The Dead (3)

Someone once said that sports are drama without a script.

The clearer the line drawn between victor and vanquished, the stronger that sentiment becomes. The exhilarating narrative of clawing back from the brink of defeat to seize a dramatic reversal, or having victory snatched away at the final breath—that is the essence of the drama. It is precisely why supporters scream their lungs out until their voices grow hoarse, even when the gulf in skill between the two sides seems insurmountable. A miracle might allow them to topple a giant; and even in defeat, the struggle offers hope for tomorrow.

Even if the odds are a mere fraction of a percent, we will never surrender. The moment you give up, the match is over. Why do we love sports? Because no one knows who will win.

Just as those words proclaimed, sports belonged to a culture where no outcome could ever be predetermined. In a world starved of entertainment, succumbing to athletic fervor was all but inevitable—and it made no difference if the spectator carried the exalted blood of royalty.

"Will it go in? Is it going in?! He shoots! Gooooaaaal! Chaemes United! They net the winning goal at the very death of the match!"

"W-what an astounding coordinated attack! The Leor players hang their heads in disbelief!"

Within the private training grounds reserved exclusively for the royal family of Mephisto, relay magic broadcast the feed from a crystal orb hovering at the center of the hall. The broadcast featured the bitterest of rivals, Chaemes United and Leor—two clubs whose hatred for each other burned with venomous intensity. By all rights, Chaemes United—fondly known as Chae-yu—should have been fighting a losing battle, yet they had pulled off an impossible turnaround. The commentators were so utterly beside themselves that they tripped over their own words.

"..."

Watching every single second of the spectacle was one solitary figure: Keirin, Princess of Mephisto and known on the Gallery by her fixed handle, Princess Chaeng-gu.

Her lips trembled violently as she desperately fought to compose herself, rapidly tapping the interface to draft a post. The moment she struck the submission button, the floodgates broke, unleashing every shred of emotion she had been bottling up inside.

"KYAAAAAAAGHHH!"

Keirin tore through the cavernous training ground like a raving lunatic, shrieking at the top of her lungs. It was hardly a cheer of victory; it resembled far more the primal roar of a wild beast. Royal dignity, aristocratic elegance, decorum—she hurled every last shred of etiquette out the window in a display of raw, unadulterated madness. Overcome with delirious joy, her mana surged uncontrollably outward, carving gashes and cratering the reinforced floors and walls throughout the chamber.

Had an unwitting onlooker caught sight of her face, they would have sworn that not even the heaviest narcotics could produce an expression of such deranged euphoria.

"Is this for real? Is this really happening?! Tell me it's real!"

Having dashed back and forth across the hall like a rabid hound, Keirin finally bounded back toward her seat. The sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins left her panting raggedly, flushing her normally azure skin a deep, vibrant crimson.

"A truly magnificent offensive sequence. Even their defenders committed forward to join the assault!"

"Indeed. Halfway abandoning their defensive duties turned out to be..."

Interlinked with Orichalcum, the specialized broadcast crystal projected an upgraded hologram boasting pristine visual clarity, rich sound, and a seamless connection. The luminous display replayed the very miracle Keirin had yearned for.

"Leor's squad is running out of time! There is barely any stoppage time left—wait, what is this?!"

"An interception by Marta! They immediately transition into a counterattack!"

"The ball finds Kone on the left wing! Kone drives forward! The Leor defense must stop him here!"

"Kone squares it inside... Ah! The defender manages to clear it away!"

"Aah!" Keirin groaned in agony. A golden opportunity to completely sink Leor into the abyss had slipped through their fingers.

Yet the clock had run dry. Holding her breath through the nail-biting climax, she waited for the inevitable.

"And that is the final whistle! Chaemes United secures a breathless, historic comeback victory!"

"The Chae-yu players collapse to the pitch in overwhelming relief and joy! They have weathered unimaginable pressure today!"

Clap, clap, clap, clap!

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The instant the match concluded, Keirin applauded with fierce sincerity. In the holographic stands, thousands of ecstatic fans rose in unison, offering a thunderous standing ovation to the warriors who had forged such a miraculous turnaround.

