On the screen, the Twitch chat scrolled by in a relentless, excited stream.

Madison’s setup was impressive—a curved monitor, a professional microphone suspended on a boom arm, RGB lighting that pulsed a soft purple. Posters of anime characters and famous streamers covered the walls.

The stream preview showed five figures lounging in a sleek, modern living room. One was Hamzah Musti, leaning forward with a controller in hand. Beside him, slouched into a huge cream-colored sofa, was Cristiano Ronaldo Junior. His head was tilted back, laughing at something off-screen, the sharp line of his jaw and the dark curl of his hair unmistakable.

On the reaction stream, Hamzah pointed at his own screen, a wide grin on his face. He said something to the boy next to him.

Junior turned his head, his dark brown eyes focusing on the screen. On their screen. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. He said something back to Hamzah, who barked out a laugh.

Rafael Cabral leaned into frame, his curly hair a mess, and made a teasing gesture, pointing between Junior and the stream. Amro, on the other end of the couch, was already typing furiously on his phone, a mischievous glint in his light eyes.

They were all there. All of them. Watching.

The wave wasn’t for Madison, or Jazmine, or Daniela. It was for the screen. For the concept of them. For the four girls from Yuba City he’d never heard of until thirty seconds ago.

Y/n’s phone, still face-down, vibrated once against the wooden desk.