Chapter 7: Inadequate

"Okay so, I just found out there's a treasure island thing in this new update," ShadowStalker's voice crackled through the headset, sounding more alive than I felt. "And guess what, it's one time only and it's only available to the first party."

"Treasure island? Sounds interesting. Where do we find it?" I replied, forcing enthusiasm into my tone. It was a lie. I was desperate for something, anything, to pull me out of the abyss I'd been teetering on the edge of all day.

"Oh, to the point. I like it!" ShadowStalker chuckled, clearly in a good mood. "There's a portal near the village we explored last time. Apparently, the two quests were linked. We just had to examine that area longer."

"If it's a one-time quest, how'd you know?"

"Luckily, I explored a bit more when you weren't around," he smirked.

"I see, I see. Let's go," I said, trying to match his excitement. In truth, I just wanted to drown out the gnawing doubts that had been eating at me since the morning.

We made our way back to the village, dispatching minor monsters with mechanical precision. It was a routine, almost mindless, and for a few moments, I could almost forget the storm of insecurities swirling in my mind. The portal was easy to find—a swirling vortex of blue and green light, inviting us into the unknown. Without a second thought, we stepped in.

The transition was disorienting, but soon we were standing on a sandy beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled our ears. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the scent of saltwater was thick. But something was off. Large portions of the island were incomplete, with terrain floating in mid-air and textures flickering in and out of existence.

"It looks like the island hasn't fully rendered yet," I observed, stating the obvious. "Fucking bugs."

"Yeah, it's going to take at least six hours to finish rendering," ShadowStalker said. He'd checked the game's update logs. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while."

"Shouldn't you have checked the logs before asking me to come here?" I said.

He rubbed his head, looking a bit sheepish.

"Sorry, got too excited," he admitted.

With nothing else to do, we found a spot on the beach and sat down. The conversation started off casually, focusing on game mechanics and recent updates, but I could feel the tension building within me, the weight of inadequacy pressing down harder with every passing minute.

"So, how long have you been playing TTF?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though I wasn't sure I cared about the answer.

"Seven years now? But this one, only a week. This is actually my alt account," he said, casually. "I usually play on my main, but I wanted a fresh start. Even had to delete the old acc. Plus, I stream under my main account and didn't want to be bothered by followers while exploring the new update. Not that anyone cares about this game," he laughed, oblivious to the impact his words were having on me.

My heart clenched. "You stream too?"

"Yeah, I've been streaming for a while now. Got a decent following," he said, his tone nonchalant. "It's fun, but sometimes it feels like I'm just going through the motions. You know what I mean? Well, probably you don't. You're just starting. It was super fun for me when I was just starting but when you keep doing this for a while, you keep wondering, am I really having fun or just pretending? Sorry if I sound weird, I-"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Unlike him, I wasn't just "going through the motions"—I was fighting tooth and nail to build an audience, to carve out a place for myself in the streaming world. But I was failing. Every day, it felt like I was just pretending, putting on a happy face for the few viewers who tuned in, while deep down, I knew I wasn't good enough. Or maybe I was using that as an excuse and not going all out. Maybe I knew… I knew I could never do it and was just using not trying as…. "What about you? What do you do when you're not gaming or streaming?" he asked, the conversation shifting to me.

"Oh, you know, just the usual stuff. College, studying, trying to keep up with life," I replied. I couldn't bring myself to talk about my own struggles with streaming, not when he was so effortlessly successful. 'Effortless' probably wasn't the right word.

Jealousy and insecurity, however, were.

"Yeah, that sucks. I'm in college too. Third year."

"I'd have been in my second year, but I'm in first."

"Failed?"

"More like didn't bother."

"I see."

We talked a bit longer, but my responses grew shorter, more clipped. I was unraveling, each word from him tearing at the frayed edges of my confidence. I felt like a fraud—pretending I didn't care about my pathetic viewer count, about the fact that I was stuck in a perpetual loop of failure. Every time I got like ten followers, something bad happened, and I lost all progress and had to start again. Sometimes my account would get terminated, sometimes I'd get a shit disease (fuck you hepatitis), and other times…

What I really wanted was to scream, to let out all the frustration that had been building inside me for so long. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. So, instead, I did the only thing I could.

"I think I'm going to log off for a bit," I said. "Got some stuff to take care of."

"Sure, no problem. Catch you later," ShadowStalker said.

As soon as I logged out, the weight of my inadequacy crashed down on me, heavier than ever before. It wasn't just that I wasn't as good as him; it was that I wasn't good enough, period. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much effort I put in, I would never measure up. All I could muster were excuses.

The room felt suffocating. The clutter of textbooks, the empty soda cans, the half-finished essays—they were all reminders of my failures, tangible proof that I wasn't good enough in anything, not in my studies, not in my streaming, not in my life.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I muttered, the words choking in my throat. "What the fuck... am I doing?"

'It's still, the same old, same old.'