Returning to my brother’s section, he had finished his match. I was bummed I missed it, but he was moving on to Round 6.

I couldn’t believe it.

Michael and Lawrence were sitting in the area we unofficially claimed; I was surprised they weren’t bouncing off the walls from Michael’s victory. However, more people started sitting around us to watch the games on the main stage. I told them my experience and how awful of a human Dayzees was, but I wanted to change subjects fast.

“Wow, so, Mike, you’re in the final thirty-two players!” I said.

“I know, I’m stunned,” Michael said, trying to smile, but he unleashed a coughing fury.

“You’re one of the best players in the entire world at this game, and even if you lose, you still can make a run in the loser’s bracket. This is amazing!” I said.

“Yeah, it’s certainly impressive, but I’m worried about you, Mike. You look like you’ve gotten paler,” Lawrence said.

“I’m feeling great, I promise. It’s the best I’ve felt all day,” Michael said, but Lawrence was right. “I’m going to go up to the stage now, round six is about to start, and I need to psych myself up. There will be a big crowd watching.”

“Do you know who you’re playing?” I asked.

“Yeah, Amaya.”

“Dude, that’s the same girl that destroyed me earlier,” Lawrence said. “I think you can beat her, man, but be careful. She’s wicked.”

My brother nodded and approached the stage while Lawrence and I sat in the audience. The setup had an identical layout to my side, but many more people had filled in. There were also two commentators at a table at the front of the stage.

Amaya joined Michael at the station. They both shook each other’s hands and plugged in their controllers. My brother trembled.

“Geeze, his face is getting paler by the second. Not only that, he’s sweating a ton,” Lawrence said.

Michael and Amaya were at the character select screen, and the commentators kicked off their broadcast for the match. When they reached the stage selection, my brother started to hack. Although this time, it seemed much more explosive and untamable.

My jaw dropped to the ground, and so did Lawrence’s.

Michael stepped away from the controller, and his coughing onslaught continued on stage. I could hear whispers and snippets of conversations from the crowd.

“Is he okay?”

“Can you be disqualified for being sick like that?”

“I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think he looks healthy enough to be here.”

Each heartbeat felt like a pounding thump in my chest. My soul was aching for my brother. He already has a problem with stage fright, so he never started a YouTube channel. Which he totally could have. Videos of him playing Elite Crushers would garner him thousands of followers. But since he isolated his playing, no one knew of his talents.

I could only imagine how embarrassed he felt, falling ill in a room full of thousands of folks watching.

The commentators stopped the broadcast and began to talk among themselves. It looked like they were motioning for medical staff to come near to help. After Lawrence and I overcame our state of shock, we rushed toward the stage.

Michael’s sickness began to show its true colors, painting the stage floor with speckles of red as he keeled over and fell to the ground. His coughing showed no signs of slowing down, only increasing with monstrous strength.

No, no, this isn’t how it was meant to happen. This can’t be real; it’s all a nightmare.

Rushing to his side, Lawrence and I tried talking to him, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Amaya ran to us and asked, “Is there anything I can do?” but the emergency staff finally showed up with a stretcher. They asked if he could stand, but when my brother kept coughing blood and couldn’t form a sentence, they strapped him to the stretcher and took him out.

My world spun.

***

We sat in the waiting room of a hospital in downtown Chicago on the 30th floor. At least we had a beautiful view of Lake Michigan; the wall was made of windows. It was just my mom, my dad, Lawrence, and myself. I kept reliving the ambulance ride, Michael passing out, the doctors drilling me with questions, and then talking to my hysteric parents over the phone.

Without a doubt, that was one of the worst days of my life.

Both my parents were silent and going through waves of crying. I was in so much shock and confusion I couldn’t muster up a tear, but I felt like I wanted to. Lawrence had even cried a few times in the hours we spent in the hospital. A doctor finally walked into our waiting room.

“Hello, are you the family of Michael Ross?”

We all nodded in silence.

“We have an update on your son. After extensive blood work and testing, we’ve found that Michael has a rare autoimmune disease. Rare as in, one in every ten million people. I’ve never seen it personally, but it’s not good. It’s an aggressive disease that’s quickly destroying his own body. Have you noticed that Michael tends to get sick more frequently than anyone else in your family?” the doctor asked.

I didn’t look up at her, but I nodded in response to the doctor’s question. Michael got sick way more than anyone I knew. At least once a month or every other month, but they were usually minor manageable colds. The doctor visits were always casual, and occasionally he’d be given antibiotics if the cold turned a little more severe. Usually, he’d kick it with no problem.

“Can we see him?” my dad asked.

The doctor shook her head. “Not yet. He’s still resting up. It will likely be a few hours before he’s awake again. I’ll let you know when you can visit.” The doctor left the room after waiting to see if we may have had more questions, but we didn’t.

“Lawrence, why don’t you take Gordie back to the house, please? You can go home as well,” my mom said.

“But, Mrs. Ross, I already talked to my mom, and she knows I’m here. She said it’s okay if I stay the night here and tomorrow. I’d just like to see Michael when he wakes up. Let him know what happened.”

