The Armband Draft (2)
Golden Sun and I held each other's gaze in silence, the air between us thick with a strangely charged atmosphere.
But that didn't last long.
—Whoosh!
"Wha—?!"
"W-where is this?"
One after another, more people began materializing around us. Golden Sun and I exchanged a look, gave each other a small nod, and casually adjusted our postures — deciding, without a word, to project an air of cool composure toward the new arrivals.
"Where do you think?"
"Making a fuss over something this minor!"
Unfortunately, our little act didn't last. The rest of the people in this space assembled far faster than either of us had expected, and the whole performance fell apart almost immediately.
A short while later, once the initial bewilderment of facing a room full of strangers had worn off and the headcount hit exactly ten — and familiar faces started appearing among them — the early daze vanished. Everyone began piecing the situation together in real time.
I was no exception.
Betelgeuse… why is she covering her stomach with a belly band in that outfit?
The moment the clan leader of the Loki Clan stepped into view, I knew for certain this wasn't some random isekai adventurers' guild. This was a ranker gathering, no question.
Even so, knowing roughly who everyone was didn't make the silence any less awkward. Golden Sun, standing beside me, raised a hand to draw attention and suggested that the assembled rankers introduce themselves.
Of course, our cocky pink-haired Betelgeuse wasn't about to let that slide — and neither was the ranker who'd somehow chosen a full-on furry beastkin as their avatar. Both of them scowled at Golden Sun's proposal.
"Hmph. If you're going to say something like that, shouldn't you introduce yourself first? That's just common sense."
"That woman… well, I can't tell the gender, but that ranker's got a point."
"What is this, some secret cabal meeting? You're really going to get this prickly over a simple introduction?"
Golden Sun's face twisted in irritation at the pushback — but unlike the other two, he decided that if things had come this far, he might as well go first and break the ice. He announced his identity without hesitation.
"Ah. I go by the nickname Indefatigable. Rank seven. And I lead Clan Armada."
For all his loose, easygoing demeanor, he stuck strictly to the essentials — and that, more than anything, left an impression. Taking Indefatigable's introduction as the starting gun, the other ranker-commanders present began offering their own brief self-introductions one by one.
THE ARMBAND DRAFT (2)
"I use the nickname Arcadia. I'm ranked fourth, and… I lead Clan Justice."
The woman with the classic silver-haired model looks ignored the glare Betelgeuse shot her the instant she named her clan. She glanced around the room, locked eyes with me the moment she found me, and gave a little wave of greeting.
I, for my part, could only wonder why she was reacting like that.
"Nickname's Menaldo. Rank ten."
The male ranker in the furry avatar — the same one who'd been so stubborn a moment ago — apparently had nothing more to say, and didn't seem to belong to any clan either. He stated his rank and fell silent.
"I go by Sorimseung. Managed to scrape into eighth by a hair."
The bald middle-aged guy who'd briefly trended on the gallery boards for scoring exactly 1,000,001 points. With an appearance that matched his nickname perfectly, most of the rankers — myself included — simply nodded.
"…Laura. Fifth."
This one had an appearance so thoroughly androgynous that telling male from female was nearly impossible. Indefatigable beside me, the other rankers, and I all tilted our heads for a second, studying the ranker called Laura.
"I'm Betelgeuse! Sixth place, and clan leader of the Loki Clan!"
No need to elaborate on Betelgeuse. She seemed to have decided this was an information-gathering opportunity — bouncing around with her usual energy, yet zeroing in on every word the other rankers spoke. Of course, whenever her eyes landed on me, her teeth clenched and a vein popped out on her forehead.
"Name's Arto. I lead Clan Dragon. Rank nine."
Delivered in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone. Rank nine was, for lack of a better description, a man with a strangely nonexistent presence.
And with that, the seating order brought it around to me. I adjusted my posture the same way everyone else had and opened my mouth.
"Nickname's Icarus. Rank three… no clan."
My introduction didn't draw any special reaction — but then again, nobody else's had either. People had just been… responding, in their own ways.
There was one small difference, though.
—Grit.
Where everyone else's reactions had been more or less the same, Betelgeuse was grinding her teeth at me — and for some reason, Arcadia, that silver-haired beauty, broke into a bright smile the moment she heard my introduction.
Something about the whole thing left me with a very complicated feeling.
The second I finished, the next person stood up as if it were their turn — but then—
"Second place."
"So you're second?"
"You can tell just by looking."
"Perfectly second-place material."
"How does a person even end up looking like that?"
"Please don't come any closer. It's nauseating, Rank Two Raksha."
"I genuinely want to know why you settled on that appearance."
"…"
The moment Rank Two stood up, every ranker in the room except me and one other person erupted in a chorus of not-quite-greetings — because Rank Two's face was genuinely, spectacularly grotesque.
To put it briefly: the face of the ranker called Raksha looked like someone had taken a lump of potato dough, kneaded it halfway, left it to warp into every possible wrong shape, and then slammed it into the floor about five times for good measure.
It was the kind of nightmarish result you could only achieve by wringing every last drop of freedom out of the commander avatar customization system — the same system this garbage game had once thrown in as filler content, boasting absurd levels of creative liberty. Even the rankers who'd been content to react silently until now started tossing out comments, one after another, at the utterly hideous Raksha.
Man… woman…?
Unlike Laura in fifth place, Raksha had a face and body that defied gender in an entirely different — and far more unfortunate — sense of the word.
I kept quiet, having absolutely nothing useful to say. Raksha, hearing all of it, looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"What, you think a veteran player is going to waste a skin slot on something normal? You think I'd bother with something pointless?"
"…Hmm."
"Even so, that face is a bit much."
"Let's just admit what needs admitting."
"…"
At Raksha's words, every ranker present could only nod along, conceding the point. Rank Two, having just absorbed every possible roast from a room full of complete strangers, wore an expression of profound and complicated regret.
But only for a moment.
"For the record, I never wanted to look like this."
"Ah."
"The form I originally customized was nothing like this."
The revelation that the appearance was the result of a straight-up error — not a deliberate choice — froze every ranker who'd been mocking Rank Two. Faces went stiff across the board. It was a full-blown oh no moment, and the awkwardness settled over everyone who'd laughed or reacted like a cold slap.
Raksha waved a hand dismissively and kept talking.
"I have no idea what I did in a past life to deserve a customization this broken, but at this point, luck just abandoned me, right?"
"Mm…"
"But a game's fate isn't decided by looks alone. I will never give up over something as trivial as appearance."
"…!"
"My goal is to prove myself through pure skill against those looks-obsessed elf bastards — and make them ashamed of themselves…!"
Watching the rankers who'd opened their mouths only to walk straight into a "we're so cooked" situation as Raksha poured out that bitter resolve… well. Their faces were a sight worth seeing.