Lee Seon-woo

The Winter Sword is a blade only I can wield.

Anyone can swing the key blade — Winter Sword α — but the additional armaments, Winter Sword β, devour an enormous amount of processing power. Hundreds, thousands of edges, each one carrying wind as it cuts. Calculating every trajectory of that wind, one by one — all of it falls to me.

Swing a weapon like that recklessly and of course you get exhausted. Of course it takes time for the brain to come back online.

Why am I talking about this?

"Ah, damn..."

Because the late-afternoon sun was shouldering its way in through the curtains and lighting up the whole room.

I jolted upright. Hoping against hope, I checked the clock — and the hand pointing at five in the afternoon did not, miraculously, change its mind.

I had overslept.

Badly.

Is it even okay to jump into a stream mid-broadcast? The viewer-participation event is going to be insanely competitive, isn't it? I shoved every thought like that aside and frantically powered on my VR gear.

Lee Seon-woo's streams are remarkably freewheeling for a broadcast run by the next Sword Saint. The only rules were the basics — no swearing, no personal attacks, and so on.

That was because Lee Seon-woo had been a streamer once before.

Past a stretch of history he preferred not to remember, he had been lucky enough to be adopted by an elderly couple. Thanks to them he found his gift for the sword — and found his way onto the internet as a broadcaster.

Streaming had been his calling, and he had never liked rigid, tightly regulated shows. Why had internet streaming taken off in the first place, if not for the real-time connection between viewer and broadcaster?

So a free atmosphere was the foundation of any stream. A broadcast where communication was strangled wasn't a broadcast at all.

That was streamer Lee Seon-woo's creed.

Even so, there were moments when even he felt the urge to crack down on chat.

"Seriously, how long are you people going to keep milking that quote?"

Was it because his opponent had been a female Master?

In a rare one-on-one content segment he had just delivered a clean win against a Master, and chat was full of smears instead of praise.

"Haa... I hate fifteen-year-old me..."

All of it was the karma of seven years ago.

Around fifteen, a raw, hungry pro hopeful named Lee Seon-woo had briefly believed he was somebody. In pure sword skill, physique, and judgment, no working pro could touch him — so it hadn't exactly been baseless fantasy.

Even now he was rated as matching that Sword Saint in pure technique alone. At fifteen, almost no swordsman could beat him.

And so, at the peak of his middle-school delusion, he had dropped this line in an interview:

Even looking back now it was mortifying — a permanent black mark on his life. Seven years later, search "Lee Seon-woo quote compilation" on XTube and it still sat on the first line. That was how hard it hit.

Funny enough, Lee Seon-woo had not been on a single date since.

It wasn't as if people called him ugly. He was an S-rank Awakened everyone looked up to. Height, build, personality — nothing about him was awkward or off-putting. And still.

From then on the quote had started shadowing him like a ghost. Every time he killed a female user, the donation panel would dredge up the black history. After a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hundred-plus times, even he had started to enjoy it a little.

Maybe that was why.

In the one-on-one request list, he had gone out of his way to find a woman and hit accept.

She had only applied around five, well into the middle of the stream. Plenty of people were already waiting in line. It didn't matter. Accepting was still Seon-woo's call.

His streamer's instinct was screaming.

If the next female user's skill was even average-plus, the clip would be delicious.

So he invited his opponent without a second thought.

"...Oh?"

Honestly, I hadn't expected much.

I had barged in halfway through a stream. If it were me, I would never have invited someone like that — but the timing had lined up perfectly.

I had planned to come back tomorrow, so this was pure luck. A faint smile on my face, I stepped into Lee Seon-woo's room, and a vast arena rose up to meet me.

Had the Colosseum looked like this in Roman times? Massive stone arches made even the empty expanse of sand feel grand.

At the center stood a man in a coat.

Lee Seon-woo, the next Sword Saint.

What kind of person is he, really? Carrying a small ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spark of curiosity, I clasped my hands behind my back and walked toward him at an unhurried pace.

"Hello, SwordMaster."

"Hello~"

My first impression of Lee Seon-woo was... a soft-looking pretty boy.

Brown hair, brown eyes. A mild, unassuming face that somehow still felt gentle. Not so handsome it was intimidating — which, if anything, made him comfortable to look at.

Hmm. Looks like the type who's made a lot of girls cry. Did "that quote" actually hex him or something? I muttered to myself as I crossed to the middle of the arena.

"Oh? You're not nervous at all."

"Because I'm confident."

An ordinary person might have been — but I had no reason to tense up. Over ten thousand viewers was nothing next to being the World Government's propaganda poster girl. The title of "next Sword Saint" didn't exactly move me either, considering I already was the Sword Saint.

"By the way — you said if someone lands even one clean hit in a one-on-one, they get a prize, right?"

"I did. Why do you ask?"

"I was curious what the prize is."

Maybe because no one had shown this kind of confidence before. Lee Seon-woo's brown eyes lit with interest.

"Haha. If I told you ahead of time, wouldn't that spoil the fun?"

"So I should go find out for myself?"

"Exactly. Consider it a little motivation."

"Mmm... Seon-woo really is an interesting guy."

Part of me wanted to keep talking, but the viewers were waiting. Dragging things out on someone else's stream also felt rude, so I took two steps back.

"I'd love to chat more, but the viewers are waiting... shall we start?"

"Gladly. SwordMaster, do you have a preferred weapon or school?"

"I'm a Sky Sword practitioner. Main weapon is a longsword."

"I'm a practitioner of Earth Sword Arts. Main weapon is a greatsword."

The moment we named our styles and primary arms, swords dropped into the air in front of us. I closed my hand around the hilt, and a translucent status window bloomed.

"I'll yield the first move."

"Ah?"

A shame. I had put this much confidence on display, and he still ranked me a step below him.

Well... in a way it was only natural. I wouldn't expect someone at my level to be sitting in my own chat either.

But if that was how he saw me, I would never get a look at his real ability. I wanted to plant at least the sense that we were equals.

"You won't regret it?"

So I started untying the restraints in my head, one by one.

This was a virtual world.

Even if I swung my sword, he wouldn't die.

He was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a candidate for the next Sword Saint.

Even if an unexpected strike came, he would have more than enough room to defend.

And last of all — there was a high chance he knew the Sky Sword inside and out.

Which meant ordinary swordplay would never rattle him.

So the instant it started, I drew up killing intent.

The pretty sky flushed blood-red, and the grand arena went black. In that inverted world, the only thing that kept its original color was my opponent.

Suddenly I wanted to dye him red as well.

And I had no reason to hold the impulse back.

Three branching slashes carved through the Colosseum and announced the start of the fight.