The e-sports great "Nightingale" whom I had been a fan of for three years disappeared at the peak of his career.
Three years later, I transferred to a new school, and the genius in my class, who wore black gloves and was lonely and cold, had the exact same voice as him.
No one knows that he is my only comfort late at night and the faith I look up to.
Therefore, I hid all my love, used the tactics he had taught everyone, and moved closer to him step by step.
"Why do you always look at my hands?" He blocked me, his eyes fierce.
I calmly replied: "Because it's a pity."
It's a pity that such beautiful hands have been hidden all this time.
He was suddenly shocked because this sentence was the message from fans that filled the screen the day he retired.
But he doesn't know that I am one of the people who swiped the screen.