“You’re a good friend, Lawrence. And I know Michael appreciates it, but Gordie should go home, he’s too young for this, and I’d like it if it were just Frank and I to see him first,” my mom responded, with tears pooling in her eyes.

I didn’t want to leave, but I wanted to respect my mom’s wishes, so I didn’t argue with her. Lawrence and I left the hospital in silence, but we didn’t go straight to his car.

“Hey, I want to poke my head in at the tournament and check on something. Is that okay with you?” I said.

“Yeah, man, we can check it out; we can stay as late as you want to. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

We walked into the convention center again, and the hallways were relatively empty. A couple of people were at the gate checking badges, and once we got through the entrance, we headed straight towards the main stage area that none of us had been to before. They only hosted the top 16 players there since it drew huge crowds, and they broadcasted each match.

The crowd was packed, and there were three massive screens at the top of the proscenium. The stage had two guys sitting at a TV monitor. The players had their backs to everyone, but the players’ live reactions were shown in the corner of the screen.

Lawrence and I took a seat at the back, and up above was a projected sign that read, “THE FINALS: Dayzees vs. Knyghtmare.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t believe it. They were already one game in, and Dayzees was up, but he had just lost the second match. Thousands cheered on Knyghtmare after he made it 1-1.

Knyghtmare was a tournament veteran who had won a major before, but it had been three years ago. He was twenty-eight years old. Many of the pros at the top level often traded places as number one. One quarter of the year, Knyghtmare was ranked number one. In another quarter, he was ranked number seven. At that tournament, Knyghtmare was ranked number three. Anyone who landed in the top eight usually rotated through the rankings.

Looking at the projected bracket off to the side, Knyghtmare dominated the losers bracket. Still, Dayzees was too hot, staying in the winners’ bracket. Dayzees only dropped one game in the semi-finals. Knyghtmare was able to add another loss for him.

“I really want Dayzees to lose. That would be the only way this day could get better,” I said to Lawrence.

He nodded at me. “Yeah, anyone who was rude to you like that doesn’t deserve to win.”

We watched their next match. If Knyghtmare beat Dayzees, he’d have to beat him in another set, best of five since he was in the losers bracket. If Dayzees won just one more game, it would all be over.

Knyghtmare played as Dark-Chain. Dark-Chain was a cyborg with broken shackles dangling from his arms and legs, using them as whips against opponents. Dayzees stayed loyal to Rabid-Savage. At first, the game was competitive; each character exchanged quick five-hit combos and even showcased impressive dodges and counterattacks. Their hands blurred over their controller. Even from far away, it was still a spectacle.

The game came down to the very end. At no point did either player have a substantial lead. A couple of flashes came from the screen after a barrage of attacks from both players; they were unclear who won until the victory screen was displayed.

“Rabid-Savage Winner,” the digital sign read.

“Game three, Dayzees,” a moderator announced into the microphone that echoed to the streets.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said to Lawrence as the whole crowd roared in a cheering frenzy.

We both darted to his car, trying to beat the traffic rush. During most of the car ride, I was silent. The thoughts of the day stewed in my head. After all the horribleness that occurred to my brother, I couldn’t believe the rudest guy won all of the glory. An eighteen-year-old punk who had no manners.

Unbelievable.

Meanwhile, my brother was rooted in a hospital bed.

“Hey, man, do you have any plans for tonight?” Lawrence said.

“Me? Are you serious? Do I ever have any plans?” I hopelessly laughed at myself. I felt my eyes stir with tears. “No, I got nothin’ goin’ on,” I said in between a cracky voice.

“Let’s get a pizza or something. Your mom gave me some money for me to take you somewhere. We can hang out, watch a movie, play Elite Crushers or something, you know, try and take your mind off things.”

“I don’t need your sympathy hang.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, dude, it’s not like that. We’ve been hanging out practically all day, and it wasn’t because I felt bad for you. You’re a cool kid, and I’m happy to spend my evening with you. Even though you feel sorry for yourself, you shouldn’t. You’re in the top sixty-four players of the world’s most popular game.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to get me a girlfriend. Besides, being top sixty-four means nothing when you can’t be number one.” A catalyst of mixed emotions caused tears to stream down my face.

“You’re fourteen. I didn’t kiss a girl until I was seventeen. Relax, man, don’t think about that stuff just yet. You’re setting the bar too high for yourself and comparing yourself to others. That’s a dangerous road. I know it’s easier said than done because I find I’ll compare myself to others, but you can’t let that be your focus. Others will excel at what they’re good at. You’ll excel at what you’re good at. Embrace the difference.” Lawrence was glancing between the road and me. “Besides, you’re the youngest player to be in the top sixty-four at fourteen! When you’re eighteen, who knows, man, you might be in the top ten, and you know how those guys rotate at being number one.”

I couldn’t think of a reply because I knew Lawrence was right. The rest of the car ride was silent until we got back to my house.

“You want some time alone, or is it cool if I stay the night?” Lawrence asked.

“You can stay. I think that would be good. Especially if we get any news on Michael, we can ride to the hospital,” I said.