The win streak continued.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
Nightwalker's rank climbed not in dramatic leaps, but in steady, undeniable steps. Silver III. Silver II. The matches blurred together—different teammates, similar mistakes, familiar results.
But the world chat did not blur.
It sharpened.
[System] Player "Nightwalker" has achieved a Silver Tier winning streak.
This time, the reaction was immediate.
"Again?""That Crusader is still winning?""Okay, that's not normal anymore.""Anyone checked his match history?"
Someone did.
The results were posted seconds later.
"Zero losses.""Started from Bronze.""All wins."
The chat froze for half a heartbeat.
Then—
"That's a smurf.""No way that's a real Silver.""Which team is this? New account maybe?""Holy Crusader, though?"
That last part slowed the accusations.
If it were an Assassin.If it were a Mage.If it were an ADC.
Sure.
But a Holy Crusader?
That didn't fit any existing narrative.
Daniel closed the chat window.
Silver players talked too much.
The party window remained open.
Starguard stayed silent for most of the queue time.
She had noticed the chat too.
"They're… kind of serious now," she said eventually.
"They were always serious," Daniel replied. "Just not informed."
The match loaded.
This time, someone recognized him immediately.
"Wait, Nightwalker?""That Crusader?""I saw your stats."
Another voice followed, cautious.
"Let's play around him."
Daniel didn't comment.
Starguard exhaled quietly.
"That's new," she said.
"Yes," Daniel replied. "Expectations."
The enemy team played differently.
Not better.
Just differently.
They didn't overextend as much. They rotated sooner. They hesitated longer.
They were watching.
Daniel felt it immediately.
Every step he took was mirrored. Every rotation was tested. The enemy jungler hovered closer than before.
Good.
Pressure revealed cracks faster.
The first fight broke out mid.
A clean engage from the enemy side—better timing than most Silver games.
Daniel stepped forward to intercept.
The damage was heavier than usual.
For the first time in several matches, his health dropped dangerously fast.
Starguard reacted instantly.
Not with panic.
With commitment.
She burned cooldowns early. Too early by textbook standards—but exactly when Daniel needed them.
He held.
The enemy overcommitted.
The fight flipped.
Two down.
The rest retreated.
Voice chat went quiet.
Then someone said softly, "That timing…"
Starguard didn't answer.
She was already repositioning.
Mid-game turned tense.
No reckless pushes. No pointless skirmishes.
Silver players playing as if something were at stake.
Daniel liked it.
This was closer to the real game.
At twenty minutes, both teams grouped near the objective.
Vision wars. Poke. Waiting.
Someone on Daniel's team whispered, "They're scared of you."
"They should be scared of space," Daniel replied.
He stepped forward.
Not aggressively.
Decisively.
The enemy line wavered.
That was enough.
The engage was short. Controlled. Brutal.
The enemy carry fell before reacting.
The rest collapsed soon after.
VICTORY
Back in the lobby, the silence lasted longer than usual.
Then world chat erupted.
"That wasn't luck.""That Crusader knows the game.""Could be a retired pro.""No way a Silver plays like that."
Starguard stared at the screen.
"…They think you're a pro," she said.
Daniel shrugged slightly.
"They'll think something else tomorrow."
"Does it bother you?" she asked.
"No," Daniel replied. "It confirms something."
"What?"
"That I'm no longer invisible."
He queued again.
Somewhere in the endless scroll of Silver matchmaking, a name had begun to stand out.
Not because it was loud.
Not because it was flashy.
But because it didn't belong.
And people were starting to notice.