"YO, YO, YO! PHANTOMEDGE IS IN THE HOUSEEEE!"
The central plaza of **Centralis Nova**, the main hub city of Eternal Nexus Online, was packed with over 50,000 players, their avatars creating a sea of colors and effects that would've crashed any regular game engine. Virtual fireworks exploded overhead as the giant holographic display updated the **Top 100 Dragon Slayers** leaderboard.
**#47 - PhantomEdge (Ryker Chen) - Dragon Count: 127**
I stood on the parade float, waving at the crowd like some kind of virtual celebrity. Which, I mean, I technically was. Two years of grinding, dying, respawning, and learning had gotten me here—Top 100, baby!
"Tell me something!" I shouted over the roar of the crowd. "Do I look better when I'm slaying dragons, or when I'm just standing here looking this good?"
The female players in the crowd screamed even louder. Yeah, I know—shameless. But hey, confidence is key in this game. In any game, really. Life included.
"PHANTOM! ONE SELFIE, PLEASE!" A girl player with pink hair and cat ears tried to jump onto the float.
I crouched down with a playful smile. "Sorry miss, but I'm still covered in dragon blood from this morning's hunt. Rain check?"
She melted. Literally—her avatar did this cute swooning animation.
My party member **BlackViper** stood beside me, arms crossed, shaking his head. His avatar was a massive dude in black scale armor, the kind that screamed "I'm a tank and I don't care about your DPS."
"Bro, you're actually insufferable. Do you ever stop being cringe?" he said through party chat, though I could hear the grin in his voice.
"It's not cringe, it's *charisma*. There's a difference!" I shot back.
Behind us on the float, the rest of our guild **Phantom Raiders** waved at the crowd:
- **IronFist** - our berserker, a mountain of muscle with the IQ of a... well, a mountain. Good guy though. Hits things really, really hard.
- **SilentStorm** - our archer. Quiet as hell, deadly as hell. Probably hasn't said more than fifty words in the two years I've known him.
- **CrimsonWitch** - fire mage, the only girl in our core team. Sharp tongue, sharper spells.
A forum moderator NPC floated up on a media drone, holding a virtual microphone. "PhantomEdge! The **Continental Championship** starts tomorrow! Are you ready?"
I stood up on the float, spreading my arms wide like I was about to take flight.
"Ready? BRO. I was born ready! Tomorrow, I'm gonna put on such a show that the admins will have to create a new achievement: **'Survived Watching PhantomEdge Without Passing Out!'**"
The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers. Some players shot off skill effects in celebration—fireworks, light shows, one guy even summoned a mini dragon that did a loop-de-loop.
This was my life now. Virtual fame, real money, endless possibilities.
Two years ago, I was just Ryker Chen—a sixteen-year-old kid with no skills, no money, and no future. Now? Top 100 player, sponsors reaching out, six-figure monthly income from tournament prizes, streaming deals, and item trading.
I'd bought my parents a house in the real world. Sent them money every month. Got myself a decent apartment. All thanks to **Eternal Nexus Online**.
This wasn't just a game anymore. It was a second life. A better life.
---
After the parade, our guild headed back to **Phantom Raiders Hall**—our guild headquarters located in the Sky District of Centralis Nova. The building floated on a massive crystal platform, with waterfalls cascading off the edges into the clouds below. Yeah, this game's graphics were *insane*.
We gathered in the VIP strategy room. Holographic displays showed tournament brackets, enemy guild compositions, dungeon maps, and item markets.
"Alright, serious talk," BlackViper said, pulling up the championship bracket. "Tomorrow, our first match is against **Iron Legion**. They've got 200 members. We've got 50."
"Numbers don't mean shit," I said, leaning back in my virtual chair and putting my boots on the table. "They're a zerg guild. All quantity, no quality."
"PhantomEdge's right," SilentStorm added. Rare for him to speak up. "Tank spam strategy. Predictable. We counter with speed and precision."
I nodded. "Exactly. IronFist, you're our bait—"
"WHY AM I ALWAYS BAIT?!" IronFist slammed his fist on the table, making the hologram flicker.
"—because you're big, loud, and impossible to ignore," I continued smoothly. "You hold their frontline attention. Me and Silent shadow-port behind their formation, take out their healers and mages. Thirty seconds, they're soft targets. Then Viper and Crimson sweep."
CrimsonWitch twirled her staff, flames dancing around it. "Just so we're clear, I'm not 'sweeping.' I'm *incinerating*."
"My apologies, oh glorious fire goddess of destruction," I said with an exaggerated bow.
She rolled her eyes but smirked.
This was the vibe of our guild. We were good—damn good—but we didn't take ourselves too seriously. That's what made us dangerous. Other guilds were so caught up in rankings and politics that they forgot to actually enjoy the game.
