Chapter 8 — Bench
And thus begins Chapter Eight.
Now, children.
The water war ended.
Ammunition depleted.
The battlefield dissolved.
And there we were again.
Nuo.
Stalker.
Walking.
The council looks around.
Destination?
None.
Naturally.
Campus at night.
Hands held.
No urgency.
No objective marker screaming from the corner of vision.
Just
walk.
Children.
Every now and then,
we kissed.
Not like before.
Not the plant pot incident.
That had been
discovery.
Enthusiasm.
Two people attacking the concept of kissing with the energy of researchers who had just secured funding.
The council nods.
This was different.
Small kisses.
Comfortable ones.
Pause while walking.
Look at each other.
Kiss.
Continue.
No urgency.
No need to prove anything.
Children.
I had known this woman for less than a day
and somehow we had already moved from:
“I’m your stalker.”
to:
casually holding hands through a campus at night.
The council considers the progression.
Fast.
Extremely.
Story Nuo did not object.
We wandered.
Past buildings.
Paths.
Maybe students here and there.
Festival remnants.
The campus quieter than before.
No idea where we were heading.
And eventually
bench.
The council pauses.
Grand location?
No.
Scenic cliff?
No.
Hidden rooftop?
No.
Children.
Bench.
A normal bench.
The sort of object humanity places everywhere because eventually two people will get tired.
We sat.
Now.
The council prepares itself.
Head on shoulder?
No.
Mine resting on hers?
Also no.
Children.
The Sacred Pose had not yet been conceived.
Wrong era.
No accidental prototype.
No retroactive mythology.
Story Nuo sat the way Story Nuo sat.
I leaned forward.
Forearms on knees.
Probably slightly hunched.
The council nods.
Elegant.
Never.
Stalker sat beside me.
Same general posture.
Only somehow more elegant,
because some humans possess the ability to perform identical actions without looking like exhausted goblins.
The council accepts.
And we talked.
The council waits.
About life?
No.
Childhood?
No.
Dreams?
No.
Children.
Dota.
Of course.
What else?
We had the finals in the morning.
Demigodz.
Our rivals.
The other powerhouse.
The team that had steamrolled its side of the bracket exactly as we had steamrolled ours.
And apparently,
rather than sleep before the biggest match of the tournament
we strategised on a bench until sunrise.
The council sighs.
Athletic preparation.
Esports edition.
Exactly.
Drafts.
Heroes.
Possibilities.
What they might pick.
What we could answer with.
Things they’d done before.
Things we’d done before.
Ideas.
Counters.
Children.
Stalker knew the game.
Really knew it.
So this was not me explaining Dota to someone politely pretending to care because she liked me.
She had thoughts.
Actual thoughts.
Useful ones.
She could disagree.
Suggest.
Notice things.
And Story Nuo found that
extremely attractive.
The council nods.
We have established this.
Yes.
But it continued being true.
There is something intoxicating about being able to talk about the thing consuming your entire life
with someone who already speaks the language.
No translation.
No simplification.
No:
So there are two teams and
Children.
No.
Straight into it.
Draft.
Lane.
Timing.
Matchups.
Strategy.
The council watches the night pass.
And we talked.
For how long?
Long enough.
Long enough that darkness gradually stopped being darkness.
Children.
At some point,
the sky changed.
Not dramatically.
No one announced it.
Just
black softened.
Grey appeared.
Then colour.
And eventually I realized:
Morning.
The council looks toward the horizon.
Sunrise.
Yes.
We had talked through the night.
No sleep.
No classroom benches.
No sheets.
No responsible tournament preparation.
Just Stalker,
Dota,
a bench,
and the gradual arrival of day.
Children.
We watched the sunrise.
The council grows reverently quiet.
And
no.
Don’t.
The council pauses.
No revelation?
None.
No:
As the first light broke across the horizon, I understood
Children.
Stop.
It was sunrise.
It looked nice.
We watched it.
That is enough.
The Archive does not need to convert every celestial event into enlightenment.
Sometimes the sun rises because Earth rotates.
The council nods approvingly.
And between us
joint.
Lit.
Passed.
Smoke.
Watch.
Pass.
The council smiles.
A perfectly respectable dawn ceremony.
No vows.
No philosophy.
Just two idiots who had apparently decided sleep was optional before a Dota final.
The joint moved between us.
Sun came higher.
Night officially surrendered.
And then
phone.
The council turns.
Call.
Hex.
Of course.
I answered.
“Yo, where you at?”
The council nods.
Reasonable question.
Given that the last time Hex had seen me,
I had acquired a romantic interest and vanished into the night.
Then
“We’re gonna get food.”
Silence.
Children.
Food.
The word struck.
Not gently.
Not:
Oh yes, breakfast.
No.
It activated something.
The council checks internal systems.
Hunger.
Critical.
Because somehow,
through tournament matches,
kissing,
alcohol,
weed,
strategy,
water warfare,
night wandering,
more kissing,
bench sitting,
and sunrise
I had forgotten to eat.
The council looks through the records.
Since arrival?
No proper meal.
Children.
Correct.
Apparently my body had been operating on:
nicotine,
THC,
alcohol,
dopamine,
and competitive spite.
The council sighs.
Unsustainable.
But Story Nuo had simply failed to notice.
Until Hex said:
Food.
Then suddenly
hunger became the only fact in existence.
The council opens quest log.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE:
EAT.
FINALS:
TEMPORARILY DEMOTED.
Exactly.
I looked at Stalker.
Food.
She agreed.
Obviously.
And we rushed back.
The council watches us sprint.
No.
Children.
