One Coin
This time for sure, this time no matter what, this time absolutely, this time please just let it happen.
How many times had I said that to myself?
Three times.
My third runner-up finish.
The Eld Cup—also known as Worlds—the most prestigious and important tournament in the professional League of Eternity scene.
We all lived our lives grinding our bones to dust and coughing up blood just to lift that championship trophy.
People even said every match over the course of a year was nothing but a prelude to winning Worlds.
And I had never once won it.
Not even once...
Every time, he stood in my way.
That damn Proud.
Yeah, Proud. The stumbling block in my life, my wall... and my rival.
Ha, what a joke.
Rival? Could you even call it that when I'd never properly beaten him even once?
Sure, I'd scraped by with a win here and there by some fluke. But a clean, perfect victory all the way to the end? Never. Not a single time.
Always... always, right at the very last moment, it came down to him.
Proud won.
Proud beat me, Dice.
Fraud beat Dice.
Just like a con artist rolling the dice.
And he claimed the victory.
He was always up there on his high horse, perfectly poised at the top.
He was always the one I faced.
And he was always the one who crushed me.
...I could never beat him.
Me and Proud. There was a massive gap between us. We'd both debuted the same year, but our fates couldn't have been more different.
Proud had been famous even in his amateur days. He got scouted by a powerhouse team right away and swept through the league like a storm from his debut. A supernova rookie.
Me? Ha, scouted? As if.
I barely passed a tryout for a bottom-tier second-division squad, and even then, I was on the bench. If the starting mid hadn't quit pro play due to some personal issues, I might never have even debuted.
Starting from rock bottom, all I could do back then was watch. Watch as he burst onto the scene like a comet, hogging all the spotlight and becoming a superstar.
But I didn't stop. I climbed. I kept grinding endlessly, climbing higher and higher and higher.
I started in a second-division dumpster fire of a team, and I dragged them all the way to second-division champions.
Back when promotion tournaments still existed, it felt like a given that we'd move up to the first division.
I was cocky back then. I thought I wouldn't lose to any pro gamer in the first division. Not even to Proud.
Arrogant.
And arrogance came at a steep price.
My first match in the first division. My debut. And our first head-to-head.
I went in full of confidence... and he made me look like I didn't even belong on the same server.
That was when I finally realized it.
If I was a prodigy, he was a genius. If I was the moon, he was the sun. If I was a lake, he was the ocean.
I felt it in my bones. That was the level of difference between us.
But I didn't give up.
I played endlessly, insanely, like a madman—anything to beat you.
Anything to drag you down from that throne.
At some point, I could finally hang with you.
Even if I was behind, I could hold on. I wasn't getting smashed helplessly like before.
Still, I couldn't win.
It's fine. I believed in myself.
I believed I'd beat you. That in the end, I'd definitely take you down.
In my debut year at the Eld Cup, his team predictably swept spring and summer, snagged the top seed, and marched straight in.
My team? We'd just clawed our way into the first division, so our circuit points were dead last. Summer results barely squeaked us into the qualifiers.
No one expected anything from us.
But we pulled off a miracle.
We won the qualifiers. Kept winning, and snatched the last ticket to Worlds.
We were constant underdogs against every opponent, but we fought tooth and nail for every victory. For a team fresh out of second division, it was unbelievable.
But our miracle ended there.
We went into the finals with swollen dreams... and put on a performance so disastrously pathetic it was almost comical. We handed over the trophy on a silver platter. And everyone knew the reason for that meltdown: the gap between me and him.
The trophy went to Proud, along with the MVP, as if it was only natural.
All the glory and honor rained down on him, while I got branded with ridicule.
But that wasn't the end.
There were more chances. Plenty of them. I could do better.
But I lost.
Lost again.
Lost yet again.
The year after that miracle run, we didn't even make Worlds.
The funny part? Proud didn't win that year's Eld Cup either. They got knocked out in the semis by another top contender.