"Ah, seriously... How on earth did we actually pull that off?"

A profound sense of exhaustion washed over her, and her legs gave out as she collapsed back into her chair. Wiping her face in utter disbelief, she stared intently at the broadcast. The lenses panned across the pitch, lingering on the face of every player. Each one beamed with boundless elation.

"Look at that. Doesn't smiling look so much better on you? You guys looked so depressed every time you lost."

Their humiliating loss to an underdog riding a temporary hot streak? Forgotten. Completely wiped from memory. Because today, they had thoroughly smashed their detestable, insufferable rivals. It felt as though a decade of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suffocating indigestion had evaporated in a single breath. In its place surged a titanic wave of pure positivity—a volcanic eruption of dopamine. There was a reason people claimed sports were far more addictive and dangerous than any narcotic.

It really happened just like Grylls said.

Keirin discreetly opened the Gallery interface.

Just as Grylls had prophesied, conceding three goals only to ram in four was an exceedingly rare, legendary spectacle. The community had descended into complete pandemonium, but one particular post caught her eye above all the rest.

A relentless wave of so-called holy site pilgrimages flooded the replies. It was a digital ritual of folk superstition, offering prayers and wishes beneath a post that had accurately predicted the future. Yet Grylls's prophecy stood in a league of its own. After all, not a single person had taken his words seriously when he first wrote them. Defying microscopic probabilities, reality had delivered an unbelievable shock.

I really need to send him more jerseys.

Thanks to the Orichalcum, she had watched every glorious second of the comeback without a hitch. Normally, the feed would begin stuttering and cutting out around the eightieth minute, but today's broadcast had remained crystal clear. Humming merrily, Keirin settled back to enjoy the post-match coverage. The game might be over, but the crown jewel of any broadcast—the manager's interview—was about to begin.

"You have finally seized victory over Leor! How do you feel?"

"Needless to say, I am ecstatic. Knowing our players refused to yield and fought until the bitter end makes this triumph all the more precious."

Chae-yu's manager possessed not a single strand of hair upon his scalp—a bald man in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠purest sense of the word. Then again, bald managers were a dime a dozen across the leagues, so his appearance hardly stirred any special reverence. His shining pate was merely so striking that people naturally referred to him as the bald fraud. Regardless of species or realm, hair loss was a universal tragedy. In the physical world, mocking such an affliction was considered an unspeakable breach of basic human decency.

The Gallery, however, operated under no such moral constraints. If someone felt like roasting a bald man, they could do so with utter impunity. Consequently, balds were mercilessly subjected to relentless ridicule across the forums.

"What do you believe was the secret behind today's victory?"

"Our players' fighting spirit was second to none. And besides that..."

Following the standard managerial platitudes came the interview with the Man of the Match. Naturally, the honor went to the striker who had secured a sensational hat-trick by burying three goals on his own. In a sport like football, where every single goal was worth its weight in gold, netting three individually was a monumental feat. Having accomplished the impossible, claiming the award was only right.

"You looked remarkably light on your feet today, not to mention orchestrating that breathtaking turnaround. Did something happen inside the locker room at halftime?"

"The manager gave us an order. He told us: if they score two goals, we score three. And if they score three goals, we score four."

"Wait, what?"

Keirin's eyes went wide. A creeping sense of déjà vu prickled her mind. Without hesitation, she began recording the broadcast.

"At first, I thought he had completely lost his mind," the striker continued. "But the moment we scored the equalizer, something clicked deep inside me."

"And what was that?"

"If we concede three, we just have to score four. That was the only answer."

...Don't tell me the manager lurks on the Gallery too?

The coincidence was so absurdly precise that she could not help but harbor deep suspicions. Still, it was hardly a bad development. If anything, it promised an era of thrilling, aggressive football. Up until now, Chae-yu had obsessively funneled every resource into defensive formations, repeatedly throwing away winning positions in agonizing fashion. Forcing themselves into tactical suits that did not fit had crippled their true potential.