By “rushed,”
I mean
casually walked.
Urgency of soul.
Not body.
The council laughs.
We headed back toward classroom accommodation.
The luxurious academic suite.
Benches.
Sheets.
Bags.
Our party.
Hex.
The three teammates.
Stalker still beside me.
We regrouped.
Children.
And then
feast.
The council leans forward.
What magnificent Calicut breakfast restored the warriors before battle?
Two samosas.
Tea.
Each.
Silence.
Glorious.
The council waits.
That’s it?
Children.
You do not understand starvation.
When you have forgotten food for an entire day,
a samosa does not remain a samosa.
It becomes civilization.
The first one disappeared.
Second followed.
Tea.
Hot.
Sweet.
Perfect.
The council nods.
Fuel.
Nothing fancy.
No banquet.
No buffet.
No carefully balanced esports nutrition.
Two samosas and tea.
And children
it was magnificent.
Hex there.
The other three.
Stalker.
Morning.
Finals ahead.
For a moment,
the world became very simple.
Eat.
Drink.
Exist.
Then
time.
The council straightens.
Finals.
Yes.
The reason for the journey returned to the top of the objective list.
Optic Myst Gaming.
Versus.
Demigodz.
The match everyone expected.
The match the bracket had been built to encourage.
The two teams that kept trading Kerala’s throne.
Day Two.
Final.
Children.
It was time.
Now
did we shower?
The council pauses.
Did the team?
Maybe.
Perhaps Hex did.
Perhaps the other three displayed basic hygiene.
I cannot speak for them.
The Archive has standards.
We do not accuse background characters without evidence.
The council nods.
Nuo?
No.
Definitely no.
Stalker?
Also no.
How do I know?
Children.
She had been beside me the entire night.
I saw no shower occur.
Unless she possessed teleportation based sanitation,
we were both operating on yesterday’s configuration.
The council recoils slightly.
Water war clothes?
Possibly dried.
Smoke?
Present.
Alcohol?
Historical residue.
Sleep?
Zero.
Hair?
Children.
Let us not investigate.
Did I care?
No.
Did Stalker seem to care?
Also no.
The finals did not award points for freshness.
The council sighs.
So
back to the computer lab.
We walked.
The campus properly awake now.
Daylight replacing all the strange intimacy of the night.
Students moving again.
Festival continuing.
And ahead
the battlefield.
Children.
The computer lab.
Church.
Rows of machines.
Monitors.
Chairs.
Players.
Spectators.
The place where the entire trip’s stated purpose would finally resolve.
We entered.
No mythical hand holding entrance this time?
Perhaps still holding hands somewhere along the way.
But children,
the novelty had settled.
Yesterday,
the room had stared because Virgin Nuo entered beside an attractive woman.
Today?
Stalker was simply part of the Nuo ecosystem.
The council nods.
Romantic Interest / Cheerleader / Dota Analyst.
Integrated.
Then
seats.
The team assembled.
Five.
OMG.
Hex.
Me.
Three mechanically essential background characters.
Across the coming match
Demigodz.
The council grows quiet.
We sat.
Computers in front of us.
Hands finding familiar positions.
Whatever exhaustion existed?
Background.
Whatever chemicals remained?
Background.
Whatever happened last night?
Excellent memories.
Background.
Children.
Dota.
Now.
This is the strange thing about competition.
You can be exhausted.
Hungry.
Distracted.
Running on no sleep.
But once the game begins,
sometimes the entire world compresses.
Monitor.
Team.
Opponent.
Decision.
The council leans in.
And Story Nuo knew this world.
This was not awkward conversation.
Not romance.
Not police.
Not wandering through unfamiliar campus paths.
This was the one place where I did not need someone else to tell me what to do.
Dota.
My religion.
The thing I had spent enough hours on to become dangerous.
Behind or beside me somewhere
Stalker.
The woman who had watched me play before I ever knew she existed.
Hex beside me.
Best friend.
Teammate.
The other three ready.
And across the bracket
the only team that mattered now.
Demigodz.
Children.
One tournament.
Two undefeated teams.
One final.
One crown.
The council looks toward the imaginary trophy.
Glory for one.
And for the other?
Shame.
Perhaps dramatic.
But children,
competitive Gamer Nuo understood exactly one emotional scale.
Win:
God.
Lose:
delete game.
The council laughs.
Until reinstall tomorrow.
Naturally.
But in that moment?
No moderation.
No:
Both teams played well.
No:
We’re proud to have reached finals.
Children.
Fuck that.
We came to win.
Demigodz came to win.
Everyone knew what this match was.
The bracket had done its job.
Day One had removed everyone else.
Morning had arrived.
The food had been consumed.
The unwashed warriors had taken their seats.
And somewhere inside NIT Calicut
the final battleground waited for the first click.
The council grows quiet.
Glory.
Or shame.
Nothing in between.
Thus concludes Chapter Eight.
The Comfortable Kiss.
The Bench.
The All Night Dota Strategy Session.
The Unpoetic Sunrise.
The Dawn Joint.
Hex’s Call.
The Sudden Discovery Of Starvation.
The Two Samosa Feast.
The Questionable Hygiene Protocol.
And The Return To The Final Battleground.
Children.
I had spent the night kissing my stalker,
fighting strangers with water filled condoms,
wandering through campus,
and discussing Dota until sunrise.
Then Hex called and reminded me food existed.
Two samosas later
I was ready for war.
The council settles into its seat.
Optic Myst Gaming.
Demigodz.
Finals.
Glory waited for one.
Shame for the other.
And Gamer Nuo?
Children.
Gamer Nuo had come to play.
