Because I'll Win

Call it an unconscious manifestation if you want — the character she'd created looked just like Camilla.

Not that the appearance was a perfect match. The two games had completely different art styles to begin with. Abyss leaned into a fantasy aesthetic that poured everything into character designs and skill effects, while Eternal, true to its apocalyptic setting, went for something realistic and vaguely grim.

Even so, with that art style working against her, she wasn't sure whether to congratulate herself for managing to recreate Camilla — or praise the viewers for recognizing Camilla through the changed graphics.

"Uh, well… I'm not a narcissist. It just kind of turned out this way while I was making it. Yeah. You guys prefer this look too, right? No? Just deal with it."

She hit the ready button for matchmaking, and the character waiting in the lobby sprang forward into a ready stance.

The Camilla lookalike drew a dagger and settled into a pose, scanning the surroundings with wary precision.

"Oh…"

It really was a survival game — the tension was already thick before the match even started. She wished Abyss would give her something like this.

The thought had barely formed when a match-found signal flashed and the screen cut away.

Eternal, the newly released title that had launched to massive gamer anticipation, was the kind of game you couldn't pin down to a single genre.

It had simply mashed together every successful game mechanic it could find. With so many elements piled on top of each other, trying to sum it up in one clean label was basically impossible.

Even so, Eternal had one crystal-clear identity: survival came first. This was a survival game, full stop.

Up to a hundred players dropped across a sprawling island in a large-scale free-for-all. Everyone started with nothing but basic gear, then scavenged the island for loot, equipped themselves, and grew stronger over the course of the match.

It also borrowed the classic survival-game staple of a shrinking safe zone, steadily closing off the map and forcing players into tighter and tighter space.

But the reason Eternal earned genuine praise — the reason players kept calling it fresh — was something else entirely.

Eternal wasn't just a survival game. It had classes, each with unique skills. Neutral monsters spawned randomly across the island, and hunting them let you grow. Nestled inside the survival framework was a genuine RPG layer.

Having RPG elements didn't mean there was a traditional level system, but something close existed: a proficiency system.

Farming items scattered across the island and crafting higher-tier gear, hunting the creeps that spawned on the map, fighting or killing enemy players — all of it raised proficiency, with combat and kills awarding significantly more than the first two.

As proficiency climbed, so did the character's overall stats. Health, defense, attack power — everything scaled up, delivering that classic RPG thrill of getting stronger the more you played.

Just like in an AOS game where a massive item lead let you stomp someone flat, a severe enough proficiency gap could let you one-shot an opponent outright.

On top of that, epic monsters appeared across the map, dropping special materials when slain, and currency looted from other players could be spent on exclusive gear. Eternal had packed the game full of systems designed to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sharpen competition between players.

It was a deliberate counter to the so-called boring win — the kind where you just sit still, hold your breath, and wait everyone else out. The classic survival strategy of turtling hard, of pure camping, simply didn't work here. Even if you survived by holing up in a quiet corner, the growth gap would leave you with zero chance of actually taking first place.

You might still crack the top ranks, but the scoring system treated low engagement and zero kills as low contribution, handing out fewer points accordingly. Combat was effectively mandatory. Whether you were chasing a win or climbing the ladder, avoiding other players simply wasn't an option.

And that was exactly why Kayak's viewers had been recommending Eternal to her so relentlessly.

In Abyss, a massive game in its own right, Kayak's combat mechanics were rated among the absolute best. Could she pull off the same kind of performance here?

If she did, great. If she didn't, that was fine too. Watching Kayak — who spent most of her Abyss streams lecturing viewers as a hardened veteran — flail around as a complete newbie was entertaining enough on its own to justify tuning in.

Some people even found themselves quietly looking forward to the rare chance of giving Kayak advice for once.

All of that anticipation kicked off the moment Kayak queued into her first match.

"We start by dropping in on parachutes… yeah, that's the golden rule."

"No idea. I don't know anything about this… where should I drop?"

Kayak's question set off a flood of backseat coaching. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Drop here, no drop there if you're a newbie, your class needs to push hard from the start —

The chat was a perfect reminder that chat was rarely actually helpful. Kayak looked away from it and spoke in a calm, even tone.

"I'll just follow the recommended route for now. Farm materials and upgrade the gear you're wearing — they've even got a friendly little guide for me."

The only equipment Kayak currently had equipped was a single short dagger. Whether it was a newbie-oriented system or not, the system messages floating beside her told her to farm material items, upgrade her current gear, and equip items on her empty equipment slots.

Given the nature of the game, constant growth was the only path to a real shot at winning. Kayak clearly understood that much — she landed in the guide's recommended zone and immediately started scanning for the material items she needed to farm.

The place Kayak was landing was a small outskirt zone, nothing impressive in scale.

And yet a suspiciously large number of players were dropping with her — the reason for which became clear almost immediately.

Frivolous voices, delivered through terrible audio quality. They were coming through the open voice channel Kayak had left enabled.

The way they were chattering among themselves, clearly having the time of their lives, was enough to spark a low, simmering irritation just from listening.

Once she'd figured out who they were, Kayak let out a short, dry laugh.

"Stream snipers."

Stream sniping was an unavoidable fixture of survival games like this.

The sheer number of players needed to fill a queue made it trivially easy for viewers to hunt down a streamer's match.

Abyss had its share of snipers targeting streamers too, but Kayak had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never really dealt with them — the rating gap made it nearly impossible. From the early days of her proper streaming career, she'd already climbed so high that most snipers couldn't even queue into the same games.

Eternal, on the other hand, was a brand-new release. There was no rating system yet, and ranked play hadn't even opened. Perfect conditions for snipers to run wild.

Sniping was, at its core, exhausting for streamers. Occasionally it got turned into Vtube content or made a live stream funnier, but those cases were the rare exception.

Most of the time, snipers drained a streamer's energy and killed their interest in the game. Even right now, somewhere else on Twish, streamers were already suffering under sniper harassment — and Kayak's viewers were worried she might get tilted enough to rage-quit.

But contrary to every concern in chat, Kayak's reaction was almost casually dry.

"I'll win."

If anything, the faint upward curl at the corner of her mouth made her look quietly, thoroughly confident.

And just like that, the viewers' worry gave way to a strange, rising sense of anticipation.