Doppelganger Dilemma (1)
The next day. Ppase, who had vowed to create the ultimate debut match, became a wanted criminal.
I'd been looking forward to a deathmatch with Mixer, but starting next Monday, the Tuhon World Masters Winter Season kicks off. It's the massive Tuhon World Cup held just twice a year, and the winter edition feels like the grand finale of the year—making it all the more meaningful. With 128 players from the five major and five minor leagues battling it out for a single champion, it's huge. Something I could only dream of watching in my past life.
A huge tournament is just days away, yet he'd agree to content like this? He'd be busy analyzing opponents and crafting strategies—sparing time for a deathmatch with me? It's pie in the sky.
Shame, but what can you do? I was hyped for Mixer, but it can wait till after the tournament. But Ppase wouldn't back down. He burned even hotter with resolve, trying to convince me.
I agree. If Mixer resembles my past self, he's probably itching for a deathmatch with me too. Back when we clashed in that event match without knowing each other, our fists met awkwardly and stopped. Without the host's trolling forcing my escape, what would the outcome have been? That lingering thirst kept us wandering toward each other. We want to see the end. And from that end, start anew and chase another. Maybe we're trapped in an eternal loop of unfinished rivalry.
The unbreakable shield who's held the world #1 throne for five years straight. Against him, I'm the spear that pierces anything. No wonder they say spear vs. shield is a paradox. Whether the tip shatters or the shield cracks, every brutal clash births a loser. I don't wanna lose, but if I do, I want a clean fight with no regrets.
Everyone's got one big misconception. Against Mixer, you can't give him time. It has to be a straight sweep—a clean 3-0. Lose even one, and the momentum shifts to him; the match turns against you.
Some might call my Ren obsession unhealthy. But she's my bona fide goddess of luck. I don't buy superstitions. But I believe in Ren. Together, we don't lose.
### China. Shanghai.
Mixer swaps his USIM before landing and dials someone the moment he clears immigration.
"Yeah. It's me."
He'd slept the whole flight.
"Yeah?"
His face lit up brighter with every word even before the call really started.
"Nice."
By the end, he was spinning in circles like a kid heading to an amusement park for the first time tomorrow.
"Yeah. Tomorrow. I'll log in then. Yep. Good work. ...... Me? Nah. It's the fruit of your efforts. ...... Yeah, rest up!"
He pumps his fist in triumph as the call ends. Na-jjang, Korea's #2 ranker standing beside him, asks with a puzzled look.
"Who got you this hyped?"
"Se-gi."
"Se-gi? Why him all of a sudden. World Masters season and he's asking for a guest spot again?"
"Yeah."
Dense asshole. Asking for content from someone with a tournament breathing down their neck.
Na-jjang adjusts his round glasses and sighs.
"So. You doing it? Practice and all."
"It's practice too."
"Aren't all the worthy practice partners here? Who's left in Korea?"
Mixer flashes a shady grin at Na-jjang's cocked head.
"Got one."
It was that same smile from before boarding—while chatting about recent events.
"No way... the Hajeong Department Store event match opponent?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa. How'd he track 'em down? Ha Se-gi is one crazy bastard."
"Exactly. Or just lucky."
Na-jjang's #2 now by choice, not circumstance. Back at debut, he aimed for Mixer's throne too. He'd made a habit of studying Mixer's vids to learn his patterns—including the Hajeong event footage, naturally.
"You said you were 100% serious back then, right?"
"Yeah."
Mixer in that vid was different. The guy who never smiled against top threats had his lips quirked the whole time. Folks said he was just hamming it up for the event vibe. But Na-jjang, who clashes with him often—losing in league, off-tourney, everywhere—knew better. Mixer had been on the ropes that day.
"So what's their deal anyway?"
"Dunno."
"Even Se-gi doesn't know?"
"I'd have told you if he did."
"Weird as hell. That skill level? Pro or streamer, they'd crush it. Why play hermit master?"
Na-jjang shakes his head, grumbling. Mixer mutters,
"Not interested."
"Figures. Tin-can gamer who only knows Tuhon—just excel at Tuhon, done."
"Duh."
"......"
No point talking more with this guy.
"Whoever you play, not my business. Just don't lose."
"Why?"
"Beating you's my job. Save it for me."
"Win first, then talk."
"Ugh, you smug prick."
Thwack. His short leg kicks Mixer's thigh, but for deskbound Na-jjang, even that's a stretch.
"Ow, ow. Cramp. Cramps. Ack."
"What're you doing?"
"Fuck. Don't just watch—help me stretch. Ack! Shit!"
Whether wage slave or student, everyone dives into weekend liberation. 8 PM Friday hits.
Ppase's stream—as commentator and host—explodes with 10,000 viewers right away.
"Lena. You some kinda stream god?"
"Nope."
"Then how... how'd you prep this so fast? Timing's insane."
It shattered Donemise's all-time peak by miles. Would Mixer snag his fifth straight Summer/Winter Grand Slam? Could Japan's #1, Gaki—who hounded him last Summer—claim the throne? Or would some hidden star eclipse the big names? With all eyes on World Masters Winter, this bombshell announcement dropped.
Perfect timing—right after regionals ended—and Mixer's putting his 5-year nick on the line. Crowd was inevitable.
"Keeps climbing. 20k already...."
Korean Masters averages 100k viewers. Can't top that, but this single-game hype drew a ton. Friday night gold content.
Ta-in mutters at the surging numbers, half-whining.
"It's going so well on its own... I didn't butt in too much, right...?"
"You helped."
"...Me? Wasn't just meddling?"
"Gave advice on approach. Kept your shoulder from overdoing it."
"Oh yeah. And... you said hi to the depot folks nicely?"
So she knew. Not just my little depot anymore—our depot.
"Yeah. Wrapped it up fine."
"...Yeah?"
"...What. Why."
"Your face. Something off...."
"Nothing. Don't worry."
Dunno how they'll handle it, but without me there, a warning and it'll blow over. Perks of not being full-time. Lucky break.
Ta-in ponders, then beams again.
"Anyway. If you go pro-streaming, let me manager."
"Manager?"
I like the Ren type—clueless to the world, demurely awaiting her master. Overly affectionate types like Ta-in? Always kept at arm's length. Vital ally or not, distance forms naturally. But even clingies have reins.
"If you're busy, no biggie."
"Nah, not busy. I'll do it. Manager? For real?"
"Boot anyone who crosses lines. Block donations from creeps."
She's proactive; delegate and she'll nail it. Knows limits from watching Ppase's streams.
Ta-in grabs my hand, presses it to her chest.
"Anyway, I'll do my best! Thanks for hiring me, boss~."
She bows. I scoff inwardly.
"Boss my ass. Can't pay you."
"Your happy face is my salary."
I turn back to the keyboard. A heavy cushion engulfs my neck.
"Y'know, Lena? You look happiest gaming."
"......"
She seems meek to newbies. Truth: affection-overload sticky rice cake who storms upstairs whenever. Solution? Slap a "manager" leash and seal her downstairs.
"Heavy. Get off. Game time."
"Just a bit longer?"
"No, heavy—move these lumps!"