Doppelganger Dilemma (5)

Was it a mistake to expect this to be a fun game? Mixer crumpled the empty plastic bottle irritably and stood up from his seat. The completely crushed bottle flew with a whoosh and landed perfectly in the trash can.

"Hey, hey! Cheon No-ah! Where you going?"

"Out for some air."

"I'll come with."

"Do whatever you want."

Mixer's face looked like he'd just bitten into shit, utterly displeased. He seemed furious, his feet stomping the ground with every step. Na-jjang smirked, muttering to himself as he watched. It had been years since he'd seen Mixer like this.

"Ren-mom, huh? That guy's just as stubbornly full of shit as you."

"What'd you say?"

"It's true, right? Both of you trying to prove you're right with Tuhon instead of words?"

"…."

Crunch. Mixer ground his teeth and picked up his pace. Na-jjang huffed, chasing after him on his short legs, poking at him again.

"Hey, still, where else you gonna find someone who matches you like that?"

"Nowhere."

"Bet if you go to Korea and call for a deathmatch, he'll accept. Probably itching for it just like you."

"Yeah."

The two strode quickly to the elevator. Other players wandering the hallways of the tournament-provided lodging whispered as they spotted Mixer, debating whether to ask for an autograph.

"Anyway, we're clashing again in Korea, right?"

"We will, yeah."

Ding. The elevator doors opened.

"At least 100 games."

"H-huh? A hundred games?"

Na-jjang followed Mixer into the elevator. A hundred games? That's insane. Deathmatching one person all day?

The doors slid shut smoothly. Mixer shot Na-jjang a sideways glare.

"Gonna keep going till I break that stubbornness."

"……."

Mixer stared straight ahead again, murmuring calmly.

"Gotta make him realize. The despair of clashing without any advantage."

"Y-yeah."

Looks like Ren-mom's in deep shit. Mixer was the type who followed through on his word. A hundred games? Each round about six minutes, assuming they're evenly matched, that's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠200 rounds—1,200 minutes. Twenty hours. No sleep, just Tuhon?

'And the opponent's probably gonna accept it anyway... head's spinning.'

Good thing Mixer hadn't lost before Worlds. But now, even after the tournament, the fire on Korean servers wouldn't die down.

In the pro world, 0.05 seconds is a massive gap. That hair's-breadth difference decides cross-counters, dodges, everything. A slight twist of fate separates winner from loser.

But if the world #1 loses to some no-name who popped up right before the tournament? Could anyone keep their sanity?

Especially if it's due to a ping lag sliver. How could that not piss you off? So he showed consideration, but got rejected like that.

It was an asymmetric ping policy to stop Chinese users from griefing Korean servers. But today, it just felt unfair.

"Lena, you pretty mad?"

"Nah. Just kinda dumbfounded."

Mixer was definitely a little shit. But before getting dragged to Belial's tower, I was a little shit too. That's what bugged me. Couldn't just trash him outright—insulting him would be insulting myself.

"Still, doesn't feel like you really lost, Lena."

"...Yeah."

Better to praise him instead. Dude's confidence was piercing the heavens, vowing to beat anyone. As grand as my old dick size from my past life. So I'll crush him completely under equal terms. Make sure he can't keep up that arrogant attitude. Show him there are people above him.

I clenched my fist, grinding my teeth, when a Discord alert pinged.

The match result was ambiguous now, and even if I teased Mixer, he wouldn't spill a new nick. But a loss was a loss. Nothing to do but let Ppase handle it.

After entrusting the naming to Ppase, I headed to the fridge. Cracked open a chilled King Cola and took a swig. As I let out a satisfied groan and returned to the computer, his suggestion had arrived.

This bastard—payback for me giving him Ren_Daisuki? Right?

Too honest for his own good. But Len_Papa's a no-go. Too blatant—might make people question if I'm really an ajusshi.

After meeting that weird woman at Hajeong Department Store and wrapping up the sundae gukbap journey thanks to SuitOrc. Time for the suspicious 40-something Ren master to finally show his face to the world.

As Ppase excitedly introduced me to the viewers in his hyped voice, Ta-in approached from behind and gently stroked my hair.

"Congrats on your debut, Lena."

Tonight was a joyous night. Time to party.

"Guess it's time to crack open that vodka I saved."

Like blessing my return from the slaughterhouse. A massive full moon rose, illuminating the stone tower standing tall in the courtyard.

A day later, Saturday. The video spread like wildfire, announcing my debut worldwide. Countless people wondered about the mystery Ren master who appeared out of nowhere. Thanks to Ppase's handy link, followers flooded my personal stream. Over 6,000 in a day—what a feat.

"If only I'd grown this fast in my past life."

If I weren't Ren. If I weren't a returnee from hell, maybe it'd be fun. Streamers are attention whores—the more viewers, the happier.

Manager Ta-in was ready too.

Stream setup done. Time for a monumental debut broadcast.

Viewers poured in, expecting me to smash opponents with Ren. But...

Complaints erupted. Naturally—they wanted Ren shattering high-rankers. But in my past life, I was a variety streamer. Main was Tuhon, but healing games were separate: Soulslikes. PVE. What a comfy word. Analyze patterns, smack 'em down. Super healing.

Before, I'd hunt pros for friendlies in Tuhon. But that was when it was casual. Not now. Why bother? Can't even friendly as Ren. So I'm the old fisherman by the stream, waiting for the bobber to dip and snag the bait.

Viewers scrambled to find challengers in time. Futile effort—anyone weaker than Mixer gets smashed, just hurts their pride. Only masochists or psychos like Ppase would try. Some viewers had long accepted they couldn't sway me.

Fun fact: Ring Soul's status as a healing game jumped ten levels compared to past life. Why? Main bosses are demons. Humanoid ones like Belial. Smacking the demon who threw me in hell? Better recovery than any saint.