Jess Brennan shoved his high-fidelity black gaming headset over his ears and pulled the microphone down to his mouth.
He clicked the 'Go Live' button on Twitch. The stream title read: LCS Semifinals Toxic Channel.
Within three seconds, thirty thousand viewers flooded in. The chat box on his right monitor turned into a waterfall of scrolling text.
Jess picked up a can of sugar-free energy drink from his desk. He popped the tab with one hand, the metallic snap echoing in the mic.
He took a massive gulp, swallowed hard, and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
He clicked his mouse, switching his main monitor to the official LCS broadcast. The draft phase was just starting.
The chat was moving so fast it was unreadable, but Jess knew exactly what they were asking. They wanted blood. They wanted his take on TTC.
Jess leaned back in his two-thousand-dollar ergonomic chair and casually crossed his legs.
"You want my thoughts?" Jess said, his voice dripping with venom. "Chester's mid-lane pick is absolute garbage. It's a joke."
He didn't pause for breath. He launched into a rapid-fire breakdown, listing three fatal flaws of the champion in the current meta, his words slicing through the official casters' polite analysis.
A wave of TTC fans in the chat started spamming angry emotes, calling him a wannabe who didn't understand pro play.
Jess raised an eyebrow. He leaned closer to the monitor and read a username out loud.
"'TTC_Fanboy99' says I don't know what I'm talking about," Jess sneered. "Listen to me, idiot. If I was sitting in that chair right now, I'd zone their mid-laner so far out of the experience range he'd have to pay rent to look at a minion."
The viewer count skyrocketed. The arrogance was a magnet for haters, and Jess fed on it.
Then, the official broadcast cut to a close-up shot of the jungle player.
Harlon's cold, sharp profile filled Jess's secondary monitor.
Jess's crossed legs instantly dropped to the floor.
His spine snapped completely straight. He sat up, his shoulders squaring up to the desk as if Harlon could see him through the screen.
Jess cleared his throat. When he spoke again, the razor-sharp edge in his voice was suddenly cut in half.
The chat instantly caught the shift. A wall of question marks flooded the screen.
One comment caught his eye: Road looks like trash today too.
Jess's stomach dropped, replaced immediately by a hot spike of anger. His eyes went dead cold. He locked onto that specific comment.
He clicked the user's name and permanently banned them from the channel.
Jess pulled the microphone closer. "Banned," he said, his voice dropping an octave, dead serious. "Don't bring your bronze-level analysis of the best jungler in the world into my chat. It's embarrassing to read. If you can't see the macro difference he's making despite his dead-weight mid-laner, get out of my stream."
The chat froze. The sheer hypocrisy of the internet's most toxic streamer defending a player shocked them into a five-second silence.
Jess quickly clicked back to the game loading screen, pretending his heart wasn't beating a little faster.
He rested his hand on his mouse. His thumb began to anxiously rub the side buttons, back and forth, back and forth. It was a nervous tick that gave away everything he was trying to hide.
The game officially started. Jess forced his eyes away from Harlon's champion and stared at the mid-lane. The predatory look returned to his face.
Minute one. Chester missed three cannon minions in a row.
Jess slammed his palm flat against his desk. The loud smack echoed in the stream. He let out a sound of pure, unadulterated disgust.
