I Didn't Know a Root Canal Could End a Career

PROLOGUE

During my root canal, my gamer ex-boyfriend the one who only seemed to know how to play video games called.

My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered.

The endodontist was in the process of extracting the nerve from my tooth, his voice a gentle murmur.

It's going to hurt a lot when it comes out. Just hang in there.

I whimpered, a pathetic sound torn from my throat.

From the phone, Calder s voice trembled slightly.

"What are you doing?"

I snapped back to reality and slammed the end-call button.

It wasn't until I got home that evening that I saw what was trending.

#ValorantGod Calder Lowell Chokes in Match, Breaks Down Backstage.

In the video, you could just make out Calder s ragged, choked sobs.

"My mechanics are way better than his..."

01

I lay stiff as a board on the dental chair, the sterile paper crinkling beneath me with every nervous twitch.

Staring up at the blindingly bright surgical light, I clutched my phone like a lifeline.

It had been a week since they d opened up the tooth and packed it with medicine. This time, they were taking out the nerve. I d spent all last night scrolling through forums, and every post said the same thing: it was excruciating.

I have a notoriously low pain tolerance. The thought alone had kept me up all night, my stomach churning with a cold, hard knot of dread.

The endodontist noticed my tension, his masked face crinkling into what I assumed was a kind smile. "Don't be nervous. It's not as bad as you think," he said, his voice a soothing baritone.

I nodded, my jaw already aching as I opened my mouth as wide as I could. The metallic taste of antiseptic flooded my senses.

Halfway through the procedure, the doctor s voice came again, soft and low. "Okay, we're about to extract the nerve now."

Right on cue, my phone began to ring, a jarring intrusion into the sterile quiet of the room. The insistent buzzing vibrated against the instrument tray next to my head.

Worried it would distract the doctor, I fumbled to decline the call. My hand moved on autopilot, but my thumb, clumsy and numb from the anesthetic's spread, swiped right instead of left.

Shit.

The endodontist chuckled lightly, seemingly unfazed. "It's going to hurt a bit when it comes out. You'll have to bear with it for a moment."

My mouth was propped open, so I couldn't speak. All I could manage was a series of muffled "uh-huhs," hoping I sounded braver than I felt.

"Good. You're doing great."

He was a professional, his technique flawless, but I have to admit the moment the nerve was pulled, a jolt of white-hot pain shot through my jaw. Tears instantly flooded my eyes, blurring the surgical light into a watery starburst. A strangled, distorted groan escaped my lips.

"Wren, what are you doing?!"

My ex-boyfriend's voice, sharp with alarm, crackled through the phone's speaker.

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating from the pain. But then the dental assistant pointed to my phone, her eyes wide, and I realized with a jolt that the call had connected.

Without a second's hesitation, I killed the call. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with the dental work.

02

When the procedure was finally over, I stumbled out of the office, massaging my sore, swollen jaw. The world outside felt strangely muted, my senses dulled by the lingering anesthetic and the adrenaline crash.

Once I was in the relative safety of my car, I finally picked up my phone.

The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls from Calder.

I frowned, a sharp line creasing between my brows. I ignored them. We broke up. Why was he still calling me? The question hung in the air, unanswered and unwelcome.

I didn't dwell on it. I just wanted to get home and sleep. The agony of my toothache had tormented me for weeks, and the anxiety from last night had left me completely drained. I was severely sleep-deprived.

The moment I collapsed onto my bed, exhaustion washed over me like a tidal wave. I was dead to the world in minutes.

By the time I opened my eyes again, the sky outside my window was a deep, inky black. I grabbed my phone, scrolling idly through the day's news, when a push notification made me freeze. My stomach dropped.

#Valorant God Calder Lowell Chokes in Match, Breaks Down Backstage.

Chokes in a match? Breaks down? Were they talking about the same Calder Lowell I knew? The stoic, unshakeable prodigy whose mental fortitude was as legendary as his aim?

I scrolled for a bit before hesitantly clicking on the main post. It contained a clip of his mistake during the match a tactical wall placed so poorly it trapped his own team along with a shaky, low-quality video from backstage.

