Doppelganger Dilemma (2)

In a fighting game's set-deciding single round, one minute flies by in the blink ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of an eye. These days, with leagues so developed, detailed commentary flows alongside slow-motion replays after each set ends—but that's all just consideration for viewers who can barely keep up with the skilled players' movements. On the live screen, what separated good commentary from bad was how accurately the caster interpreted the players' intentions in real time and conveyed them to the audience. That's why Tuhon Pro League casters were almost all former pros. With their insane dynamic vision and judgment, they had to read the ever-shifting battlefield and players' psyches—no ordinary person could even dream of it.

In that context, the massive popularity of the unofficial tournament Donemise was entirely thanks to Ppase. Sure, he got flak for being subpar compared to Masters League pro casters, but his game analysis and mic skills were sharp enough that he occasionally handled event match commentary. That chatterbox Ppase popped up on screen today in an outfit that didn't suit him at all—a full suit.

One corner of the cam showed a green air fryer whirring away, letting out beeping sounds.

"Phew. Man, dressing up properly after so long ain't easy."

Most viewers showered praise on Ppase's connections. They knew he was good-natured and got along with everyone, but gathering Mixer and Renmam—right before the World Masters tournament, no less? Only Ppase could pull that off, the consensus went.

"Alright, players are warming up and getting ready. They'll enter soon. But first, as a pre-game event... chicken mukbang!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Ppase hauled over the air fryer that had been hogging one side of the cam. A famous chicken brand had sent it over upon hearing Mixer was competing—a homework assignment, basically. Ppase called it a pre-game event, but it was really peak pre-advertising: fill your belly and pocket some cash at the same time.

Ding.

Right on cue, the air fryer signaled completion. Perfectly golden tenderloin chunks from the coated bowl were plated one by one.

"Look at this. Air fryer at 180 degrees for exactly 10 minutes. Super simple cooking, right? See how crispy? Lemme try one... Mmm. Mmm! Kyaaah! Man, this screams for beer or cola. First retort tenderloin chicken this tasty I've had. They even threw in extra sauce for sauce-lovers. Let's dip... Mmm. Oooh! Damn, this is good too. Wow."

Ppase chomped, tore, savored, and enjoyed the golden-fried chicken. Massive boos rained down, but for ad homework broadcasts, the rule was to plug as obviously as possible. And for food products? Devour it so mouthwateringly it makes viewers drool—that's prime advertising.

Longtime viewers had clocked the 'Salnok Chicken' sponsor in the notice the second they saw it, but newbies were in agony.

But Ppase didn't flinch, polishing off the plate in record time. The fry crumbs spilling onto his carefully chosen shirt stood out like a sore thumb.

"Phew. Enjoy the pre-event?"

"What? It's 8 PM. Haven't you guys had dinner?"

Rebellion brewed in chat just as Ppase—the chicken slayer—was about to get slain. But he trolled the viewers leisurely.

"You guys are hilarious. C'mon, eat regularly. Live a morning person's life. No more gaming till dawn and sleeping all day."

There was a reason for everything. Would the madman who even revealed his address on stream just troll without backup?

"Alright, drawing 100 winners for five packs each of Salnok Chicken's new menu, Air Fried! Sooo tasty!"

The sponsor hadn't just paid ad fees. 500 packs total of Salnok Chicken's Air Fried were prepped for viewers.

"Wipe your drool. Who said everyone's getting some? Only for those who predict the winner right~. Predictions starting now~. Jang-jang-ja-jang~."

"What're you waiting for? Bet quick. Can't miss predictions in a big match like this. Guess right and you might score five Air Fried packs~!"

While Ppase toyed with the viewers, two figures appeared simultaneously in the prepped match lobby.

Mixer claimed the slot first. Next to his ID gleamed the crown badge of the Golden Bracket—one of just 100 in the Korean server.

Renmam entered a hair's breadth later. Red helmet emblazoned with Prince in bold letters.

Mixer struck first.

The two traded barbs on one side of the screen, stoking their battle lust. Viewers watching the fierce prelim trash talk were already hyped.

Then an ordinary face shattered the tension.

"Everyone ready?"

"Hey hey, quit whining. We're starting now. For real."

Finally, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the fateful showdown was upon them—one where someone had to change their nickname.

"10!"

"Jeez, so noisy. We're ready. Let's go!!"

* Once Mixer learns your patterns mid-game, any opponent experiences a total reversal. Every character has clear limits on viable options per situation. The better the defender copes, the fewer cards the attacker has left. Before you know it, you're forced into the patterns Mixer shoveled onto you. The moment you realize it, defeat is sealed.

Just keep varying to avoid that? Against Mixer, there's a hard limit. He remembers nearly every pattern from a single game, defending over 80% of attacks—a monster. Average King users block around 65%; his defense was once called cheating, it was that overwhelming.

Like a fantasy foe absorbing the hero's power, no threat in Tuhon matches Mixer. Why he's always top? He absorbs every challenger's patterns. In just 2 minutes per match. New patterns from every opponent, every game. He devours them like possessed.

That's why I planned a 3-0 sweep in three sets. Otherwise, the game flips like I said at the start. Info gap advantage. Even if it feels cheap to the opponent. Win, and it's fine. The world only remembers winners.

"Go...!"

With Ta-in watching worriedly, the long-awaited first set kicked off. Mixer's Replican didn't poke as expected—instead, backstep. Reading my moves first, reacting.

"Ugh, backing off right away..."

Quick feet. Crouching mid-movement to cover low attacks too. So I mirrored, just watching. He'd prepped for my aggressive pressure from the department store event.

Ren gave light waves to upper and lower body with her idol-like bouncy idle. "...U-Ugh. Why aren't they attacking?!"

An ultra-moving standoff unseen in normal games. Neither extends first. Sidesteps, dashes, crouches, backdashes, my Ren-exclusive rolls—every movement option flies out.

"Tch."

30 seconds of observation. Mixer can't be patterned. Thinks on the fly. Monster.

Truth is, I'd been provoking with body language too. Attack already. He knows my patterns repeat at set intervals. But no limbs extended for 30 seconds. Classic Mixer stubbornness. Come at me like before. I'll deal with you.

"Uwaa..."

Flustered Ta-in stomped anxiously as time ticked. Then, at 6 seconds—exactly one before my planned 5.

I broke silence, extending a leg. Just shy of touching Replican—razor-edge distance. Naturally, it whiffed.

A whiff is prime opportunity for the foe. My intent, packaged as a mistake, reached Mixer. Replican countered with Comet Upper... but missed by a hair too.

His mistake? No. He didn't know. Not even Mixer.

"It didn't hit?!"

This game's hitboxes are insanely precise and nuanced. Sure, body size differences aside, hitbox types are limited. But one freak character has a unique one: Ren. Her idle is lively, bouncy. Most Tuhon players hate it as gimmicky. But for me, a killer ace.

In my past life playing Ren, I'd hear "Whoa, it didn't hit?" constantly. They thought luck, but it was her idle sway shifting the hitbox. Unless you've faced or played Ren yourself, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sensing that tiny difference is impossible. Ren was always despised—who'd delve deep, research counters?

That's why this strat always works. Even against Mixer.

Before whiffed Replican retracted to guard... Ren leaped high, heel wrapping Replican's nape, kicking up.

"She flew!!"

Set 1 secured. Sorry, Mixer.