Is This Real?
Right away, he took a screenshot.
Then came the outpouring of every last bit of mockery he could muster.
RoachSlayer didn’t say a single word. Had the loss completely broken him?
It would’ve been even better if he’d thrown a full-on tantrum.
Still, this kind of reaction wasn’t half bad.
CloudySky beamed with delight as he unleashed every ounce of ridicule on the defeated opponent.
He stabbed the crumpled corpse six or seven times for good measure, then logged straight out of the game.
Back in the custom lobby, the spectators’ bewildered messages flooded the chat.
How did you do that last move???? Wait, why did the sword swing down and then rise again? Why did it register two hits?? Reactions like that.
CloudySky muttered to himself, “Check my YouTube later,” and left the custom room.
And then—at long last—
RoachSlayer time.
He posted the screenshot under the title Plucked the Roach’s Head, complete with proof that his own rank was Silver.
The gallery instantly turned into a festival.
Everyone who had suffered at that psycho’s hands, along with those who had always found him obnoxious, happily tore RoachSlayer to shreds.
Normally the sight of the gallery flooded with off-topic spam would have annoyed him.
But.
Why?
Why did it feel so exhilarating?
Maybe game-related talk wasn’t even necessary today?
CloudySky dove headfirst into the wild festive wave sweeping the gallery and began writing his own posts tearing RoachSlayer apart.
Some time passed. A few posts started getting deleted.
Probably a handful of the more sensible moderators trying to calm the frenzy.
CloudySky immediately logged into the admin account and instructed the other mods to let it slide for today unless it got excessively inflammatory.
He couldn’t pour water on the bonfire just yet. He still needed to savor this victory.
If the mood died down now, that psycho might have the nerve to come crawling back. Better to burn him thoroughly.
Luckily most of the mods had also suffered at that lunatic’s hands, so they went along with his wishes without much resistance.
Of course, the gallery had become an absolute mess.
About thirty minutes had passed.
RoachSlayer still hadn’t shown his face.
Heh.
I won.
That was what CloudySky thought.
He had finally driven that psycho out of the gallery.
Ah, how painful and miserable those days had been!
How much had he endured for this very day!
Freedom at last.
He had driven out the utterly wicked, chaos-causing, aggro-spraying son of a bitch and brought peace to the CeltGallery.
Today he was Batman, Superman, Iron Man, and Wonder Woman all rolled into one.
CloudySky replayed the moment of victory in his mind.
The image of Lulu collapsing after taking a hit even though the sword hadn’t connected.
The sight of that psycho RoachSlayer helplessly falling without even managing to time a single parry.
Ufufu.
Even thinking about it again felt wonderful. It was almost a shame he hadn’t recorded it.
Then a thought suddenly occurred to him.
…Now that he thought about it, why hadn’t that guy used parry on the wind slash timing?
The sword raised high, the swirling wind effect around the blade. Yet Lulu had simply stood there watching.
He had naturally assumed a whiffed parry would come the instant the wind slash was canceled.
…Why? Couldn’t he react?
No. That couldn’t be it.
…Wait a second.
Could it be because there was no downward sword motion…?
Now that he thought back, even the first whiffed parry had happened because the sword had begun its downward motion before rising again…?
That kind of movement was supposed to be completely impossible in Celt of Heroes.
…Then did that mean the opponent had been reacting to every parry only after seeing the sword move…?
No, that was impossible.
At the very least, if you parry after the wind slash begins its motion, you’re guaranteed to eat the hit.
The time between the wind effect appearing, the downward motion starting, and the character taking damage was roughly 0.14 seconds.
……Nah, no way.
It had to be a coincidence.
CloudySky brushed it off as nothing important and stood up.
When he stepped out of the soundproof booth, a lazily sprawled cat sprang to its feet and trotted over to rub against his ankles.
A long-haired white cat named ClearSky.
He had brought her home on an especially clear, beautiful day.
Meow!
She stretched her front paws forward, arched her back in a long stretch, then vigorously rubbed her face against his shin.
In an exceptionally good mood, CloudySky crouched down and gave ClearSky some very enthusiastic pets. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her long fur.
The white fluffball pushed his face away with her paws as if to say no, but she didn’t seem to mind; a loud purr rumbled from her chest.
After stroking her a few more times, he set her back down and headed to the kitchen.
Cats were lounging in every corner of the room. The moment they spotted him they rose and gathered around his legs.
All except for one.
The very first cat CloudySky had brought home. That day had been unusually overcast, so he had given her the same name. It became a tradition; all the others received sky-themed names too.
A Korean Shorthair with a perfect mix of brown and white fur.
She completely ignored him and remained sprawled out on the floor.
“…Are you not happy to see me?”
The small CloudySky immediately turned her head away.
“…Sigh.”
She wasn’t like this when she was little.
Well, he was in a good mood today, so he’d let it slide.
Humming a little tune, he prepared a salad, some chicken breast, and a healthy drink before returning to the booth.
When he came back, the CeltGallery’s reaction seemed a little strange.
It wasn’t the victorious, celebratory atmosphere from earlier—
It was pure shock and chaos.
“……What… is this?”
With growing unease, CloudySky scrolled down.
And there it was—one particular post that made his blood run cold.
A cold sweat broke out.
It felt like he had forgotten how to breathe.
An image appeared.
An unbelievable sight.
“………Huh?”
But it was real.
“…………A girl……?”
His fingers moved frantically.
His brain refused to accept reality.
Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Click. Click. Click.
The post has been successfully deleted.
……That bastard… is he actually insane… or what……?
And so that day, the gallery exploded.