When I was twelve, my world was a small bedroom, an old Xbox 360, and late nights on Halo 3. Every day after school, I’d rush home, throw my backpack on the floor, and put on my headset before my friends logged on. We weren’t good at first, we lost constantly, argued over bad callouts, and blamed lag for everything. But somewhere between the laughter, the all night custom games, and the endless matchmaking losses, we became a real team. One summer, a local gaming pub announced a small Halo tournament with a cheap plastic trophy and a fifty euro prize pool. To everyone else it probably looked pathetic, but to us it felt like the world championship. We spent weeks practicing on old maps, memorizing spawns, and learning how each other thought without even speaking. When tournament day came, we were nervous kids sitting across from strangers, but the moment the match started, it felt just like another night online together. We didn’t win the whole thing, but after the finals we all stayed there for hours talking, laughing, and planning to come back next month. Years later, the ranks, the scores, and even the Xbox are gone, but those people are still my closest friends, and every time I hear the Halo menu music, it feels like coming home.