Fake Game (The System #3)

Chapter Three

THREE

JACKSON

G od-fucking-dammit.

I eye the waifish woman with thinly veiled annoyance as she slides into the booth across from me and tosses me a shy smile.

“I take it my grandmother is not coming.”

Her smile falters briefly, but she’s quick to school it with a strained giggle. “It seems we’ve been set up.”

I’ve been set up.

Her? I doubt it.

“I’m Jessica.”

“Jackson.”

Silence spreads out, and she presses her glossy lips together as she tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear. Her eyes dart around the restaurant, and I begin to feel like a little bit of an ass. It’s not like it’s this girl’s fault she got sent here.

On second assessment, she’s not bad looking. Her breasts are smaller than I normally go for, but her face is round and pretty.

I sigh and pour her a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She reaches forward and takes a sip. “I’m sorry about this.”

I wave her off, giving up on my frustration. “It’s fine.”

A waitress comes over and takes our order before popping a breadbasket on the table. Jessica dips a piece into some olive oil before taking a dainty bite.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

“I play video games.”

“Oh. Not hobbies, I meant for work. What do you do?”

Okay, now I legitimately feel bad for the girl. I understand that a blind date means you don’t know anything about the other person, but this is just plain cruel. To both of us.

“I play video games, that’s my job.”

Her brows furrow. “Like you work for a gaming company?”

Maybe I should order a drink. This is going to be a long date.

“No, as in I live-stream online and post content to socials.”

“Of video games?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” I see the wheels turning in her mind, and she course corrects, giving me a glass smile. “That’s cool that you get to do something you love.”

I hold back a sigh and offer her my attempt at a smile instead. “What about you?”

“I’m a business analyst at Brock Meyers.”

There is a clear glint in her eye and a warmth in her voice. It’s obvious she loves her job and wants to talk about it, but I have absolutely no interest in hearing about what a business analyst does. There is a reason I dropped out of college and abandoned my economics degree.

“Nice.”

I see a flash of disappointment at my monotone response.

It takes everything in me not to groan out loud. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be set up on a blind date. And yet, here I am, and now I have a girl who is getting all butthurt because I’m not interested in delving into her entire life story.

This is why I told my family I didn’t want to do this. But did they listen? No.

No, instead, my po po seems to have colluded with my mom to subject me to torture.

Just great.

The waitress returns with our meals, and I busy myself by investing all my attention on the chicken piccata before me. La Sienna isn’t the fanciest Italian restaurant, but they have pretty good food—and right now, it is my saving grace.

Jessica picks at her ravioli and continues to try to engage me in more small talk, but it’s clear that we really don’t have much in common outside of our families somewhat knowing each other. Which is the other reason why I can’t just abandon this date or act like a dick—it’ll get back to both of our families, and I’ll get chewed out if I do anything that makes my family look bad or disrespectful.

I practically pounce for the bill when the waitress returns to clear up our empty plates.

“Thank you for paying,” Jessica comments as I tuck my credit card back into my wallet.

I give her a shrug. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Yeah, I guess this was sort of a fail,” she snorts, sliding out of the booth. She tries to mask it, but there is a bitterness in her tone.

“I hope the rest of your blind dates go better.”

“You, too.”

Not if I can help it.

“Thanks.” I give her a nod as she walks away.

I wait until she walks out the door and then give it another few minutes before I exit the restaurant myself. The last thing I want is to bump into her and make this night even more awkward.

I’m already pulling up my mother’s number and dialing it by the time I get into my Jeep and start driving home.

“ Wai ,” her greeting filters in through my speakers.

“Ma,” I return dryly.

“Ah. I take it dinner with your po po didn’t go as expected.”

“Unless she suddenly found the fountain of youth and turned into a twenty-something-year-old woman, then no. No, it did not go as expected.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, “Jackson.”

“I don’t need to go on blind dates, Mom. I can handle my own love life.”

“You don’t have a love life.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You play around—that is not the same thing, and it’s not respectable.”

Shit.

I try to be discrete by conducting most of my activities at Cardinal Club, where customer confidentiality is key, and Sydney sweet-talks and bribes as many reporters as she possibly can to keep my sex life out of the press—but it’s hard to hide everything when you’re in the public eye, something always slips through.

Now it’s my turn to sigh as Mom descends into a monologue of her own.