The backstage footage was dark and unsteady, making it hard to see clearly. After a few seconds of rustling sounds, I heard it. Calder's voice, broken by sobs.

"I'm not okay with this," he choked out. "My mechanics are way better than his..."

The comments section was a warzone.

"Whoa, he's actually crying?"

"Sore loser. Total turn-off."

"What's he mumbling about after that? Can't make it out."

"No clue, but it's probably nothing good."

I held my phone, my mind racing. Because I could make it out. I d understood it the first time I heard it. Calder had said:

"My mechanics are way better than his. I never, ever made her hurt like that! And she cried..."

My eyes widened. That random, out-of-context sentence suddenly connected to the phone call during my root canal. What had he heard back then? Oh. The endodontist, trying to comfort me...

A sudden, chilling realization washed over me. I think Calder might have misunderstood something. Badly.

03

Valorant is a tactical shooter. Two teams of five battle it out, planting or defusing a bomb-like device called the Spike. I originally got into the game to have something in common with my college crush.

But after countless hours of practice, I was still hopelessly bad.

Then, one day, during a random match, I was paired with a god-tier teammate. His skills were insane, and he was actually a nice guy. He not only dropped healing abilities for me but also revived me the instant I was downed.

So, I worked up the courage to add him as a friend. Pushing past my social anxiety, I started messaging him, asking for tips. I d never been much of a gamer; my life had been all about studying. I figured gaming was like academics if you mastered the theory, you d improve.

He just laughed when I told him that. "What, are you studying for the Valorant theory exam?" his voice crackled through the headset. "Just queue with me. I'll carry you. You'll learn faster by playing."

And just like that, we became a regular duo. Though, to be accurate, I was less of a teammate and more of his personal support agent. He was the one up front, getting all the kills, while I followed behind, keeping him healed and supplied.

We played like that for a whole semester. By then, I thought my skills were decent enough. So I finally mustered the courage to ask my crush Evan, the TA from my intro programming class to play with me.

Evan smiled. "Sure. Let's get a five-stack going tonight. I know a freshman who's a monster at this game." He glanced past me and waved. "Calder! Over here!"

I turned. That was the first time I met Calder Lowell in person. He was walking toward us, his face a mask of indifference, the setting sun at his back. He had this distinctive, slightly curly hair, and the golden light made it look soft and incredibly fluffy.

As he got closer, I saw his face properly. An impossibly handsome, stone-cold guy.

Evan made the introductions. "This is Wren, a sophomore. And this is Calder, a freshman."

I smiled at him. We both spoke at the same time. "Nice to meet you."

The words hung in the air, and we froze. That voice. It was so familiar. He stared at me. I stared at him. The realization dawned on us both in that silent, sun-drenched moment.

He was my god-tier teammate. Later, after I confessed to Evan and got rejected, I ended up getting completely wasted at a bar off campus. It was Calder who found me and carried me back to my dorm.

The next day, he was waiting outside my classroom. He had a scowl on his face, but the tips of his ears were red. "Wren," he said, using my name for the first time. He took a step closer, his expression dead serious but with a playful glint in his eyes I couldn't quite decipher. "So. After last night... I think you owe me. Big time."

Back then, I genuinely thought I d done something terrible to him in my drunken state. I spent days terrified of what it could be. And in that confused haze, I somehow agreed to his ridiculous demand to "make it up to him."

04

I debated for a long time whether to call and explain the misunderstanding, but in the end, I decided against it. A clean break is a clean break. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn't my problem anymore.

I tossed my phone aside and went to the kitchen. I zapped a frozen pizza in the microwave, mindlessly watching some reality show on my laptop as I ate, laughing at the stupid drama.

Full and content, I sprawled out on the sofa. But as soon as the noise died down, when the apartment fell silent, my thoughts drifted back to him. Unstoppable.

I knew this was wrong. I needed a distraction. I scrambled into my room, fired up my PC, and planned to lose myself in a few matches. But before the game even launched, there was a sharp knock at my front door.

I walked over and peered through the peehole. A tall, lean figure was slumped against the opposite wall. Calder. His head was bowed, and something about his posture seemed off.

