Live at the Arena
That was a Discord message that had arrived during lunch one day.
After visiting Fusion Gaming's headquarters, I'd ended up friending only one person from the team — their captain, Junhyuk. The reason was simple: I'd passed down my Camilla knowledge to him, and he kept coming back with feedback. Every time he forgot for a moment, he'd message me again. "Why does it do this?" or "How does this trait work in this situation?" — questions like that, over and over.
There was a certain satisfaction in seeing those numbers pop up on Discord. I guess you could say it kept things from getting too boring.
Messages would fly in whenever I least expected them, and true to his pro-gamer credentials, his questions were the kind that made me quietly scratch my head and actually think things through.
And now I'd received tickets for the season opener. I'd been planning to go anyway, but getting the actual tickets in hand made it feel like I really couldn't skip it. A strange sense of obligation settled over me.
To be honest, I'd been feeling pretty lazy about going out lately. Unless it was something important, I barely left the house.
Nothing was really wrong, per se. If there was a problem, it was the weather. I could only admire the people who stubbornly kept going about their outdoor activities despite the biting cold wind.
I'd been considering either securing broadcast rights to stream it for my viewers, or just casually watching the relay from home.
But now that I'd received the tickets, there was no way around it. I had to go to the arena. Junhyuk's opener tickets seemed to be quietly scolding my laziness.
Right. Going is the right call. Going is the right call.
This was the match where Camilla might make her debut in the league. If I didn't see it in person, what kind of "live viewing" would that even be? If I sat at home for a moment like that, I might regret it deeply.
Thinking it through, the very idea of watching from home was flawed. The mere thought of it felt stupid.
Of course, there was no guarantee that Fusion Gaming's players — Junhyuk included — would actually play Camilla. I'd made a promise, even half-threatened them using their pro status as leverage, but that was just words. There was no legal force behind what I'd said, and the players had no real reason to honor it. We weren't exactly in a relationship built on loyalty. Worst case, they could just shrug and say, "Did we make that promise?" and I'd have nothing to say back.
And honestly, if they didn't play Camilla, I'd be disappointed, sure — but I could understand it. Pro teams prioritized results above all else.
If they chose not to use Camilla, there'd be a reason. Maybe she performed poorly in scrims, or they tried her multiple times and she didn't mesh with the team.
Since victory was the most important thing in a pro match, I wouldn't get angry if they didn't play her. Just disappointed.
It was a "nice if she shows up, fine if she doesn't" situation. I'd already let go of any expectation that Camilla would appear. I'd decided to just go, enjoy myself, and come back.
When I looked into it, Fusion Gaming's popularity was beyond imagination. Over 500 seats sold out every time. And the season opener tickets were even more popular than regular matches.
Seeing the scalper prices — four times the original value — I was genuinely shocked. I realized I'd somehow gotten my hands on something incredibly valuable.
And at the same time, a new problem popped up.
Who should I bring? It was a small but weighty question.
I'd considered giving or selling one ticket to someone else, but once I'd realized how important and precious these tickets were, that option vanished.
It felt too wasteful to just throw one away. If it ended up in the hands of someone who truly understood its value, it would shine. Was there anyone good enough…?
I thought of a good idea and tried it, but it ended in failure.
I'd been trying to look out for our hardworking editors, you know? Kind of like a company welfare thing.
With the recruitment of my most convenient and approachable first-choice candidates failing, I had to admit that there weren't many people left I could realistically ask to come to the opener with me.
My social circle was just that narrow.
The people I had any connection with were just a few streamers I'd gotten close to through broadcasting, and Sihyeon, the little kid who lived in my neighborhood. That was it.
Who should I go with?
The untimely worry only deepened.
Tap tap tap—
"Hmm…"
Tap tap tap—
The sound of fingers striking a phone keyboard.
A figure lay sprawled on a bed, gripping her phone and repeatedly typing and deleting something.
Streamer Ririyang, real name Lee Da-hee.
She stared at the screen, her brow slightly furrowed as if something wasn't quite right.
"Is this too cliché…? Does this look like I have nothing better to do…?"
Ririyang groaned, gripping her phone and constantly changing the message content.
What was so hard about a message like this that she was agonizing over it this much?
'I don't think I was like this even when I was dating in school…'
Ririyang, with her pretty face, had received plenty of attention from guys since she was young. People had always clung to her — this was the first time she was the one clinging to someone, and she had no idea what to do.
A thorough underdog position. Of course, Kayak herself wouldn't think of it that way, but human relationships worked like that.
The side that wanted something was the one who held their breath and lowered themselves.
In Kayak's case, Ririyang was the one who wanted to get closer, so she was the underdog.
'Teacher usually takes Saturdays or Tuesdays off…'
If I asked her to hang out… she'd take the day off and join me, right? She'd make time for that much, right?
She'd said to call her whenever I was bored, after all.
Ririyang had analyzed Kayak's off-streaming patterns over the past three months, and with a confident nod, she affirmed her conclusion.
She spun a happy loop of hope. As a fan of Kayak, she'd always imagined all sorts of scenarios of being with her.
For her, this was her first attempt at building genuine friendship.
After carefully choosing her words, she sent a single message expressing her desire to spend time together on the weekend.
'Does this sound weird? Yeah, it's fine. Doesn't seem too clingy…'
After several attempts, she'd managed to craft something passable. It didn't seem overly desperate, yet didn't state her purpose outright — leaving a subtle hint that there was something behind it.
Remembering Kayak's advice to speak casually, she forced herself to use informal language online. It felt a bit awkward, but it seemed friendlier, so it wasn't bad.
She'd originally planned to suggest getting dinner together, but switched to drinks instead. From last time, it seemed like Kayak really liked alcohol. Though the one who'd gotten drunk at the table was Ririyang herself, for failing to control her pace.
'I won't make that mistake this time. No, I can't.'
Recalling the last drinking session, heat rose to Ririyang's ears. This time, she'd show the perfect side she hadn't been able to show back then.
Truthfully, Kayak didn't care much whether Ririyang got drunk or not, but Ririyang only wanted to show her idol her best self.
Just as Ririyang clenched her fist and steeled her resolve, the number 1 that had been next to her sent message disappeared.
'Read!'
Kayak had received the message and checked its contents. Ririyang held her breath.
She waited anxiously for a reply, and soon one came back.
"Ah…"
The tension that had been building deflated instantly.
Ririyang put on a slightly sad face, then moved her fingers to reply.
"I slipped back into formal language…"
Maybe because she was disappointed, Ririyang had replied in formal speech without even realizing it. This was exactly why you should edit your messages before sending them.
Should she send another one below, in informal speech, saying it was fine?
But Kayak seemed to have something on her mind, hesitated for a moment, then—
"What was that…?"
Ririyang wondered what Kayak had been about to say, but quickly pushed it aside, overjoyed that she'd secured a future meeting. She kicked her blanket up in the air with excitement.