“ Po po is just looking out for you. And your aunties are right; you are getting older, and you’ve yet to have a stable girlfriend in your life. When I was your age, I was already engaged to your father. And I know things are different for people your age nowadays, but that’s not an excuse to not even try. Reputation matters, and it doesn’t look good on the family for our son to not even have a girlfriend when everyone else we know is busy setting up weddings and celebrating their grandchildren. You’re twenty-eight, time is ticking.”

Why did I think calling her was a good idea?

“I’ve spoken to your father about it, and he agrees that we should pursue this. It’s just a few dates. There’s no harm in just meeting the women and seeing if they’re a good match. You never know—auntie Lei met her husband that way, and they’ve been happily married for twenty years. So, just appease your grandparents and go on the dates.”

“No.”

“Lau Ka-yee, you will listen to me, and you will go on these dates, or so help me, I will come over there and force you to go on them myself.”

I grimace. It’s never a good sign when she switches to my Chinese name.

“I’ve let you do a lot of things in life that I was deeply opposed to, so for once, I’m telling you to do as I say and stop arguing.”

Great.

She just had to pull the gamer card.

Even after all this time, she’s still pissed.

Ten years ago, I helped my high school best friend, Aleksander, start his streaming career as the infamous masked gamer, NightBlade32, before eventually dropping out of college my sophomore year to join him—which my parents did not approve of. A few years later, we recruited one of our close online friends—Parker—to join us and formed a group called The System. The three of us rose to fame as masked video game streamers, accumulating millions of views and millions of dollars.

We are the most in-demand gamers in the industry, but that doesn’t mean my traditional family understands what that means. To most of them, I’m just spending my days messing around online. Even with the rise of esports in China, it is still a foreign concept to them. It would be fair to say that my relatives are split in their support of me, and I am always fighting an uphill battle to win their approval.

It’s exhausting never having anyone on my side.

“Fine,” I grumble.

“Thank you, and don’t forget your sister has another piano recital in a few weeks.”

“It’s already on my calendar.”

“Good, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, bye bye.”

“Bye bye.”

She hangs up, and I’m left in the silence of my car. I don’t even bother turning my music on. I’m too annoyed to appreciate it. I just want to stew in my own frustration.

How many failed dates would I need to go on until they give up?

Too many.

Fuck. I wish there was a way out of this without having to actually get a real girlfriend.

I mentally accept my death sentence as I swing into the private underground parking garage at our apartment complex and park in my designated spot among Aleks’ and Parker’s luxury vehicles.

My mood stays sour the entire elevator ride up to the penthouse. I stop to grab a sparkling water from the fridge before heading into my streaming room.

The tension in my shoulders instantly loosens once I’m surrounded by nothing except the green LED glow of the room. I drop onto my gaming chair and crack open my can as I start my computer up. My PC whirs to life, and I admire it with a sense of pride. I built the entire thing from scratch. It had taken longer to build than planned because the graphics card I’d wanted was on backorder, but now it ran like a beauty with no lag. Custom PC builds can get pricey, but they are worth it if you’re an invested gamer.

A notification pops up in the corner of my monitor, alerting me that Parker and Aleks are already online—which I gathered from how quiet the penthouse was when I came in. Even when we aren’t live streaming, we are probably playing video games. When we stream, we have to be on , but on nights like tonight, we like to play just for the hell of it because it helps us destress and have fun. It’s important for us to do both, otherwise we could risk losing our love for the games to the constant pressure.

I click on my friends list and scan to see who else is online.

Lee’s playing Gods League , the most popular 5v5 MMO game and the top esport game, with Aleks, Parker, and two of our pro-gamer friends, Wylder and Ryder—twins who go by the gamertags WyldShot and SmoothRyde.

My eyes linger on the little round circle framing Deer’s profile picture.

She hasn’t been online in days, but I can see her racking up gameplay hours offline.

Not that I’ve been stalking her or anything, I’m just paying close attention. She’s been quiet ever since the swatting, and it doesn’t sit well with me.

The boys and I were swatted a few years back at the old warehouse we used to use for streaming before we moved into our current penthouse apartment. It had been a scary as fuck experience. Nothing prepares you for an entire SWAT team barging in, waving guns, and shouting at you out of nowhere.

