In Miami, under the candy-colored neon lights and glowing palm trees, the world spins fast — sometimes too fast.
CS2 is more than a game: it’s a stage, a business, a place where everyone fights to carve out their space.
Among them stands LyBanjo.
They say he was carved from ancient wood, hand-shaped in the forgotten hills of the South.
A living Totem, made to endure, staying true to himself in a world that spins too fast.
He never talks about it. Maybe because it doesn’t matter. Maybe because he knows what really counts is what you build every day.

His job is CS2.
Not for fame. Not for the spotlight.
Just for the pure joy of playing, of living through the rhythm of bullets and groove.

Each night, headset tight, he fires up "Let's Groove" by Earth, Wind and Fire, sinks into his worn-out chair, and dives into the match.
His moves are smooth, steady — an invisible dance in a restless world.

At the end of a game, he sometimes draws a tiny Totem with his finger on the desk, just for himself.
Not to be seen.
Not to be remembered.
Just to remind himself he’s here, and sometimes, that’s enough.