Back to Y/n:

I headed straight to my room as soon as I got home from training. I'd been feeling drained all day—not just from lack of sleep, though that played a part, but mostly because of the constant wave of hate I'd been receiving lately. I tried my best not to let it show, to act like it didn't bother me in front of the team. But if I was being honest with myself, it was eating away at me.

Every time I opened a social media app, I was bombarded with hundreds of hate posts and comments. People tearing me apart, and I didn't even know what I'd done to deserve it. Was I really a distraction to Sitetampo? Were my plays so terrible that I didn't deserve a spot on the team?

The doubts I'd been trying to ignore began creeping in again, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

I noticed that Sitetampo had gone live, his familiar stream notification lighting up my phone screen. Maybe watching him for a bit would help take my mind off everything, even if just for a little while.

Of course, the moment I opened his stream, the comments that had been haunting me appeared immediately.

"Does anyone else think Tampo's been off his game since Y/n showed up?"

"She's totally a distraction. He was way better before."

The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, making me instantly regret my decision to tune in. My chest tightened, and I quickly closed the stream, not wanting to see more.

I felt the sting of tears welling up, but I bit them back. Crying would only make me feel weaker. Maybe I shouldn't compete in the tournament at all—or better yet, maybe I should just leave the team entirely. They'd probably be better off without me dragging them down.

Just as I was spiraling deeper into those thoughts, Moya's voice broke through from the other side of the door.

"Hey, Y/n, is everything alright? You're not being loud and annoying as usual," Moya teased, his voice muffled through the door.

I quickly wiped at my eyes, trying to compose myself. The last thing I wanted was for Moya—or anyone—to see me like this. "I'm fine," I called back, but my voice cracked slightly, betraying me.

There was a pause, and I could hear the subtle shift in Moya's tone when he spoke again. "Y/n, open the door."

"I said I'm fine, Moya," I replied, more firmly this time, hoping he'd let it go.

"Y/n." His voice softened in a way that made my resolve waver. "Come on, I know you. If you don't open the door, I'm just going to stay here until you do."

I sighed, knowing he meant it. Moya could be infuriatingly stubborn, and I didn't have the energy to fight him off right now. Reluctantly, I got up and opened the door just enough for him to slip inside.

He stepped in, his expression shifting from teasing to concern the moment he saw my face. "You've been crying," he said, his brow furrowing.

"No, I haven't," I lied, crossing my arms defensively.

"Y/n..." He sat down on the edge of my bed, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, tell me what's going on."

I hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down beside him, my defenses crumbling under his concerned gaze. "It's nothing, really. Just... people being jerks online."

Moya let out a heavy sigh. "The hate comments?"

I nodded, staring at my hands in my lap. "It's just... I don't even know what I did wrong. They're saying I'm a distraction to Sitetampo, that I'm terrible at the game. Maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't even be on the team."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," Moya said, cutting me off. "Where is all this coming from? You've been working your butt off to get where you are, and you deserve that spot just as much as the rest of us. Don't let some faceless trolls on the internet tell you otherwise."

"But what if I really am dragging everyone down?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What if they're not wrong?"

Moya placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. "Y/n, listen to me. You're not a distraction, and you're not dragging anyone down. You're part of this team because you're good—really good. And you know who else thinks that? Sitetampo. He's the one who pushed to have you on the team in the first place."

The mention of Sitetampo brought a fresh wave of emotion, but this time it wasn't just sadness—it was guilt. "I don't want him to have to defend me all the time. It's not fair to him."

Moya shook his head. "He doesn't see it that way, and neither do I. We've got your back, Y/n. You don't have to go through this alone."

His words brought a small sense of relief, but the weight of everything still lingered. "Thanks, Moya," I said softly. "I just... I need some time to clear my head."

"Fair enough," he said, standing up. "But if you need someone to vent to—or to throw stuff at—I'm right here."

I managed a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

After he left, I sat back on my bed, replaying his words in my mind. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was letting these comments get to me more than they should. But it was hard to shake the doubt completely.

I grabbed my phone and hesitated for a moment before sending Sitetampo a message.

Me: Hey, I saw you were live. Sorry I didn't stick around to watch. I wasn't feeling great.

His reply came almost instantly.

Sitetampo: Hey, are you okay? Did something happen?

I debated how much to tell him but decided to keep it simple.

Me: Just some of the comments online. They're getting to me, I guess.

A few seconds passed before his response came.

Sitetampo: Y/n, don't let those idiots get to you. They don't know what they're talking about.

Sitetampo: I'll call you after my stream, okay?

I smiled faintly, feeling a little lighter just from his words.

Me: Okay.

True to his word, Sitetampo called me as soon as his stream ended.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

I took a deep breath and told him everything—the comments, the doubts, how I'd been feeling like I didn't deserve my place on the team. He listened patiently, not interrupting once.

When I finished, he said, "Y/n, you're one of the most hardworking people I know. Those comments don't define you."

I laughed softly despite myself. "Tampo..."

"I mean it," he said, his tone serious now. "You're not just good—you're amazing. And I'm not going to let anyone make you feel otherwise."

His words melted some of the doubt that had been weighing me down. "Thanks, Tampo. I needed to hear that."

"Anytime," he said. "And hey, we've got a tournament to win, right? Let's focus on that and show everyone what you're capable of."

"Right," I said, feeling a renewed sense of determination.

After we hung up, I felt lighter than I had all day. The hate comments were still there, but they didn't seem quite as overwhelming anymore. I wasn't alone in this—I had my team, my brother, and Sitetampo.

And I was going to prove to everyone that I deserved to be here.