played a video game, he didn't do it halfway. He had spent countless sleepless nights memorizing frame data, patch notes, and meta-strategies purely because he liked winning and because gaming content did numbers on secondary video platforms.
He quickly adjusted his mental persona. He needed to be sweet, accommodating, but utterly competent.
Sparkle_Cay: Hii Gloomurai~! ✨ Don't worry, my Chrono-Weaver is sitting at a super clean 58.2% win rate over 120 games this season! 😉 I specialize in cooldown management and aggressive positioning. You won't have to worry about your health bar dropping below half, promise! 💕
Across campus, Idia’s eyes widened slightly behind his glasses. “58.2% over 120 games? In the current meta where Chrono-Weaver’s base defense was nerfed?”
"Okay, either this person is a literal god or they're lying through their teeth," Idia whispered.
Gloomurai: fine. i'm booking a three-hour test session right now. payment sent via anonymous digital transfer channel 04. if you miss a single ultimate overlay or let me die to an unannounced flank, the deal is void and i'm leaving a 1-star rating.
[System Notification]: User Gloomurai has transferred 1,500 Madol to your digital wallet. Funds are secured.
Cater’s eyes lit up with brilliant, blinding dollar signs.
“1,500 Madol! Just like that!” That was more than he made from three sponsored posts for local clothing brands, and it didn't even require him to style his hair or put on foundation.
Sparkle_Cay: Received~! Thank you so much! 🥰 Give me five minutes to boot up my setup and get into the lobby. Do you want me to join a private voice channel? I’m ready when you are, Captain! 🫡✨
Gloomurai: voice channel 'Bunker-0'. no small talk. focus on the mini-map.
Cater grinned, quickly throwing on a pair of oversized, pastel-pink gaming headphones with cat ears attached to the band—a prop he usually only used for specific, high-engagement selfies. He adjusted his desktop microphone, turning on a subtle vocal compressor filter that made his voice sound slightly softer, airier, and distinctly more feminine-neutral, ensuring his distinct, slightly raspy real voice wouldn't betray his identity to anyone who might recognize him on campus.
He clicked into the voice channel. A soft boop sound echoed in his ears.
The channel was silent. Gloomurai was already in there, his icon—a shadowy, pixelated samurai helmet with glowing blue eyes—dark and unmoving.
"H-Hello?" Cater said into the mic, pitching his voice into his best, sweet-but-professional online persona. "Can you hear me, Gloomurai-san?"
There was a long pause. A heavy, rhythmic breathing pattern filled the headset, followed by the sound of someone violently clearing their throat. When Gloomurai spoke, his voice was low, incredibly fast, and laced with a thick layer of social awkwardness, though there was a strange, raspy cadence to it that felt oddly familiar to Cater's ears—not that he could place it.
"Yeah. Hearing is functional," Gloomurai muttered, his words tumbling over one another like he couldn't wait to be done speaking. "Lobby code is in the chat. Join up. The queue times at this rank are legendary and I don't want to waste time while the server population peaks."
"Got it! Joining right now~!" Cater chirped, typing the code into his game client.
On screen, a character clad in heavy, futuristic armor with glowing neon sigils appeared next to Idia’s avatar—a hyper-edgy, dual-wielding assassin character named Shadow-Stalker.
"Whoa, your skin is so cool!" Cater said, genuinely impressed by the incredibly rare, competitive-reward cosmetic Idia’s character was wearing. "Is that from the Season 3 championship tournament? That's amazing!"
"It's standard for anyone who isn't a casual," Idia snapped back quickly, though the tips of his ears, buried deep beneath his blue flames in his dark room, turned a bright shade of pink. He wasn't used to compliments. He wasn't used to people. "Don't look at the skin, look at the composition. They have a long-range sniper. If you see their laser sight, you apply the speed buff to me instantly. If you lag, we die. Understand?"
"Understood, Boss!" Cater laughed softly, his thumb hovering over his keyboard.
The match-making screen flashed. Match Found.
