Gotta Take the Hit If You Don't Know (1)

It's Sunday. No part-time shift. Plenty of time left. And my mood's pretty damn good. I'd scarfed down a delicious lunch. A hearty bowl of sundae gukbap, no less. But that's not all. On the way home, I even found a nice, flat stone. And when I got back, Ta-in—Tower Breaker herself—had actually stacked it up for once. Could she finally be getting the hint? Too embarrassing to say it outright, so this indirect communication feels just right.

I poked around the first floor, wondering if Ta-in might still be home, but the house was dead quiet. Guess even the landlady's heading out for once. Perfect chance to kick back and enjoy some Tuhon.

Someone might ask if I could even think about gaming after all that hell. But after surviving hundreds of near-death scrapes, I'd realized something. Without Tuhon, without my skill at fighting games, I might've been dead already. Right after becoming Ren, my body felt light as hell, but manipulating levers and buttons was worlds apart from real combat. Naturally, it took time to adapt to the real thing. And what kept me alive during that adjustment period? Game knowledge.

Knowing every fighter's style and key moves was a massive edge in that world. Yeah. The game saved my life. That's why I love Tuhon.

Still gotta reset the account. Can't have that bait about Ren jumping out of the monitor and me playing her spreading through Tugal. No hesitation. My gaming's about the joy, not the grind.

I slap together a nickname like always, grabbing whatever pops into my head. The hearty sundae gukbap from earlier hits me, so I hammer the keys.

"Agh."

Guess it's capped at 12. Too lazy to rethink, I just chop off the end.

Not feeling it. Sounds like Sundae Country B, some monster name.

Failed at naming, just jammed in initials. Whatever, it's not forever. No need to make it memorable for anyone—picking a nick's over in seconds.

"SDGB? What’s that mean?"

"Sundae gukbap."

"Ohhh. Sundae gukbap..."

"Yeah. Sun..."

I whip my head around, thinking I misheard. There stands Ta-in. One hand clutching a box of handmade cake, the other a paper bag that looks stuffed with clothes.

"Eek!"

"Why so jumpy?"

Half a year out of hell, and my instincts are already this dull? Blame safe modern Korea? Or Ta-in's ninja stealth?

"N-No. Since when have you been there?!"

"Just now. Came home, saw an extra stone stacked. So I headed straight up to the second floor."

"Didn't hear the door lock."

"House is big, right? Your room's way in the back past the living room—easy to miss."

She's not the only one predicting and analyzing. She's clocked my habits to know when I'm home. She never used to barge in like this. Have I been dodging too obviously? Making her cling harder?

"So? Gonna play Tuhon?"

Ta-in leans in close. Face too near—I bolt up from the chair.

"Uh... y-yeah. Thinking about it..."

"Whoa. Finally gonna show your skills? You always talk big but never deliver."

"Uh..."

"Yeah. Whenever you drink, it's all 'I was Tuhon's rank 1~ Pros all ran scared when they saw me~' like that."

"Did I...?"

Even vodka-blooded Ren had a three-and-a-half bottle limit with soju. Ta-in? Five bottles. She remembers every drunken ramble from six months ago. Thought she'd forget the booze talk, but nope—next day, crystal clear. Now I just play dumb to dodge it.

"Can I watch you match pros? You friended any? Instant queue?"

"N-No... I mean, matching them right now... my rank's..."

"Rank why?"

I flash my freshly reset account. Nicknamed the Blue Bracket. Novice, the lowest rung in Tuhon.

"At this rank, queuing pros is... heh."

"Wha...? Where's that 98-win streak account?"

How do you know that? Eyes wide, she laughs. I shoot pleading looks to let it slide—no dice.

Duh. Half a year of talk with no show. I'd be pissed too. But spilling my skills now? Hard pass. Why drag this out so shamelessly otherwise? Can't go pro or stream—not yet. So, play it off natural. Just drunk talk.

"Weird... I've never had a 98-win streak—"

"Then what's this...?"

But bam—undeniable proof from her. Photo of me grinning after 98 wins, passed out on the floor.

"When'd you take that?"

"Came by with tasty tart to share, found you asleep...?"

"...Door code."

"You never changed it."

Sloppy. I used to wake at a pin drop. How'd I turn into floor-gum after half a year?

No solid proof yet, though. Time for more BS.

"But 98 wins? Luck. Totally doable. Pros hit 200—"

"Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this...?"

Another bomb: a Tugal post.

That post sparked the whole gallery into 98-win frenzy. Debates raged, but consensus: not your average Tuhon player. Winter league finals doused the fire quick, though.

In the finals hype, one anon dropped a final post.

Anon235 was obviously Ta-in. Pure curiosity questions.

"I watch Tuhon leagues at home all the time... And no matter how I slice it, Lena, you could beat pros."

Cold sweat drips. Her casual net's tightening around me.

"Our only overlap's Tuhon, really... So I'm begging like this..."

No escape. Denying now's like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Own what I can, but carve another out.

"To show skills, need to rank up first. Not enough time today—"

Landlady doesn't budge.

"It's about that time last time, right?"

"...Huh?"

"You've been dodging me for months... Since that shopping trip."

"Ah. Well..."

"Sorry!"

She bows deep with a loud apology.

"Forcing those clothes on you—didn't know you'd hate it that much. Wanted to apologize properly, but you're always busy..."

She grips my hands, eyes pleading like a battered wife. Forgive me once. You're all I have.

"Bought tasty stuff today to apologize right... Waited since you said part-time."

She'd smiled through my visits, but inside? Rotting. Three months of excuses—must've hurt.

But a guy turned girl has shopping veto rights. Three months back, that trip scarred me. Human mannequin hell. Especially the fluttery skirts—nightmare.

"You know you messed up."

"Y-Yeah. But you looked... so pretty then..."

"I know. Got it."

"Promise no more like that. Okay?"

Ren in those outfits? Stunning. But me? Despair. Still, she cried over my street-sleeping self, offered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the whole second floor for peanuts—100,000 won a month. Can't stonewall my benefactor.

Three months was enough dodging anyway.

"Fine. Once. No forcing clothes shopping ever again."

"Never. But... thought we could grab food together?"

"Sometimes."

"Yeah... Got it."

"So. How? Rank's trash right now."

Asking for a demo method, she snaps back.

"Join a fan tourney. One's in a few hours."

"Who's hosting?"

"Ppase."

"Who?"

Her eyes bug out. What? Isekaied—might not know.

"Veteran Tuhon streamer. Hilarious. Catchphrase: 'Any Tuhon player, please watch Ppase!'"

National pride YouTube vibes. Gotta see the stream to judge.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter."

Tangling with big streamers? Meh. But solves the crotch-void forever? Peace.

I fill the entry form she links, sighing in relief.