"Speaking of enjoyment," BlackViper said with a shit-eating grin, "the forums are shipping you and **CelestialFlame** again."
I nearly spat out my virtual coffee. "WHAT? That's still going?!"
"Dude, three months ago you two got trapped in **Crimson Abyss Dungeon** for twelve hours," CrimsonWitch said, leaning forward with amusement in her eyes. "People noticed."
"That was an *accident*! The dungeon collapsed, the exit portal bugged out!" I protested.
"Uh-huh. And what did you two do for twelve hours?" BlackViper waggled his eyebrows.
"Survived! Resource management! Strategy!" I said defensively.
"Romance?" IronFist added helpfully.
"NO!"
They all burst out laughing.
Okay, fine. That twelve hours *was* special. CelestialFlame—the #1 ranked player in the entire game, the most powerful mage in existence, completely untouchable—and me, just a Top 47 nobody, trapped together.
She taught me advanced magic theory. Shared tactics I'd never thought of. And we... talked. Real talk. Not about the game, about life. She told me how she'd reached #1—four years of grinding, no admin sponsors, no shortcuts. Just pure skill and dedication.
That's when I realized: I didn't just admire her as a player.
I actually liked her.
But I'd never told anyone. They'd never let me live it down.
"Cat got your tongue, Phantom?" CrimsonWitch teased.
"Nope, just thinking about how I'm gonna carry all of you tomorrow," I recovered quickly.
---
That night, I logged out to my solo spot—**Silent Grove**, a peaceful zone on the nature server **Terra-7**. No PvP, no grinding, just trees, streams, and ambient sounds.
I sat under a massive virtual oak tree, looking up at the sky. Nexus's stars were prettier than real life's. No light pollution here.
"Do you actually like her, or are you just being a simp?" I muttered to myself.
Yeah, I talk to myself. Sue me. It's how I think.
"She's #1, you're #47. That's a forty-six rank gap. Unrealistic."
"But she smiled at you..."
"She smiles at everyone, idiot."
"Not the way she smiled at me."
"Bro, you're delusional."
Before I could continue my one-man therapy session, a notification popped up:
**[PRIVATE MESSAGE]**
**From: CelestialFlame**
**"Hey Phantom, good luck tomorrow at the championship. I've seen your fights—you're really good. 😊"**
My heart—or whatever the virtual equivalent was—skipped.
I stared at the message for five straight minutes.
What do I say? What do I SAY?!
- "Thanks, you too!" — Too basic.
- "You watching me? 😏" — Too flirty.
- "I'll win for you!" — TOO CRINGE ABORT ABORT.
Finally:
**"Thanks Celestial. Means a lot coming from the legend herself. See you at the top! 💪"**
Send.
Immediate regret. "Legend herself? BRO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING."
But she replied:
**"Haha, confident as always. That's what I like about you. Good luck! 🔥"**
I shot up from the ground.
"WHAT SHE LIKES ABOUT ME?! SHE SAID 'LIKE'! SHE—"
I was eighteen years old and still acted like a middle schooler around girls. Peak performance.
"Okay, calm down. It's just a friendly message. Don't overthink."
I was already overthinking.
---
The next day. **Continental Championship Arena**.
The crowd was *massive*. Over 100,000 player avatars packed into a stadium that defied physics—floating sections, anti-gravity seating, holographic displays everywhere.
Our team stood in the preparation room, gearing up.
"Everyone ready?" BlackViper asked.
"Born ready," I said, checking my dual daggers—**Phantom's Fang** and **Shadow's Bite**. Both legendary drops from my dragon hunts.
IronFist cracked his knuckles, his giant warhammer materialized in his hands. SilentStorm inspected his bowstring. CrimsonWitch's staff glowed with barely contained fire magic.
"Alright, team," I said. "Let's show the world why we're Top 100."
The doors opened. The roar of the crowd hit us like a physical wave.
We walked into the arena. Across from us stood **Iron Legion**—200 players in full heavy armor, shields locked, a literal wall of steel.
Their leader, **SteelCommander**, stepped forward. Big guy. Bigger armor. Ego probably the biggest.
"PhantomEdge," he called out, his voice amplified by the arena's sound system. "You're outnumbered four to one. Want to surrender now and save yourself the embarrassment?"
I smiled.
Cracked my knuckles.
And activated my **Shadow Aura**—black and purple energy swirling around me.
"Numbers don't mean shit," I said, loud enough for the entire stadium to hear, "when you're fighting ghosts."
The countdown timer appeared above the arena:
**[3...]**
**[2...]**
**[1...]**
**[FIGHT!]**