What followed was three hours of absolute, unadulterated digital warfare.
Cater had expected to carry a mediocre, loud-mouthed whale who had bought his way to a high rank. Instead, he found himself playing alongside an absolute monster. Gloomurai’s mechanical skill was terrifying. His character moved across the screen like a blur of lethal precision, predicting enemy movements seconds before they happened, executing flawless, frame-perfect combos that left Cater breathless just watching them.
But as brilliant as Gloomurai was, he was also completely reckless, diving into three-on-one situations with a terrifying disregard for his own life, relying entirely on the assumption that his support would perfectly back him up.
And Cater did.
Every time Idia dived too deep, Cater’s Chrono-Weaver was there, throwing out a perfectly timed shield, rewinding Idia’s positioning by two seconds to heal him back to full, or dropping a massive, area-of-effect crowd control spell that froze the enemies in place just as Idia executed his ultimate ability.
"Pentakill!" the game's announcer blared through the speakers for the third time that night.
"Oh my gosh, you're literally insane!" Cater squealed into the mic, his real excitement breaking through his filtered persona. "That flank was beautiful! You wiped their whole team!"
"Hmph. It was passable," Idia mumbled, though his chest swelled with an unfamiliar, intensely intoxicating surge of pride. His fingers were flying, his heart hammering against his ribs. For the first time in months, he wasn't angry while playing this game. He didn't have to scream at his monitor. Every time he made a high-risk move, the support was there. It was like having a second brain connected to his own. "Your... your timing on that shield wasn't terrible. It was within the acceptable microsecond margin."
"Hehe, thank you~! I told you I'd take care of you," Cater said softly, his voice dropping into a warm, comforting tone that sent a strange, electric shiver straight down Idia’s spine.
By the end of the three hours, they had gone on an uninterrupted nine-game winning streak. Idia’s rank hadn't just been saved; he had soared past his previous peak, secure in the upper echelons of the Grandmaster leaderboard.
The clock on Cater’s wall read 2:00 AM. His eyes were burning, but his digital wallet was full, and for some reason, he didn't feel the usual exhaustion that came with pretending to be someone else for hours.
"Well, that’s three hours!" Cater said cheerfully. "I should probably head to sleep before my eyes turn completely bloodshot. You were an amazing partner, Gloomurai-san."
"Wait," Idia said abruptly. The word popped out of his mouth before his social filter could stop it. He clamped his jaw shut, his face burning.
"Hmm? What's up?"
Idia chewed on his thumbnail, staring at the Discord interface. He didn't want to go back to solo queue. He didn't want to play with anyone else. The thought of logging on tomorrow and having to deal with an actual, incompetent support made him feel physically ill.
"Are you... are you free tomorrow night?" Idia muttered, his voice barely audible. "Same time. I'll... I'll pay double. 3,000 Madol for a four-hour block. If you're not retained by another client, that is."
Cater’s breath hitched. Double? 3,000 Madol? That was a brand-new ambient lighting system, three pairs of shoes, and an entire month's worth of premium café visits. He could practically hear the cash register ringing in his head.
"For my favorite Captain? Of course I'm free!" Cater purred into the microphone, his smile wide and genuine. "Lock me in for tomorrow, Gloomurai-san. I’m all yours."
"Right. Whatever. Don't be late," Idia muttered, and immediately disconnected from the voice channel, slumping back into his chair with a heavy, ragged exhale. His heart was beating entirely too fast for someone who had just been sitting in a dark room playing video games.
In the Heartslabyul dorm, Cater took off his headphones, tossing them onto his bed with a soft laugh. He ran a hand through his orange hair, looking at his phone screen.
"Wow," Cater murmured, his eyes glittering in the dark. "Who knew a total internet shut-in could be such a goldmine? This is going to be way easier than I thought."
Neither of them had any idea that less than five hundred meters away, across the moonlit, twisted courtyard of Night Raven College, the other was staring at the exact same digital screen, completely unaware of the identity behind the pixels.