When she thought she was doomed, a man's voice suddenly sounded in her headphones.
"Vivian, don't panic, I'm here."
Almost before the words fell, a golden figure charged out from the side.
Skill two advanced, the ultimate took control of the enemy instantly.
A few maneuvers flowed smoothly, the opposing jungler didn't even have time to react before being insta-killed.
Vivian Sinclair came to her senses and quickly turned on her mic, softly saying, "Thank you, Wyatt."
She watched the respawn countdown on the screen hit zero, feeling a wave of fear.
Wyatt Morgan and Curtis Prescott have been good friends for years.
She had met them a few times at gatherings before, so she was somewhat familiar.
Every time with friends, Wyatt would always smile and offer her a drink or help pull her chair closer to the table.
His words were witty, but he never crossed any lines, always seeming reliable and amiable.
Just hearing his voice, she recognized him immediately.
In the past, she called Curtis her brother, and those friends would tease, insisting she call them brother too, saying calling them uncle sounded too old-fashioned, not nice.
A group of people sat around the hotpot table, amidst the clinking of glasses, someone deliberately teased her.
"Little Vivian, we're all your brothers. You can come to us if you need anything!"
At that point, she blushed and lowered her head with a smile, softly calling, "Wyatt," leading to a round of laughter and applause.
Over time, she got used to calling them this way.
Wyatt Morgan laughed out loud.
"It was just a small thing, don't worry about it."
While clearing minions, he casually asked, "The enemy jungler starts at red, he should be rotating mid soon, watch your positioning."
Vivian obediently nodded.
Though he knew she couldn't see: "Okay, I'll fall back."
The game continued, every time Vivian Sinclair was caught, Wyatt Morgan always appeared in time to rescue her.
The second time was when the enemy's mid and jungle coordinated. She just cleared the lane and was preparing to retreat when two figures popped out from the bush.
Before she could use her Purify, Wyatt's ultimate already hit the enemy's feet.
The third time was a flanking maneuver, he even abandoned the tyrant he was battling to head straight for mid lane support.
By the end of the game, she had said "Thank you, Wyatt" six times.
But every time Wyatt responded with a smile, "Don't mention it, protecting my sister is what a brother does."
Finally, they won the match, and the moment the victory screen popped up.
The team voice chat erupted with light laughter.
Elara Joyce happily said, "We played so smoothly this time!"
Curtis Prescott also chuckled and said, "Let's continue next round."
But right then.
"I was the one saving you, how come you only thanked others? Am I not qualified to be your brother?"
Vivian froze, her face heating up.
That voice...
Wasn't Wyatt.
Her fingers stiffened on the keyboard, her heart racing, ears flushing.
Wasn't it Wyatt who saved her?
She distinctly heard his voice.
She saw his maneuvers; every time he came to her aid.
But if...
If it wasn't him...
Then was every "Thank you, Wyatt" a misunderstanding?
And the real savior was silent all along.
"Hahaha, Vivian, each time it was Tristan saving you, he's the jungler, I was on the top lane."
Wyatt Morgan laughed on the other end of the phone.
Vivian Sinclair was dumbfounded, her grip on the phone slightly stiffened.
She licked her dry lips.
Recalling yesterday's meeting.
That person standing at the eSports center entrance, in a black jacket, distinct and sharp.
She said softly, "Thank you, Tristan."
"No problem."
The other party's voice was low and pleasant.
Transmitted through the headphones, it carried a slight electric hum.
Vivian's heart sped up, she lowered her head in panic, her fingers unconsciously wrapping around the earphone wire.
When it came to Tristan Sterling, she had always been a bit afraid.
He came from a good family, of prominent background.
His father is a business mogul, his mother from a scholarly family.
He himself is a King's University law student.
His words are sharp, always hitting the mark with no exceptions.
Before, when attending gatherings with Curtis Prescott, she had only met him twice.
Each time, it felt like a silent ordeal.
The first time was when she got into law school, she wore a light blue dress that day.
Curtis's group of friends all congratulated her.
Praised her for being excellent, having a promising future, said she would definitely be a legal elite someday.
Only Tristan said indifferently, "Remember to find me when you go to court."
Vivian Sinclair was puzzled, hesitated, frowned slightly, and couldn't help but ask, "Why?"
Tristan said, "I'm just here to watch you make a fool of yourself."
From childhood to adulthood, Vivian was often overlooked.
Hearing such words, she would avoid them.
After that, whenever she saw Tristan Sterling, she'd steer clear.
Avoid him from afar, afraid to get even a step closer.
Later at Mrs. Prescott's birthday banquet.
She unexpectedly saw Tristan standing in the hall, tall and cold.
She instinctively stepped back, even bumping into the vase behind her in a panic.
Eventually, she hid behind Curtis Prescott.
Tristan saw, and let out a cold laugh.
"Curtis, when did you get a tagalong? Like a mouse afraid of the light."
"Should I get a little shovel and dig her a hole to crawl into? Save her from being an eyesore."
Vivian Sinclair's face instantly flushed.
Her ears burned, breathing became difficult.
Her heart felt like it was being pricked by needles, throbbing in pain.
She had never met someone so blunt.
Afterwards, whenever she knew Tristan Sterling was involved, she rejected it all, didn't reply to a single message.
It wasn't a tantrum, it was self-preservation.
"Still gaming or not? Coming back?"
Wyatt Morgan asked enthusiastically.
"Not playing."
As soon as she heard it was Tristan Sterling, Vivian Sinclair lost interest.
"Ah? Why not play anymore?"
Wyatt felt a bit disappointed, his tone full of confusion.
Curtis Prescott sensed the change in mood and coughed lightly.
Then he spoke to help her out, "Vivian just returned to the country, not acclimatized, caught a cold, needs rest. She's been adjusting these days, probably needs more time to recuperate."
Wyatt Morgan quickly said, "Then make sure to get a good night's sleep, health is important. Don't push too hard, we'll arrange it another day, no rush now."
Vivian Sinclair quietly left the room.
Elara Joyce stood up, smiling broadly, "Little niece, get well soon, your little uncle and I won't disturb you."
"Hmm."
She forced a smile and managed a grin.
As the door closed.
She finally felt deflated, relaxing.
Her body felt drained of energy.
But even in bed, tossing and turning, she couldn't sleep.
Thinking of the emails she sent, regret washed over her.
She shouldn't have come back, truly.
This thought revolving repeatedly in her mind.
The phone suddenly vibrated twice, she reached out from under the blanket, tremblingly answered the call, "Hello."
"Heard you're running a fever? Mom just got back from a charity gala, haven't seen the news until now. Is it serious?"
Lynn Shaw's voice came through the receiver.
"No problem, just a common cold."
She talked while lying down, her voice carrying a hint of nasal tone, sounding soft.
Lynn Shaw was more anxious, "You've always been weak since childhood, easily sick with a chill, now that you're back alone, how can mom be at ease? I'm coming over to stay with you. The driver is already on the way, should arrive in about forty minutes."