The L's kept coming, almost like the academy had a special quota just for me. There was the time I tried to impress Loki with my Minecraft skills during free time, only to fall into lava on the first night of survival mode while she laughed. I laughed too, but inside I was dying. Then there was the time I tried to casually flex my Geometry Dash streak, only to fail the same level five times in a row while she watched. Small, dumb, embarrassing L's, but every single one felt like it left a mark.
Even in conversations, the L's were relentless. I misread jokes constantly, mixed up anime plot points, or said something that made zero sense while everyone else, including Loki, stared. My brain screamed "smooth!" but my mouth kept delivering chaos. And yet, somehow, she didn't seem annoyed—she laughed, teased me, and made the L's feel lighter, even if I couldn't stop cringing inside.
Then came the "almost" moments—the little sparks of hope I built in my head that always seemed to fizzle. A time I almost reached out to walk beside her after class, only for someone else to jump in. Or that instant I thought she might notice something in the way I looked at her, only for her to turn away, oblivious, and laugh at some unrelated joke. Every one of those was a mini L, small but sharp, reminding me that having a crush was basically a sport I was losing.
The dorm hallway chats were another arena. I tried casual jokes, anime debates, teasing, even offering to help with assignments, but somehow my timing was always off. I tripped over words, paused too long, or got too excited over random things, and she laughed—but not in a way that always reassured me. It was like being on a rollercoaster where every drop was my own awkwardness.
And then came the final L. A day I had rehearsed in my head a dozen times. I had built up the courage to finally hint at how I felt—maybe a joke with a little more meaning, maybe a subtle comment during a shared anime debate, something that could show her. I said it. I thought it was clever. I thought it would land.
It didn't.
Instead of a spark, there was silence. Her eyes widened for a second, she blinked, and then—she laughed. Not at me, not cruelly, but in that way that reminded me she didn't read it the way I hoped. I wanted to crawl into the nearest corner, disappear, and somehow come back as someone cooler, smoother, less… me. That was the L I felt in my chest: the one that stung the most, the one that said maybe my feelings were mine to wrestle with, not hers to notice.
Even with that final L, I didn't regret it. Because despite failing, stumbling, and cringing through every step, being around Loki—laughing, teasing, sharing anime theories, even failing to impress her—was worth it. Every small L, every awkward moment, every embarrassing fail had built this bond. The crush hurt, yes, but it also made everything else feel alive: the late-night gaming, the dorm hallway jokes, the seaview chats, and the laughter that always followed.
The Loki Saga wasn't about victories. It was about the moments in between, the heartbeats and glances, the L's that taught me patience, resilience, and how much one person could change the rhythm of your life—even if you were losing almost every round.