Chapter 462

Chapter 462:

In the thick of an intense team battle, where every second counted, his clumsy move sent his champion crashing into an instant defeat.

Both teams comprised skilled gamers, and victory hung on precise timing. Neal’s sudden misstep turned the tide. The enemy seized their chance, pushing forward with an army of minions that swarmed his team’s base like a flood breaching a dam. Their fortress fell, and the game ended in a devastating defeat.

The screen lit up with a barrage of criticism, comments slicing through his performance like knives, all pointing out how poorly he had played that day.

Neal slumped in his chair, his eyes fixed on the screen, yet his gaze was hollow. The flood of words seemed to bounce off him as if they were distant echoes.

But the phone refused to be ignored, its relentless ringing like a hammer on his frayed nerves.

Even the viewers in the live stream heard the sharp tone.

Their comments began to shift, speculating on who could be calling with such urgency.

The noise paused, giving Neal a fleeting moment of relief—only to start again, as unyielding as a tide that wouldn’t retreat.

The persistent calls stretched Neal’s patience to its breaking point.

His fingers danced quickly across the keyboard. “Not feeling great today. Sorry for the bad performance. Ending the stream early. Thanks for understanding.”

Ignoring the immediate flood of reactions, Neal ended the stream.

The lively energy drained from the room, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Only his computer’s default wallpaper glowed faintly, a pale reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

Neal stood, his stiff body protesting the sudden movement. His legs were numb, and pins and needles prickled him as he trudged to the bed, where his phone lay glowing. Only a few people had this number.

Neal already knew who it was.

𝔤𝓪𝓵𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓼.𝓬𝓸𝓶 – more stories here

His lips pressed into a hard line, his face marked by exhaustion, though his sharp eyes still carried a flicker of defiance.

Staring at the unsaved number on the screen, he picked up the phone. It was his father, of course.

When he finally answered, he didn’t speak, letting the silence stretch.

The brash voice on the other end cut through it like a knife. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve been calling nonstop. Are you trying to upset me?”

Neal turned toward the window. The faint reflection of his silhouette in the glass was distorted and lonely, like a shadow without a form. The man’s tone grew harsher, distorted further by the phone’s static. “Transfer fifty thousand right now. I need it, and I’m not waiting.”

Neal closed his eyes, his chest tightening.

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