Don't Look for Me (4)
Nickname: MIXER. Real name: Cheon No-ah. He's the number one in the Tuhon world rankings, reigning over the throne in the international tournaments held twice a year for the fifth straight year. Even the post-season Tower Tournament, which everyone dreads because of its tricky intrusion system, is just a new thrill for him.
— Woooaaah!! MIXER's on the ropes!! The greatest man in Tuhon history!! The emperor who's never once vacated his throne is getting pushed back!!
But there have always been those who nearly dragged MIXER off that throne. In Korea, a regional overlord who dominates a local league is born. In other countries, a new national pinnacle rises. And the nickname those powerhouses earn is Noah's Ark. Sounds ridiculous, but it means they're elite enough to board MIXER's ship.
— Everyone here probably predicted a 3-0 MIXER win, right?! But with this momentum, it could go 3-2—or hell, maybe even SuitOrc takes it!! Is SuitOrc player about to board the Ark as a new member?!
Honestly, hearing about the Ark just fills me with embarrassment first. Back when I was MIXER, I assembled all the top players into a council and gave it a similar name. Sure, there was a purpose—uniting the fractured factions feuding and rejecting each other to launch a massive league. Still... thinking back, it's mortifying. I shouldn't have done it. If I hadn't been so full of myself...
I never would've spammed those weird donations.
「Isn't this all your own doing, Contractor?」
— Crunch. With nowhere else to vent my frustration, Ren stretches out in my place, slamming her high-heeled shoe into the Replica's gut over and over. How many times does it hit? The tattered Replica keeps its guard up, creating distance before tentatively probing with light hands and feet.
At a physical disadvantage, it needs to exploit my openings before the time limit to secure a win. Luckily, Ren's attacks are big and leave huge gaps. Some kicks are easy to parry and counter. So it's testing the waters with pokes, hunting for weaknesses.
My counter-strategy is simple:刺 its probes, then overwhelm to widen the health gap. In real fights or games, a cornered opponent desperately avoids loss, clouding their judgment with reckless moves. Ribs cracked by an early kick? Forget "chain these techniques strategically for victory." Pain dominates. Every movement throbs, distracting from dodging, let alone attacking.
That's how I cook them. Like eating a cold cheese ball—effortless.
— Woooah!! Unbelievable rushdown!! Is MIXER player still learning the opponent's patterns? He can't respond properly and's getting swept up by SuitOrc!! Classic MIXER!! But this suspicious wild orc—what the hell?! Was he a pro or something!? Mid, high! Low! Pressure keeps coming!!
However. If the opponent is MIXER...
— Aaaahhh—!!!
My weaponized health lead fails to deliver as expected.
— MIXER!! Perfectly sidesteps SuitOrc's low kick!! It's only set two, but has he already mastered the patterns?!
Before getting dragged to the Death Tower, when I was MIXER toying with other streamers via donations... I got addicted to that sweet taste of supremacy and grew arrogant. MIXER absorbs every strategy. His fights in best-of-five start at set three. Sets one and two? Just giveaways.
He observes responses to light pokes, catalogs them into patterns. Even pros default to muscle memory in split-second decisions. That data morphs in his head into optimal plays. Victory formulas complete. In the 60-second Colosseum... in just two minutes!
Opponents whose weeks of prep get dismantled? Doomed from there.
— Nasty air combo!! MIXER's signature zoning—no, brutally painful wall combo!! One, two, three!! And guard break—!
That's why people call him inhuman. Cold, AI-like judgment, no emotions.
— Comet Upper!! Aaah!! SuitOrc! Keeps eating hits. Keeps getting tagged!
That's how I was as past MIXER. That's Cheon No-ah now. Joy only in victory. Health bar draining? Flashing red danger? Irrelevant.
— MIXER's not taking it lying down anymore?! Natural low guard like he's memorized SuitOrc's patterns!! There it goes again!! Pinned to the wall—!! Guard break into Comet Upper incoming!!
Red just means more damage—that's MIXER.
— And there! MIXER sweeps set three for match point first!
— SuitOrc brought out the wildcard Ren and seized momentum with explosive pressure... but MIXER's MIXER, huh? It's going exactly to script. Feels even faster than usual!!
On the surface, he's perfect. Patterns every opponent, builds "thinking play" over "muscle memory."