That team took the cup, and pathetically enough, I felt a smug satisfaction watching it.
But that was the end of it.
After that, I lost to Proud again.
Loss after loss after loss. Occasional wins, sure, but in the end, always defeat.
The defeats never stopped.
Our team eventually became known as a powerhouse, but we always hit a wall against his squad and choked on the title.
Twice in the league, and then runner-up again at my second Eld Cup—that's when the mocking nicknames started sticking to me: eternal second place, king of no trophies.
King of no trophies.
A jeering moniker.
King? It sounded grand at first glance, but Proud's nickname was Emperor.
The King—an eternal second who could never catch the Emperor.
That was me.
So,
that's why,
above all else,
I had to beat that bastard. No matter what.
I wanted to crush him.
Knock him down from the highest peak.
At some point, that became my entire life.
My first championship finally came in the league. But even then, I hadn't beaten him.
Damn it all—his team lost to someone else and didn't make it, so we faced a different opponent.
I was thrilled. Ecstatic. But something felt missing.
If I couldn't beat him, it all meant nothing. That's the void I felt.
But it's okay.
Both of us are heading to Worlds. We'll meet there. And I'll win for sure. I'll crush you and drag you off that throne myself.
Three times is too many.
...But that lifelong goal never came to pass.
On the day of my third Eld Cup runner-up finish, I cried.
Sobbed pathetically, wretchedly.
As he approached for the handshake with his usual stoic face, I forced my trembling hand into his and thought to myself.
Why,
why you,
why are you so
perfect?
I couldn't let go of his hand.
His impassive expression finally cracked with confusion.
My breakdown, clinging to his hand and bawling for what felt like forever, got broadcast around the world.
Some mocked me. Some pitied me.
I wanted to die.
All that humiliation airing globally.
I ended up issuing a light apology—"Sorry for the unsightly display"—and going into hiatus.
No formal punishment. I was just too ashamed to show my face.
...Still,
I wasn't broken yet.
I'd made a fool of myself, sure, but my challenge wasn't over.
I still had more shots.
Next time,
definitely next time, I'd beat him.
That's what I vowed.
I believed I'd win next time.
I truly believed it.
Until that day.
There was no "definitely."
No more chances.
My vows lost all meaning.
The day after posting my apology, I collapsed with a raging fever.
In that moment of falling, I sensed death. The ferryman of the underworld demanding his toll.
Me, dying?
No way.
I couldn't die. Not before beating him, no matter what.
Please! Save me.
Let me live.
I still haven't beaten him!!!
Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Just let me live.
I want to beat him.
After that, it's fine. Take my life then. Take it all.
So please, let me live.
Please,
me.
I prayed to God.
And astonishingly, God answered. But it wasn't a reward for my prayer.
It was charity for my begging. What God tossed me was a single rusted coin.
God merely flung me a coin for the ferryman's toll. But to me, it was another chance. My one true "one coin."
The coin, rusted to hell and back, was thrust into my mouth. I spat out the ferryman and swallowed it. No one could take this "chance" from me.
Not even the grim reaper himself. He could never, ever drag me away.
...But I should have realized what that rusted coin, that "one coin," really meant.
I am Dice.
And God doesn't roll the dice.
When I came to, I was lying in a huge bed.
I had no idea how many days had passed. I knew it was a hospital. The only thing that felt off—intensely alien—was that my body didn't feel like mine anymore.
It took a while, but I finally grasped my situation.
With the doctor, nurses, and my coach watching over me, I looked in the mirror.
My hands were small.
There were new things attached to my chest, and my hair had grown long.
My viewpoint was lower.
And most damningly, the space between my legs was empty.
I realized.
I awoke.
I escaped death.
I seized the chance. And I had become a woman.
I'd swallowed that rusted coin.
Once I'd pieced together everything, I said,
"Get me a computer. Right now."
I needed to play.