Chapter 4: Proving Ground

Angry, I started streaming from my hostel room—camera pointed at my hands, mouse, and keyboard.

I set up my battered phone on a pile of old textbooks for a makeshift webcam. The WiFi was dodgy, so I hotspotted from my Jio phone. Nothing was going to stop me from proving myself.

Maybe because of that viral video, my stream exploded.

Viewer count shot up—faster than the rush for SRK movie tickets. Even seniors from the hostel tuned in, spamming “Arjun OP” in chat.

But chat was filled with haters calling me a cheater.

Some called me a ‘script kid’, others dropped random gali. One said I must be the dev’s lost son. I ignored the worst—Indian crowds love to boo the hero.

I zoned into the game.

For me, it was just me, my mouse, and the battlefield.

On Wild Maze City, I was on offence. During prep, I grabbed a smoke and lined up a spot on the wall.

The pattern on the wall looked like a hostel water pipe stain—my cue for the perfect lineup.

Round start, I jump-threw the smoke with left click.

The sound of the canister flying reminded me of street cricket balls whizzing past in summer.

The smoke blocked the mid VIP line—defenders couldn’t peek.

Even chat noticed: “Bro, kya OP line-up hai!” and “Aise kaun khelta hai yaar!”

I used the gap to rush sandbags at mid-long, called for a teammate to smoke archway, then self-flashed and stormed B short.

My teammates fumbled, but I pushed anyway. Sometimes, you have to back yourself, like Virat chasing a tough total.

I fragged the close defender, then another hiding in B.

My hand moved before my brain—pure muscle memory, like Diwali card games.

We took B cleanly.

Plant down. Timer ticking. My heart pounded in sync.

While waiting for retake, I held supermarket, cutting off rotations.

Chat exploded: “Yeh toh full Bollywood hero hai.”

With a smooth spray transfer, I got another ace.

Relief washed over me. For a moment, the hate faded, replaced by joy.

End of round, I was clear MVP.

An old school friend messaged, “Bro, tu toh legend nikla!”

Chat went mad:

[Honestly, seems legit.]

[All scripted, you really buy this?]

[There are cheats for utility throws now.]

[100% cheating, bro.]

The mix of suspicion and grudging respect was classic Indian net culture: first doubt, then admiration, then doubt again.

I sneered, kept grinding.

Somewhere, my roommate played Kishore Kumar on his phone. I smiled. This was India—everyone’s a critic.

After a day, I breezed to A+ rank.

The A+ badge flashed. For a second, I felt like Sachin at his hundredth hundred.

But chat was still full of haters.

Someone called me “CSGO Daya” and demanded my password. It was hilarious and infuriating.

Big Gulmohar mocked me harder, saying he’d reported me to the devs.

He went full Arnab on stream: “You think you can fool us, Arjun? The truth will come out!”

My account got banned.

A pop-up: “Account Suspended Pending Investigation.” I stared, mouth open, as if the power had gone out in the middle of an IPL match.

Chat blew up. “Bro, you’re banned! LOL.” “Justice for real players!”

“If he wants to prove himself, let him meet me offline.”

The challenge was set. The whole country watched.

“If he can prove he’s legit, I’ll pay his round-trip fare—and throw in an extra 1 lakh rupees.”

Chat started dreaming about 1 lakh: Royal Enfield, Domino’s party, or finally paying the mess bill.

The gauntlet was thrown. I couldn’t back down now.

But as I shut my laptop, I realised: One slip, and all of India would be watching me fall.