A Style of One's Own
Everyone wants a personality of their own. Something uniquely theirs that would set them apart from anyone else alive. The reason was simple: only then could they feel the meaning of their lives more clearly, and only then could they be more certain that their own worth actually mattered.
Wanting to be a little more special — and, through that specialness, to possess meaning and value — was a basic human desire. Being special was the ability to draw other people's eyes. And if you could draw those eyes, the benefits you stood to gain multiplied. You might stumble into unexpected kindness. Even in unfamiliar places, you might be met with warm smiles from strangers. Specialness arrived in the form of advantage. And so people wanted something that belonged to them alone.
But the world does not hand you everything you need. Most people were simply ordinary, belonging to the broad category of the social majority.
The reason I was thinking about all this was that I was putting together a build of my own.
The community was full of popular builds other users posted, but I had no desire to walk the same path everyone else was taking. Besides, everyone played differently. There was no guarantee a build someone else had cooked up would suit me at all. Of course I knew that a build made by someone with my level of game knowledge wasn't going to come out polished. But who starts out knowing everything perfectly? To understand something, you have no choice but to throw yourself at it barehanded.
The first thing I had to decide was the purpose of the build I was going to make. You had to be clear about what you were making it for. That was the first step toward anything worth calling a creation. Some people would try to make a high-performance build. Others would make one purely for fun. The community actually had things like a runaway-locomotive build that dumped everything into movement speed, or a one-second-invincibility build that dumped everything into recovery so you were briefly unkillable. The comment sections were packed with slurs, but you could say those builds had perfectly achieved their intended purpose.
So what was the purpose of the build I was making now? The main goal was to make a build that fit me exactly. A unique build of my own that no one else would be able to copy.
Knowing Lee Harin's talent, what I needed to do was already as good as decided. Some people said you should find a weapon that suited you first and then pick traits, but I already knew how to handle most weapons, so it was better to choose traits first. More than anything, the builds posted on the community were stuffed with traits I had no use for.
Take, for example, the firing-assist trait that added stability to your aim when you shot. It was considered essential because hitting enemies who were in cover or moving was hard — but for me, it was one of the traits I didn't need at all.
I didn't need to think long about the first trait. The way I'd been playing was mostly about closing the distance on the enemy, so it was already decided.
The Sprint Trait.
It seemed to be a trait that almost never got used in Last of Quantum. Unlike the others, all it did was increase your running speed. No matter how fast you ran, you couldn't outrun a bullet, so it rarely shone on the battlefield. It was something people who mainly used hit-and-run tactics would pick now and then.
But if it was Lee Harin, the story was different. If she could instinctively read the opponent's movements and dodge even a little, a speed boost would put enormous wings on her. Perfectly dodging bullets was still too much to ask — but simply being able to close on the enemy a little faster would be a huge help.
After that I looked through a few more traits, checking off the ones that seemed good, when one of them caught my eye. Honestly, it wasn't a trait I needed that badly. Like a person who already has air conditioning not needing a fan — reading the description, it was something I already had. The trait's ability itself was to warn you when an enemy was aiming at you.
On the battlefield you couldn't know the enemy's position, and an attack could come from anywhere at any time, so it was a good trait for preparing against ambushes. But I wondered if I needed to slot in a trait that was inferior to Lee Harin's sensory talent. On the other hand, another thought occurred to me. If you turn on a fan on top of the air conditioner, it gets even cooler. If I added a sense-related trait on top of my existing ability, maybe there'd be a synergy effect.
Curiosity soon turned into action. I added the trait named All-Around Vigilance to the page.
By the time I'd finished the build, it was the small hours of the morning, the moon hanging high in the sky. I'd spent the time hunting through this trait and that, trying to squeeze in even one more good one. Making a theoretically perfect build turned out to be harder than I'd thought.
Of course, that was only "theoretically perfect." The ideal you picture in your head and the act of actually carrying it out produce entirely different results. In theory, I was confident I could take on several enemies alone with a single gun. But you needed the theory to be solid if you wanted anything usable in practice, didn't you? Using something blindly when the theory itself hadn't even been established was no different from swallowing unverified medicine.
In the end there was a bit of compromise, but I managed to put together a theoretically perfect build. Theoretically, that is. In the end it was nothing more than a fantasy. In actual combat, variables I'd never even imagined were likely to pile up in droves. What worried me most was whether the traits I'd chosen would actually work the way I thought they would. I'd run mental simulations while putting the build together, but there was bound to be a gap between fantasy and reality.
So now it was time to test the build I'd worked so hard to make.
Last of Quantum was a game that demanded a certain degree of raw mechanics. Mind games with the opponent, chains of attack and defense that didn't easily leave openings — there were a lot of techniques that weren't easy for a beginner. That was why someone picking up the game for the first time usually couldn't show outstanding skill. At best, they might luck into taking down one or two people.
That didn't mean every beginner found the game difficult, of course. Now and then there were people with exceptional talent, or people who'd played a lot of similar games, who adapted quickly. But even that only meant they'd adapted to the game's style — not that they'd adapted to Last of Quantum. Given that you had to actually move your body and fight, adapting in the first few matches was close to impossible. And Last of Quantum wasn't a newbie-friendly game to begin with, which made it even worse.
That was why Bald Takoyaki, a lower-mid-tier player in his own right, paid no attention to the beginner on the enemy team. If anything, he was thinking about stomping them so hard they'd want to quit the game.
The moment the match started, he set up in a dark alley that newbies often passed through. True to an alley no one walked, the surroundings were quieter than you'd expect. If he concentrated, he felt like he could even hear an enemy player's breathing. The central boulevard, where most players went, was probably a deathmatch of bullets flying in every direction. Solo play in this game was basically trolling, but Bald Takoyaki didn't care. His only goal was farming beginners.
That was when it happened.
Thud. Thud.
The sound of prey approaching. Like a predator waiting for its quarry, Bald Takoyaki moved with care.
Not yet.
Not yet.
A more certain moment. He had to make the other person die without even getting a chance to resist. That way they'd be crushed by an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
Thud. Thud.
Now.
Bald Takoyaki, who'd been waiting with his shot ready, burst forward and pulled the trigger toward the direction of the sound.
Bang-bang!
Certain he'd fired a perfect shot at the perfect timing, Bald Takoyaki was convinced the other player was dead. Even an outstanding player had no way of dealing with a sudden ambush. And this one had only just started the game. They probably wouldn't even know how they'd died, let alone react to the attack. That was what Bald Takoyaki thought.
In the instant he was checking the remaining rounds in his magazine, a figure came charging rapidly through the dark alley. The player who'd let his guard down, thinking the other was already dead, sprayed his gun without even aiming. Even without aiming, the distance was quite close. He thought that at this range he could neutralize them even without a proper aim — and then a scene unfolded that he couldn't believe even with his own two eyes.
With movements so light it was as if they already knew where the bullets were going, they dodged every one.
If the distance had been farther, he would have understood. If the opponent had been a veteran, he would have accepted it. No — even most veterans couldn't pull off the trick of dodging bullets. Then what on earth was that?
Countless questions rose in his mind, but there was no one to answer them. The empty gun only clicked, and the player who'd lost his means of attack couldn't even think of resisting.
A sharp knife cleanly sliced Bald Takoyaki's throat, and at the same time his vision turned black and white.
It was a death as hollow as they come.