I pulled the door open. "Calder? What are you doing here?"

Hearing my voice, he looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. He just stared at me for a moment, then pushed himself off the wall and leaned into me, resting his forehead on my shoulder in an awkward, vulnerable way. His arms snaked around my waist, and with a gentle push, he guided me back inside, shutting the door behind us.

My heart leaped into my throat. "What are you doing?"

"Babe, I missed you." The moment he spoke, the smell of alcohol hit me. He was drunk.

I tried to push him away, frowning. "How did you get here?"

"Ward drove me," he mumbled. Ward was his team's assistant. Thank god I still had Ward's number.

I immediately reached for my phone, ready to call him and have him retrieve his drunken cargo. But as soon as I had it in my hand, Calder s fingers wrapped around my wrist. He plucked the phone from my grasp and tossed it onto the sofa. Then, his grip on my waist tightened possessively, pulling me flush against him.

He wasn't completely gone. He still remembered we'd broken up. But he wasn't far from it.

"Did you break up with me for him?" he whispered, his voice raw. "Is he better-looking than me? Does he have more money? Does he treat you better than I did? Does he know how to take care of you?"

The barrage of questions left me stunned. When I finally processed them, a vein throbbed in my temple. "That's none of your business. Get the hell out of my apartment."

But Calder clung to me like a limpet. I couldn't budge him. I was about to curse him out again, but he tilted his head, his lips finding mine.

I froze, my body turning to stone.

05

I finally managed to shove him out the door, my patience worn to a thread. Peeking through the peephole, I watched until Ward dragged him away before letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My lips still tingled from the brief, unwelcome contact.

My mind was still replaying what Calder had whispered in my ear just moments before. "I would never hurt you. You know that. If you can't bear to break up with him, that's fine. I'm willing to be the other guy..."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Calder had lost his mind.

As I stood there, reeling, my best friend Tatum called. "I've been on a research trip in the mountains for days with no signal. I just saw your texts. Wait, you and Calder broke up?"

I rubbed my temples. "Yeah."

"Why?" Tatum's voice was filled with disbelief.

My hand stilled. I looked down, my voice deliberately casual. "No reason. I just... got tired of it."

A few seconds of silence. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" she shot back. Before I could answer, she sighed. "Fine, don't tell me if you don't want to. Anyway, I'm back next month. We'll hang out then."

"Okay."

After that night, my life seemed to return to normal. Work, go home, play games. A predictable and mind-numbingly dull routine.

Tonight, after finishing up some reports, I sat down at my computer and logged into Valorant. I was on fire. I nailed a perfect headshot on an enemy player across the map with an Operator. Seeing that their teammates weren't nearby, I rushed over to finish the job and claim their weapon.

As I rounded the corner, I heard her voice through the proximity chat. "Hi, mister. Any chance you could spare a poor soul?"

It was a sweet, melodic voice. Her character was cowering in a corner, continuously pleading for mercy. She looked both pathetic and adorable. I thought about it and decided to let her go. It wouldn't affect my game anyway. Her teammates were probably already on their way to revive her. I dropped a spare shield potion for her and was about to leave.

But then I heard her voice again, this time filled with excitement. "Oh! Thank you, thank you! Are you a fan of God Calder?"

I paused. She must have seen the signature weapon skin I was using a limited edition one from Calder's collection. It looked cool, so I d never bothered to change it.

When I didn't move, she quickly added, "My teammate is actually God Calder himself! He's on his way. I can ask him to take a picture with you!"

Her voice was sweet, but when she said "God Calder," it was dripping with a cloying sweetness.

On a strange impulse, I switched on my mic. "What's your relationship with him?"

"Oh, it's a girl!" she chirped. "Me and God Calder? I'm not very good, so he's just helping me out."

Her explanation was intentionally vague. A cold knot formed in my stomach.

"I see."

I raised my gun, aimed it at her, and sprayed her down in a matter of seconds.

She gasped, startled. "Hey! I thought you were letting me go!"

"I changed my mind."

I left her with those parting words and vaulted out the window, my heart pounding with a strange mix of guilt and satisfaction. Long gone before Calder could arrive.

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