He Came Back, I Broke Him

Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back. Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status. His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout. Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him. Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones? Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.

Chapters

Chapter 4

Clifton POV

Clifton's eyes snapped open. He was still in the Aegis kitchen. His fingers had dragged across the marble countertop, leaving wet streaks.

The phantom of Chicago clung to his skin like damp clothing.

He pulled out his phone. Stared at his blocked list. There it was—the Discord account he had erased. The one that now went by a different name.

Ember.

The ID Justice had chosen for himself. As if he still believed there was something inside him worth burning for.

Clifton's jaw tightened. He would not be fooled twice.

He left the kitchen and walked straight to the data analysis room. Pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner. The heavy lock clicked open.

The room was freezing. Rows of servers hummed with a low, vibrating drone. He sat at the main terminal and typed in his senior admin password.

Dozens of headshots scrolled across the monitor. Clifton's eyes locked onto the boy in the black baseball cap.

He clicked open Justice Terry's file. Skipped past the insane KDA stats and win rates. Scrolled straight to the bottom.

Recommender: Branson Powell.

Clifton's vision went red.

Branson. The first team's backup fragger. A snake in human skin. Justice had tried to use Clifton to climb into the pro scene, and when that failed, he'd just found another target. Another stepping stone.

Clifton let out a harsh laugh. This liar was so desperate to stay in the game that he'd tolerate a piece of trash like Branson.

The door opened. Delmus walked in. He saw Clifton's screen and smiled.

"Branson really pulled through this time. The numbers that Justice kid is putting up are breaking base records."

Clifton spun his chair around. "What were the terms?"

Delmus shifted uncomfortably. "Branson brought him in. He demanded a thirty percent cut of Justice's first-year salary as a finder's fee."

Thirty percent. A bloodsucking contract. And Justice had signed it.

"Anything else I should know?"

Delmus sighed. "PR is bad right now. Reddit is tearing you apart. They're saying you're slacking, that your hours are dropping." He paused. "There's a rumor that Branson brought this kid in to replace you next season."

A sharp, drilling spike of agony fired deep inside Clifton's right wrist.

He grabbed the joint with his left hand, squeezing hard to stop the tremor. His face remained blank. No one could know. Not Delmus. Not the sponsors. Not the vultures circling his chair.

"Set up a scrim for two o'clock," Clifton said. "First team versus the rookies."

He looked back at Justice's photo. The gaunt face. The dark, haunted eyes.

Let's see what you're made of, liar.

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