Blacklist Enlightenment
Teaching someone was a far more advanced act than learning itself. If learning was just opening your mouth and passively swallowing knowledge handed to you by others, then teaching required chewing raw information into digestible bits—tearing it apart, gnawing it down, and delivering it right before swallowing. It was a filthy analogy, but the point stood.
But I had no talent for it, apparently. I couldn't help but gulp it down myself.
"This is really the limit now... I can't do it...!"
Adella spat out her complaints amid ragged breaths. She'd shown remarkable talent taking down Valrum, but now I was starting to suspect her willpower was the weak link.
Using a carrot-and-stick approach with Churu treats to correct Adella's bad habits had been half-successful. In other words, the other half was a failure.
I reflected: maybe the issue lay in designing instrumental conditioning with Churu as static reinforcement and carrots as static punishment.
Back when I taught Klaus swordsmanship, I'd used a real whip. Perhaps the punishment here was too mild.
But it was too late to change methods now. She was improving, bit by bit, with each round.
"Tired? Can't go on?"
"Hah... I said I'm tired!"
"Really tired? Can't even stand up?"
Seeing her radiate utter dejection, I felt like I shouldn't push further. Master Maria always called me cold-blooded, but I'm actually a sentimental softie at heart.
While Adella rested, I glanced at the chat. Noticing me, it sped up twofold, threefold.
"There's a reason for teaching like this."
Humans are complex, but that doesn't guarantee perfection. Attach a model hand to your arm, hide the real one, and your brain feels pain from impacts on the fake—phantom limb syndrome.
Likewise, Adella and I linked her most basic, combat-useless sense of taste to minimize her sensory interference. One-dimensional feedback like "tasty" or "gross" tricks her into thinking my judgments are hers.
Combat habits don't change overnight. Knowing it mentally means nothing if you can't execute in crisis.
"Come out here for a sec."
I could tolerate backseat advice. But rallying against my methods? That crossed the line.
Pause. The game turned black-and-white. No hesitation—I clicked the donor's account.
Inviting: WoACant
This wasn't good. Why was everyone thrilled?
Time for an example.
* * *
I remembered viewer 'WoACant' not just for her sharp memory, but because his viewing habits were downright rotten. Frequent ₩1,000 donations to irritate me, plus boundary-crossing sexual harassment in chat.
He'd lucked out avoiding the managers so far. But considering what was coming, was he really lucky? Jury's out.
WoACant has entered the user-custom game.
"Whoa, what is this?"
I tossed him the same sword Adella had used.
"Catch."
"Y-Yes ma'am!"
I stayed unarmed. Before the invited viewer could question it, I spoke first.
"Beat me, you go on the blacklist. Lose, whitelist."
"Shouldn't it be reversed...?"
"No, it's right."
"Why whitelist if I lose?"
"Lawsuit paperwork color."
"Oh..."
"For the record, it's not defamation—it's child protection laws. So give it your all."
The man with an unremarkable avatar shuddered. His face drained of all color.
"I'm really sorry... Could you let me off just this once...?"
"No need to apologize now. Save it for later."
"Please, just once—I'll never watch again. No, I'll delete my WoA and Twishi accounts! For real...!"
"Simple. I'll stab your heart. One attack only. Block that, blacklist. Deal?"
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you..."
User-match to dodge the lawsuit began. I stayed unarmed—bare-handed resolve on display.
WoACant sighed seeing me charge from across the field. Just a scare, right? Plenty in his favor: no weapon, dual swords for 1v1 strength, self-limited path and count.
Even objectively, outside story mode, I was a noob. Some hyped her talent as Challenger-level, but not him.
Luckily hit a hidden route...
He steadied his stance with a deep breath. Easy. No need to attack. Cross swords to block heart-stab.
Distance closed as blades swung.
I hopped, vaulting his height in an instant.
His stance crumpled. He'd assumed a frontal assault.
Heart-stab didn't specify from front. But his reaction time was decent—he spun 180 degrees, crouching again.
Over his arms, my sharp gaze gleamed. Aura surged into my arm. Shoulder turned first, torso followed. But center of gravity high—head level. Specifically, opposite arm arcing for his neck.
Trap...!
As a longtime viewer, he recognized it: Adella's near-perfect Valrum kill an hour ago. Like her carotid slice, I'd smash his skull.
"You can't even keep a promise—!"
In that instant, through the gap of his instinctively raised arms, my fingertip pierced his heart precisely.
Perfect heart strike. My attack screamed neck-severing, yet his heart was pierced. He gaped in bewilderment.
"Wha... how..."
I withdrew my hand, pulling a folder and pen from private space.
"See? Changing habits is this hard."
Humans are wired to block life-threatening attacks instinctively—even if it endangers them further.
Experiment validated. Satisfaction bloomed on my face.
"Good work."
* * *
The cat furry girl's sudden anxiety over the whitelist was mere afterword.