98 - Warm-Up
Have you ever been to a theater after all the actors and audience have left? In a space stripped of its glittering sets, enchanting music, and kaleidoscope of lights, all that's left to face is yourself. The place I could now proudly call my home was shrouded in silence. Unwashed dishes piled high in the sink, chicken bones picked clean of every scrap of meat, outer clothes strewn haphazardly on the sofa right down to the underwear I'd just tossed aside. I'd showered recently. Water dripped from my hair, leaving the living room floor damp, but there was no need to fuss over it. It'd evaporate on its own in a day or two. On dry days like today, viewers who'd done military service had once mentioned that sprinkling water on the floor actually helped with humidity.
What the...? Before heading back to my room, my foot stepped on a Polaroid photo on the floor. Picking it up, I saw it was one of the dozens Haru had snapped yesterday with her camera. Yuna, who didn't have her phone, had been thrilled to receive a bunch from Haru. It must've dropped during the game of hide-and-seek that broke out when Yuna spotted the mustache doodled on Haru's face.
"Gotta return it to Haru at the academy tomorrow."
Haru had been dragged off early that morning by the sunglasses guy, and Yuna had made sure she left with a proper breakfast. Professor Cheon had woken me even earlier, slipping out quietly while the kids were still deep in dreamland.
I thought I was dreaming and blurted out, "America?" But he calmly explained the situation. Among the techniques for turning potions solid, some came from the US—and the State Department hadn't approved the transfer. The domestic research team had pushed hard, emphasizing it wasn't for commercial use, but they stuck to their rigid stance. So he had to go himself.
...He'd be back by tomorrow evening at the latest, so it was like a quick business trip to Busan. With everyone gone, the house felt too big for just me to wander around in. I regretted not keeping at least Yuna here. I hadn't even drunk, yet an intense fatigue washed over me. Was it because I'd felt human warmth after so long? I could still sense the two girls hugging me tightly from both sides, as if they'd made a pact to sandwich me in the middle like a pillow. They'd draped their arms and legs over me and passed out just like that. Don't underestimate a kid's weight—it builds up over hours, choking the breath out of you now and then, making you cough. But strangely, despite this exhaustion, my condition felt refreshingly perfect. Who knew how long it'd been since I'd slept so deeply without dreams.
Back in my room, I toweled off the water from my body. A small surface area came in handy at times like this. Wrapping the towel around once covered almost everything. I desperately wanted to dive naked into the capsule, but since it wasn't just my place anymore, I threw on a white dress that fell to my knees—basic courtesy, even with no one watching. Apparently, I hadn't dried off properly; the silk clung wetly to my skin. Too lazy to change now, I tossed myself into the capsule as is.
Before full dive, I caught myself unconsciously prepping the stream setup and sucked in a sharp breath. Finger-clicks were way easier than navigating menus in virtual space manually. For someone like me who chased peak efficiency, it was a must-do... but.
I hadn't sworn to start streaming right away. I'd planned just a light warm-up. It was 11 a.m., a bit early for my viewer meetup. With setup done, backing out felt lame, so I froze the chat permanently and streamed only the feed—a decent compromise. No need to drain my energy dealing with people early.
Title...
0:00:01 – NoName
Legacy of Legend – Missing the Warmth (No Chat)
Stream Time: 0:00:01
Viewers: 1
I picked Legacy of Legend because it was the only game I really knew. The main hall buzzed with players after so long. As expected, ranked matches drew the biggest crowds. But I headed next door.
User-Created Game
Tag: 1vs1
As I always stressed, Legacy of Legend's essence wasn't a physical showdown. Old pro gamer footage from decades ago showed a balance of mechanics and strategy, but now it leaned too hard on macro play. Lane mismatches rarely decided games anymore. Matches full of comebacks had thrill, sure, but felt too luck-dependent. One-on-one changed that. All the complex stuff—level power spikes, matchups, ranges—boiled down to pure physical skill. Nothing beat the rush of outclassing someone comprehensively. Plus, 1v1s took way less time than a standard game. It'd been ages since intense VR movement, so I'd start with low-freedom LoL and ease my body in gradually.
Flipping through rooms and refreshing, one title caught my eye. Not a friends-only game, oddly passworded. Normally I'd skip, but the host's tier hooked me.
Challenger
Challenger. Miles above the Master I'd hit months ago. Curiosity piqued, I punched in random digits. Wrong? Next room.
P/W: 77
Pay Mustard Sauce's Game – Valhalla Arena · Private Pick · 1v1
It worked...? Lucky day. In the domed waiting room's corner, an ordinary-looking guy waved.
"Whoa, you joined right after I made it. Password too easy?"
"...?"
"Oh, you're shy. I get it. Champ pick?"
His overly friendly welcome felt off, but I chalked it up to hermit-master vibe and brushed it off.
"I'll pick?"
"Tier check... Diamond 1? Can't go random on D1, haha."
His respectful tone dripped ironic leisure.
"Irelia vs. Fiora. Top lane."
"Classic! Me Irelia?"
"No. I'll take Irelia."
Irelia, one of Legacy of Legend's original 51 champs. Unique mechanics unchanged from prior versions. I'd mained her for RS missions—body'd remember.
"Oof, even as an ADC main, that's a tough matchup. Don't want that chicken gift card?"
Ignoring his nonsense, I set my runes. He squatted beside me, chattering.
"Viewers know the rules? Solo kills x2 or 100 RS. House anytime. Tough champ, so friend add after one kill."
"Quite confident."
"Haha, occupational hazard."
"Curious what job."
"Huh...? You don't know me?"
"Do I need to know Mustard Seed in a 1v1?"
"For real? How'd you find this room?"
"Browsing 1v1s—"
"What luck! Glhf! Pay... or just Mustard!"
"Uh, sure..."
Welcome to the Battlefield.
A northwest wind blew.
The 1v1 arena's backdrop was dreary: a battlefield against a setting sun dipping below the horizon. I glared at the woman wielding a blue rapier before me. One step, and she'd charge, slashing me to ribbons. Even as a game avatar, her grin was punchable. I could tolerate one smirker—Hiasen. No one else.
"Glhf? I'll go easy—relax!"
"..."
Six soldiers marched in sync toward the enemy lines. Same on their side. As expected, Fiora blocked the center path far ahead of her line, denying me even XP. Come get it, she seemed to taunt. Level 1, but mind games started now. Fiora needed vital procs; Irelia, marks. Fiora held a slight edge. Her W countered my E easily. To break the standoff, simple psych war: bait her dash into whiffing for early control. I teased the edge, swaying like a tail. But she didn't bite recklessly.
"No XP for me?"
Low-level taunt—no hook. I had the minion XP range locked. As her soldier fell, I dashed with blade, striking.
"Gotta pay for XP!"
Her flippant words belied sharp response. Fiora thrived dogfights, bone shield rune up—she lost maybe 200 HP while I shed 250 from my 600. Expected. My Wind of Renewal regen outpaced. At 2, HP gap meaningless. But she pressed with AA trades, turning back. My skills cooled 2s faster (11s vs. 13s), but she baited counters for vital setup. We traded one AA each, retreating to base. Confirmation hit. Her fourth AA turn—game over.
Our ranged minions peppered her return like drizzle.
"I've already won."
"Cocky? Check HP."
"That's why ranged dealers like you get called 'spoons.'"
"Pardon?"
True ADC main—his match history en route confirmed. 2v2 lanes differed from 1v1. Unlike bot's range/level 2 shoving, Irelia powered up near base. No poke for melee vs. melee. Mustard panicked, rapier trembling.
"Bold taunt! Where you laning?"
"All lanes."