But. MIXER fights fake battles. Never abandoned in the Death Tower, right? Pattern absorption is inefficient arrogance only possible in games. If I'd let foes drag time absorbing strategies in Belial's tower? Would I have survived? Poison on a grazing blade? Fist shattering bone?
— And now, the pivotal set four begins!! Crowd's obviously favoring MIXER... SuitOrc can't back down here!! Hit 'em with that surprise pressure again—
That's why. I abandoned that strategy. In hell where one mistake means death, what guarantees survival?
Only attack. Attack.
And attack.
— Nooo!! SuitOrc sits into Comet Upper evade and wakeup upper right at the start!! Read MIXER's early pokes?! Replica's launched sky-high!!
Opponent wants a collection. Catalog my every thought. Once he thinks he's mastered me, he'll pin my wings and torso like a specimen. Elena Igorevna Serebryakova—a living taxidermy to pull out when bored, sticking in new pins.
But I'm different. I won't be patterned. Like MIXER never stops thinking through a match...
— What the hell, SuitOrc?! Fearless like a real orc!! No patterns!! Constantly shifting pressure!! Even MIXER can't poke easily!! Passive delay catches!!
Me now too.
I vary. Disrupt flow. Press relentlessly to stay ahead. Keep him from framing me in his standardized picture.
— MIXER! Just blocking won't win! Gotta close the health gap—push out! Gah! Double grab like I said—!! MIXER shakes it instantly!!
Double grab. Release into one-two pressure. Hint lows while retreating on guard, weave in waves. Duck. Or poke. What confidence? See the health bar. Guarding alone loses games. Why? Convinced you'll win in set five? That's your vaunted formula?
— Time up!! SuitOrc takes set four on health lead. Yesssss!
— What a nail-biter!! Who expected this at a department store event?! Feels like Tuhon World Masters finals!! Everyone! Now's the time! One, two, three! MIXER—!! Fight!!
What the actual fuck. Even the emcee's on his side? Crowd laughs like it's fun. I'm baffled as the opponent. I glare at the emcee with half-moon eyes, but his sunglasses block it. Damn shades. Block light too well.
— Alright, let's cheer!! MIXER!! Win!! MIXER!! Win!!
... They're all insane. Yeah, that infinite-sunglasses magician girl freaking out in the bathroom wasn't normal either. Nobody here's right in the head. Better bail quick.
"...Haa."
I want to win the next set, prove him wrong. Show the survivor was right. That outdated strategy ends today—
— Okay! Can't be biased, so quick interview with the amazing SuitOrc!
But hearing that? My heart drops.
— Yeah, official finals don't do mid-match interviews, but this is an event match!! You saw the cheering already—it's weird, right?! You get it?
Emcee struts forward in playful tone, riling the crowd. I hurl my stick and bolt like lightning.
— SuitOrc... sir? Huh?
Part-time pay cut. Didn't even grab the promised lunchbox after shift. Tonkatsu set with cup miso soup.
Emcee's fault. Sudden interview? Should've clocked the awkward suit. That guy's definitely an influencer. No need for cheers or events at that timing—100% freelancing.
"...Hungry."
"Want something? My treat."
Exhausted already, and SuitOrc followed. At least we swapped outfits—less suspicious now. Just hat and shades.
"Why follow?"
"Gotta repay the favor... N-not just buying one meal and zipping it! I'm truly grateful, no idea how to express it... And return those clothes—"
"Nah. Got it."
Head throbs from intense gaming. Nah, stress. Definitely stress. Fucker. Nothing from emcee to MIXER sat right.
Thought subway home, but starving. Winter cold too. Cup miso haunts me. Spot a Sundae Gukbap House—20-year tradition sign catches eye. TV appearances. Meaningless, but better than nothing.
Alone, no eating out. But now someone's joining.
Creaky iron door into timeworn spot. Owner lady startles. Oops. Still got shades and mask. Yank hood down, pocket shades in hoodie. Pull mask under chin. Lady's eyes still wide. Server back at counter freezes staring.
They whisper low.
"Whoa, no wonder. I don't speak English."
Two of you. Forgetting something? Healthy Korean behind me. Entered together.
"You speak English?"
"Nope! Gestures!"
Foreigner has Korean behind, idiots. Taller than me. Can't miss. Pissed, point menu. One finger, then two. Sundae gukbap. Two bowls.
"Whoa. Foreigner's downing sundae gukbap."
"Kid's got appetite..."
Puh-lease. Korean's right there!