It was 2:00 AM. The squad was tired. Voices cracking, snacks gone, energy low.
I said: “Alright boys, last game, win or lose.”
They all agreed. Of course they did. We always say that.

We launched into a match — ranked, naturally. The stakes were high, and so were the pings.
First round? We got clapped. Second round? Slightly less clapped.
But then… something clicked.

Our entry fragger went full beast mode.
The support actually supported.
Even I — the guy who usually flashes his own team — landed a clutch 1v3.

We won.
We screamed like we’d just won a championship.
Mic distortion? 100%.
Neighbors? Probably called the police.

Then someone said the cursed words:
"Okay, now that we’re warmed up, ONE MORE?"

And just like that… it was 4:30 AM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣵⣄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢾⣻⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠸⣽⣻⠃⣿⡿⠋⣉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡟⠉⡉⢻⣿⡌⣿⣳⡥⠀
⠀⢜⣳⡟⢸⣿⣷⣄⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣠⣼⣿⣇⢸⢧⢣⠀
⠀⠨⢳⠇⣸⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡟⢆⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠀⣾⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⠐⠈⠀⠀
⠀⢀⣀⣼⣷⣭⣛⣯⡝⠿⢿⣛⣋⣤⣤⣀⣉⣛⣻⡿⢟⣵⣟⣯⣶⣿⣄⡀⠀
⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣶⣶⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣧
⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⡿