Don't Look for Me (3)
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“You’re gonna wear my ears out.”
“But still, thank you. Really, truly thank you!”
“...”
I need to get out of here fast. Otherwise, I’ll be hearing this gratitude at least a hundred more times.
“If it’s not too much trouble, could you give me your contact info...? I’ll definitely repay the favor later, miss.”
The honorifics are so over-the-top it’s burdensome.
“It wasn’t anything that amazing, and I don’t need any repayment. Just hand over those sunglasses quick.”
“Oh. Right. The ones that fell on the floor were dirty, so... here...”
Suit Orc took off the sunglasses she was wearing and handed them to me. I thought I’d finally get a look at her face—what the hell? How many layers of sunglasses does she have on? Is this that meme where you take off one pair and another pair appears underneath?
Suit Orc gave an embarrassed hehe laugh as I stared in shock. Her reddened ears stood out sharply against her jet-black bob haircut.
“Weird, right? I think it’s weird too.”
“...Yeah. Sure.”
So she knows.
“Anyway, thank you so much. The most beautiful teacher ever!”
“Sorry, but can you cut the flattery—.”
“Why? With that natural platinum blonde hair and those clear blue eyes... They’re exactly my type. And such a kind heart too. It’s like staring right at the sun. My eyes are gonna go blind—.”
This conversation isn’t ending anytime soon, so I shoved her aside and stepped out of the bathroom. As I bolted up the stairs, Suit Orc yelled from behind, “I’ll definitely repay you!”
I hope I never run into her again. She wasn’t as clingy as the landlady, but it had been a while since I’d met someone this overwhelming. The world really is wide, full of weirdos.
I raced up to the fourth floor, and the staff practically tossed me onto the stage.
— Alright! Let’s give a big round of applause for Suit Orc, who’s about to face off against the world’s number one ranked player, Mixer!
It’s just an exhibition match, but this bout holds huge meaning for Suit Orc!
The announcer’s tempo was blisteringly fast, like a bird in flight. You could tell he’d been working overtime to calm the pissed-off crowd and the waiting Mixer.
Good thing I stepped in. If I’d sent Suit Orc home, I’d be the one in deep shit right now.
I took a deep breath and headed to the battle station. Mixer, who’d been sitting in front of the red-painted stick, stood up.
— Ooh! Mixer’s on his feet! Looks like he’s going in for a handshake with his opponent! As expected from the king of manners, Mixer!
I’d seen him plenty on broadcasts, so I figured no need to be nervous. But damn, he was bigger than I thought. Ren’s canon height is 161 cm—did this guy have a full head on her? I felt this weird pressure as I cautiously looked up.
A neat-looking guy with a soft smile bent down slightly and took my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Suit Orc.”
To hide Ren’s naturally high-pitched voice, I had to rasp it out low.
“Pl...ease... to... meet... you.”
It came out sounding like some voice-modulated freak show. Totally understandable to freak out, but Mixer just nodded calmly like it was nothing.
What an unreal guy. For a second, it felt like I was shaking hands with a robot, not a person. Even someone great at keeping cool would waver a bit in this situation, but not him?
Is this what the true world number one in Tuhon—the game that conquered the globe—looks like?
“...Ha.”
Don’t get rattled. I’m different from that guy. If I’m the dark horse that launched the world league for a game buried in League of Consil obscurity... then he’s just a jockey riding an already popular horse.
Plus, I survived ten years of near-death bullshit. No way I’m losing a mind game to him.
I let out a hollow laugh and sat back down. Right there to greet me was the purpose of today’s exhibition: the latest stick from Hajeong Soft, a subsidiary of Hajeong Group, the parent company of Hajeong Department Store.
I gripped the lever—left, right, down once. Spun it around, shook it side to side. Gave it a firm push. It bent with solid elasticity under strong force without snapping. Great return to neutral too. My character on the practice screen reacted snappily to every input.
Buttons? Instant response—character’s limbs shot out crisply. No exaggeration to say it felt like I was fighting myself. Zero delay.
I couldn’t hit arcades, and if Ta-in found out how serious I was about Tuhon, I’d get dragged into nonsense, so I’d always used keyboard at home. Add in the time crushing challengers in the tower, and it’d been over ten and a half years since I last touched a stick.
How could I not be thrilled?
— Alright, Suit Orc! Ready?
I gave a short nod.
— She’s ready! Mixer looks set too!
Both sides hit start, lock-in ends, character select appears. I maneuvered the square cursor. It lit up the platinum blonde girl in her sparkling stage makeup.
The one all users mocked as a gimmick character. But the one I always hoped they’d pick—my main, the idol fighter Ren.
Perfectly proportioned, she wore high-waisted shorts ending right below absolute territory. The rose-shaped pin on her uniform necktie screamed idol. Her sleek jacket buttons always gleamed under stage lights. Faded a bit behind the sunglasses, but I knew her true value.