Deer is still new to the gaming world compared to the rest of us, and I see the way the rise to fame unsettles her when she thinks no one is watching. I just wish she wasn’t so stubborn. It pisses me off that she is still staying in that apartment when Parker has clearly pointed out its shitty security.

A notification pops up and I slide on my headset before clicking on it to join the Discord server Parker’s invited me to.

I’m instantly assaulted by him yelling, “What the actual fuck?”

“RIP, dude,” Ryder laughs.

“You wankers could have saved me.” Parker’s London accent thickens the more frustrated he gets.

“You are literally support, English,” Lee sighs. “That’s your job.”

“This is why I hate this game.”

Parker kind of sucks at Gods League and avoids it when he can. He might be one of the best speedrunners to exist, but it doesn’t matter how many years we’ve played, there is just something in his brain that won’t let him get better at League . He’s still ranked Silver class while Lee, Aleks, and I are all Ruby. Ryder and Wylder have God Master ranks, but as pros it would be embarrassing if they were anything less.

“How’re we doing?” I finally chime in.

“Shield, welcome to the party, my man,” Ryder drawls, addressing me by my gamertag.

“Parker’s dragging us all down, per usual,” Aleks grunts.

“I didn’t ask to play, you all made me,” Parker whines.

“No, we said we were playing, and then you got upset when we wouldn’t join you in FrozeLine and complained you were lonely,” Lee corrects.

“Yeah. Technically, you invited yourself,” Wylder laughs.

“Whatever, I’m quitting. Jackson can take my place.”

“Thank God.”

I click to join their game lobby and then decide on which character to use for support. I don’t mind the role; it just isn’t my favorite. As support, my main job is to assist the lane player—Ryder in this case—until they amass enough experience and gold.

We start the game, and Ryder and I head down to the bottom lane of the map to begin working our way through the minions. Minutes pass as Ryder continues to farm for gold while I tap in for support and grow my XP.

A notification pops up on my second monitor, and my gaze darts to it.

I abandon my gameplay, quickly moving my mouse to click on the notification before it disappears.

Deer’s profile loads, a little green dot appearing on the corner of her picture. But just as soon as it is there, it flicks away, turning gray again.

“Shield, the fuck are you doing?” Ryder bites.

I whip my attention back to my main screen just in time to see an enemy player blast him with a spell.

“Shit.” I quickly throw a healing cast. “My b.”

“You guys good down there?” Aleks checks in.

“Someone got distracted,” Ryder grumbles before raining bullets down on the enemy and killing the fellow God champion. “We’re fine now.”

“Nice kill,” Lee congratulates.

“Distracted? The great Shield?” Wylder taunts.

“Fuck off.” I try to laser focus my attention onto the screen, my eyes darting between incoming enemies while keeping an eye on Ryder. We keep advancing down our lane to the tower we need to take down. Even with all the action, I can’t stop that little niggle in the back of my brain that has me wanting to check on her status again.

She acts like the princess who doesn’t need a knight to keep her safe, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to stand guard.

My attention continues to wane until I finally bite the bullet.

“How’s Deer doing?”

My question breeds silence for a second before Lee chimes in. “Oh, are you asking me?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a loud sigh from her. “She texts me a pic every day as proof of life, but…I don’t know.”

“I’ve tried checking in, but she just sends me those little sparkly pink heart emojis,” Aleks adds.

“You checked in?” My skin prickles.

“Yeah, like a decent human. What, haven’t you?”

I grind my molars, focusing on blasting an enemy minion instead of on the fact that I now seem like the insensitive asshole. “I don’t have her number.”

“We’re all friends on Discord, mate,” Parker points out.

“Boys,” Lee chastises. “It’s fine. She should be coming over for Crime Night. I don’t care if I have to go and drag her here myself. I’m making her leave that apartment and be a functioning member of society.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but I really need someone to help me take down this tower,” Ryder drops in.

“Coming.”

“That’s what she said,” Parker, as always, cuts in.

There’s a soft round of chuckles, and it seems like everyone’s instantly moved on from the heavy cloud I created. But I’m still stuck in the middle of the storm, my mouse moving to my second monitor to open Deer’s profile.

I hover over the little envelope button, wondering what I should say.

“Shield, I need you here,” Ryder warns.

I panic click out of her profile. “Got you.”

Fuck, I need to get my head on straight. I’m sure she’s fine. It’s Deer, she’s always saying she’s fine.