"Hm-hm-hmmm~"

Basking in a profound sense of bliss she had not tasted in ages, Keirin hummed a cheerful melody as she tidied the hall. The electrifying rush of that comeback still tingled across her skin.

They say baseball only truly begins in the bottom of the ninth... Is this what they mean?

Thinking about it in that light, she finally understood why people watched baseball. Until the third out was called, nobody could predict the victor. Enlightened by her newfound philosophical insight, Keirin strolled toward the exit, taking care to shed her Chae-yu uniform and slip into an elegant aristocratic gown before opening the doors.

"Welcome back, Princess."

Waiting directly outside was the elderly royal butler. Keirin acknowledged his greeting with a graceful nod, a faint, contented smirk playing upon her lips. Noticing the expression, the butler ventured a cautious observation.

"It appears your training bore significant fruit today."

"Indeed. I managed to achieve a massive breakthrough for once."

As the words left her mouth, thoughts of her father, Asmode, crossed her mind. He had entered his own private training quarters around the same time she had. Surely the head butler would know how his session had gone.

"And how fares Royal Father?"

"That is..." The butler hesitated, stumbling over his words as if reluctant to speak. Keirin raised an inquisitive brow at his reticence. "His Majesty... did not make much headway in his cultivation. On the contrary, it appeared he failed to keep his energies under control."

"Oh?"

Keirin's eyes narrowed slightly. Asmode failed to control his mana?

When demons experienced extreme emotional turbulence, their mana naturally surged outward. Keirin herself had inadvertently blasted the surrounding masonry while romping around like a lunatic moments ago. Fortunately for the palace, her outburst had been fueled by pure, unbridled joy. Had that emotion been fury, the resulting devastation would have leveled the wing. For the butler to speak in such hushed, grave tones, Asmode had undoubtedly erupted in wrath.

"I thought he had remained calm for the past ten years. Did something happen?"

"I cannot say with certainty. However, something profoundly unpleasant has clearly occurred."

"Hmm. Very well. I shall be mindful."

Keirin nodded and continued down the corridor, the butler bowing deeply before taking his leave. As she made her way back toward her personal chambers, she pondered her father's uncharacteristic display of temper.

I assumed he had softened over the years, but perhaps not.

Asmode was a figure of absolute terror. He possessed apocalyptic martial might paired with an overwhelming, suffocating aura of majesty. Because Keirin was his daughter, she had been privileged to experience his warm, paternal affection; to anyone else, he was the living embodiment of the Demon King himself.

Well, everyone loses their temper once in a while.

She did not dwell on it for long. Whatever his flaws, Asmode never directed his violence toward his family. He might shatter every physical object in his path when enraged, but he had never laid a harsh hand on Keirin in his entire life.

Entering her private bedchamber, she threw herself face-first onto the plush mattress.

"Hehehe."

Another thoroughly unhinged, lecherous chuckle slipped past her lips, replacing her cold, haughty noble visage with the dazed grin of a fool. When was the last time I felt this alive? It was a thrill so distant that its memory had grown hazy. The demon race craved intense stimulation, possessing senses so demanding that even standard narcotics failed to satisfy their desires. Yet right now, Keirin was swimming in an unprecedented high.

This is no time to just lie around. I need to get back on the forum!

She resolved to dedicate the rest of her evening to relentless shitposting. By now, the Gallery had been thoroughly conquered by the resurrected corpses of Chae-yu's fanbase. The community was no longer a general forum; it was now the official Chaemes United sanctuary. Posts celebrating the triumph dominated the front page, boosted by astronomical upvote counts.

Given the sheer population lurking on the boards, the ratio was not entirely one-sided—hovering around two upvotes for every downvote—but even that margin was staggering.

"Hehehehe."

For the first time in an eternity, Keirin tasted true, unadulterated happiness.

Yet right at that very moment, while every Chae-yu supporter basked in the zenith of euphoric bliss...

Far from the digital stadiums, Grylls found himself receiving an entirely different, chilling assortment of updates from Allfather.