Only I did. Only I picked her at the world’s top stage.
— No way! She picked Ren! Bringing out a gimmick character against the world’s best pro, Mixer! What confidence, Suit Orc!!
Hood pulled low and sunglasses on, I couldn’t see the crowd clearly. But their murmurs hit my ears loud and clear.
For real? Hilarious. Gimmick Tuhon? They’re just saying that ‘cause they think she can’t win anyway. I hear you all, audience. Funny pick, huh? But I’m dead serious. She’s my destiny.
Out of all the characters I’ve played, none were as crisp and satisfying as Ren. Her long-legged thrusts were her identity, her trademark. Cut kick launching foes airborne. Ascension helicopter-kicking them to the stars. Siege Thrust piercing rushing chests. Every hit packed punch, massive damage.
Sure, her martial arts were self-taught street fighter style—idol moves no one could pin down. Lots of flaws. Slow attack speed was fatal in the pro scene’s split-second exchanges.
But player covers character flaws. Love overcomes hardware limits. Even if it started acquired, I never regret loving her.
If I didn’t know every inch of Ren... I might’ve died in Belial’s tower.
— Ooh! Mixer counters with Replicon! His trademark counter-specialist over pressure! Ignoring the bait, going orthodox! The dignity of the strongest!
The crowd chants Mixer’s name. Screaming the king’s title that was once mine. Total away game. In this lonely coliseum with zero cheers...
I recalled memories from half a year ago. And became Ren once more.
Tuhon is a fighting game that favors people with great reflexes.
In fact, anyone with solid reaction speed can hit high ranks without much effort.
Ever introduced the game to a friend who’d never touched a fighter, thinking you’d stomp them—only to get reverse-swept by a handful of basic moves? That’s talent.
These naturals quickly grasp mechanics, develop personal offense/defense patterns, and climb higher... but sadly, they’re less than 5% of the population.
Yet Tuhon is now a global esports phenomenon. Guys get side-eyed as spies if they don’t play. For social cred or gamer hangs, you gotta invest time.
Luckily, Tuhon isn’t newbie-hostile like in Elena’s old world. Its structured tutorial lures you in—like, “Master this and conquer the chaos.”
Let’s run through what the tutorial teaches.
Attacks fall into three buckets:
1. Guardable attacks: high/mid/low.
2. Throw attacks you can break.
3. Unguardables: supers/items.
Newbie? Forget 3. Too much startup, mostly for gimmicks or “fuck it” punishes.
2 isn’t crucial either. Unless you’re a grappler main, every character shares three standard throws with fixed break timings/patterns. Learn ‘em, and they’re easy to counter. Never broken one? You’re still green. Gain experience, and you’ll mash through on sight.
That leaves 1: standard high/mid/low attacks. The alpha and omega of Tuhon.
Why split high/mid/low? Rock-paper-scissors needs three options—pure hit/block gets boring.
High: crouch, clockwise/CCW sidestep evades.
Mid: guard or parry.
Low: crouch guard or parry.
By now you’re thinking: Holy shit, this game’s brutal! Yup. That’s the entry barrier. Games layering directions/RPS like this? Even tougher.
Crazier still: haven’t touched aerial combos, Tuhon’s true essence.
But don’t sweat. You’ll rarely escape mid-tier. If you aim higher, you already get all this plus “delay catch,” “reverse/ortho guard,” “frame advantage”—high-level jargon.
Extreme take: even if you blank on everything above, no biggie. Focus on character.
Easy controls, big damage, great tools. All three? Cheat char. Hell’s high/low checker Hanrara. One-shot uppercut punisher Smith.
Feels dirty? In equal-skill scraps, it’s who exploits the cheese better. Why skip blatant OP picks? That’s how you get cracked.
But some fools do it anyway. Bored of easy chars, pondering harder/more mains—like fossilized oil vet Ppase.
Mixer—no, Cheon No-ah—knew this well. His lips tugged unconsciously.
Ren... how long since I faced her?
The mystery gamer in deep hood/sunglasses, pale hands. Now pulling the infamous trash tier.
The pretty one noobs pick then ditch. Loves her so much he even tattooed her rose on his thumb.
Some aggro-loving underground master? Off-season break, ad-tied event match—but unexpected fun? Very welcome.
Match starting soon...
Round 1 begins!
Even better.
If the opponent fearlessly rushdowns the world #1 first thing.
— What?! Mixer’s airborne! Suit Orc kicks off an air combo with cut kick right at the start!!
The thrill doubles. Unpredictable end, pure excitement. Even as his character spins midair eating hits.
Every time that heavy kick lands, chipping Replicon’s health bar...
Mixer—Cheon No-ah’s blood boiled.