First Stream (1)

The gender ratio of the 3D Swordsmanship Gallery was catastrophically one-sided.

As the Ju-ttak who'd been running the place for about half a year, I'd put it at... roughly 99:1?

And considering that even that last 1% were netkama whose gender was anybody's guess, you might as well call it a flat 100 to 0.

It was only natural. Swordsmanship games awash in blood and steel were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aimed squarely at a male audience, and of those players, precious few ever bothered hunting down the gallery in the first place.

So I'd braced myself, but still...

"Uh, um..."

For a moment the world went swimmy. Current viewership sat at roughly a hundred and fifty—an absolute number so small it barely registered—yet the chat volume was anything but. Over two hundred messages a minute hammered past, and my head was ringing.

Seriously? Was the fact that I was a girl really worth this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much drama? It wasn't even my face; I'd only opened the mic. Was this normal?

"...Guys, is this your first time seeing a woman? Why the freak-out?"

Genuine panic put an edge on my voice.

The chat, which had just started to settle, ignited all over again.

"..."

I almost fired something back, then realized that would only pour more gasoline on the fire and looked away instead. A few taps on the console, and an interface bloomed across the waiting-room ceiling.

"Yeah."

The pure-white waiting room stretched into a vast soccer stadium, and my low point of view snapped suddenly higher. That lofty perspective—something I had only ever known in memories of a past life—felt honestly a little alien.

Like someone had jammed a hand under my armpits and hoisted me into the air. Unfamiliar arm and leg lengths. I loosened up, muttering to myself while I tried to settle into the difference.

"Ugh, the camera's way higher than I expected?"

"Mm... a little more than one head taller?"

"Height bait is an instant ban~"

A few troublemakers stood out amid the avalanche of chat. They seemed to think that because this was my first stream—and my first time dealing with this many messages—I wouldn't notice. Unfortunately for them, that wasn't the case.

"Heh, thought I wouldn't see it, huh?"

I smiled faintly and pulled up the stream moderation panel. A tidy list of the people I'd just temp-banned scrolled into view. Giving them one last chance, I unbanned the lot and issued a warning.

"I may not look it, but I'm a veteran of the Siberia War. My dynamic visual acuity is way better than any of you are imagining."

"Proof... I'll handle after the match. Dig around the house and there's bound to be a medal or two lying around."

I answered the chat just enough to keep it fed while opening the mode-pack settings.

Default enemy count for the Diamonds side was a hundred. But... for my level, a hundred felt a little light, didn't it? With this body I was confident I could finish the whole thing in five minutes flat if I got serious.

"Current mode-pack record is sixty-two kills, right?"

"Watch me break the record."

The soccer stadium with the largest capacity in the world is Spain's Camp Nou.

That overwhelming pitch—105 by 65 meters—packed solid with people, and those people all roaring as they charged at once... it was more oppressive than I'd imagined.

If this had been my real-world body, I honestly might have flinched a little.

"...Oh. Seeing it like this, even the Sword Saint might get nervous, huh?"

I watched the swordsmen charge—each gripping a blade in their own style, each dressed in wildly different gear—while circulating mana through my body.

"Of course, that doesn't mean I'm nervous!"

Kiiiing—

A sharp activation tone split the air, and wind shot forward.

Chaaang—!

An ugly metallic screech rang out, and a sword cleaved clean in half went spinning into the sky. The man who had taken the slash head-on dissolved into particles and vanished.

Yet the towering form of a cumulonimbus never appeared. The wind particles fired with the draw simply evaporated on the spot.

"Ahh. So that's what the ranged-attack restriction means."

Any attack that extended beyond ten meters was automatically classified as a "ranged attack." Probably a rule written specifically to nerf extreme techniques like Sky Slash.

Thinking about it, it made sense. Most of the Sky Sword was area-of-effect, and an S-rank awakener's mana pool was deep enough to spam those techniques without restraint.

"Not an official successor. Almost every official successor of the Sky Sword is already dead, right?"

That wasn't a lie. The martial art called Sky Sword had been something my sister and I had designed together from the start.

I wasn't a successor—I was a founder. Sky Sword was a style born from the desire to cut down the monster-choked skies of Siberia.

Which was exactly why, from a founder's perspective, the Sword Saint versus Diamonds gald-cup matchup was an inherently unfair fight that never should have existed in the first place.

This swordsmanship had been built from day one to handle numbers.

KWAANG!

The point where the blade came down detonated.

A thunderous roar rolled out with a shockwave expanding in perfect concentric rings; turf and soil flipped skyward. Thirty charging swordsmen evaporated without managing even a token resistance.

The aftershock brought the absurd 500-to-1 battle to a brief, stunned halt. The survivors began giving ground, watching for an opening.

"Sorry... but I have no intention of losing."

Huuup—

I drew a light breath. Narrowed pupils flared wide; the drug that had been throttling my brain burned away.

Abnormally sharp cognition unfurled across the world. Every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weapon, every ability, every habit of the four hundred and fifty fighters filling Camp Nou began packing itself into my skull.

The recorded data sorted itself automatically, and my body finished preparing to move according to that sorted information. A body that simply followed wherever the "eyes" pointed—another of the talents that had been installed in me.

Feeling a near-omnipotent dominion over space, I allowed myself a faint smile.

"Because that was always my duty."

I could feel the wind's direction. A dry winter northwester was pushing at my back. That was why I felt no fear even as the enemy closed in second by second.

Click. I sheathed the sword again.

I aligned the flow of mana with the wind.

Like a marathoner the instant before the starting gun, I crushed the ruined earth underfoot and shifted my center of gravity forward.

What you needed to punch through a thick wall of human bodies was explosive acceleration and breakthrough power.

For that, I wrapped my entire body in wind.

"Take this—!"

The moment someone lunged at me while I was still settling into the draw stance—

Sky-blue wind split the stadium in two.