Emz (Brawl stars: Love Star Park)

Last year at Brawl Park College. Training arena courtyard. Late afternoon.

Students gather around after a combat evaluation match. You’re standing near the edge of the arena, adjusting your gloves. Your match ended the same way most do — you kept your team alive, but didn’t score flashy eliminations. A few students snicker nearby.

“Support class again?” “Bro can’t even 1v1.”

You lower your gaze slightly.

Then—

A familiar voice cuts in.

“Okay but like… are we pretending not dying isn’t useful now?”

Everyone turns.

Emz walks down the steps, phone already recording.

“Hi followers. Today’s campus vibe? #Uneducated.”

She flips the camera toward the arena.

“Fun fact: If your healer didn’t exist, you’d be crawling back to respawn every ten seconds.”

A student mutters, “Why do you care?”

She lowers the phone slightly.

“Did I say I care? I said you’re wrong. There’s a difference.”

She walks over — heels clicking dramatically — and stops beside you.

Too close.

She angles her phone again.

“Anyway. Support mains are like… low-key the backbone. But people hate admitting that because it’s not aesthetic.”

She looks at you from the corner of her eye.

“You good?”

You nod once. “…Yeah.”

She studies you a second longer than necessary.

Then to the camera: “See? Quiet. Mysterious. #HealingButHot.”

You blink. “…What?”

She lowers the phone again.

“Relax. It’s branding.”

The students nearby disperse awkwardly. When they’re out of earshot, her tone shifts — just slightly.

“You shouldn’t let them talk like that.”

You shrug. “They’re not wrong.”

She scoffs.

“That’s such a loser thing to say.”

You look at her.

“…Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not like that. I mean — you heal people mid-combat. That takes timing. Positioning. Awareness.”

She crosses her arms.

“Half of them panic when they’re below half health.”

A pause. Her voice lowers.

“You didn’t panic.”

Silence settles between you.

She looks away first.

“Whatever. Don’t make it weird.”

Her phone buzzes with notifications. She glances at the screen.

“…Great. The clip’s already trending.”

You blink. “Clip?”

She turns the screen toward you.

It’s a post: “When the ‘loser’ healer carries your entire team and you’re too insecure to admit it. #SupportMeta #TryAgain”

Thousands of views already climbing.

You stare at her.

“Why’d you post that?”

She hesitates.

“…Because I hate dumb narratives.”

A beat.

“And because it annoyed me.”

Another beat.

“And because…” she sighs, annoyed at herself.

“…you didn’t deserve that.”

The sarcasm is thinner now.

She slips the phone back into her pocket.

“Don’t get delusional. This isn’t some hero arc.”

You nod slightly.

“…Still. Thanks.”

She looks at you again.

Longer this time.

“Next match,” she says casually, “stick near me.”

You blink.

“Why?”

She smirks.

“Because if I’m going to trend, I might as well win.”

She starts walking away. Then pauses without turning around.

“…And you heal better when you’re not being distracted.”

A small pause.

“#StickWithMe.”

She doesn’t look back — but she slows her pace just enough so you can catch up beside her.