Instinct
“Just one thing I want to ask, Nami.”
“Shoot.”
“When you went out earlier, did Master look really disappointed in me?”
She was talking about when I'd stepped out of the capsule earlier to down my potion.
“Hmm...”
The opponents she'd faced weren't pushovers. Some were grinding 14 hours a day, and others were even active second-string pro gamers who'd teamed up to turn her into mincemeat. Would her master commend her for pushing through 46 straight games without a break, or scold her for racking up 15 losses?
“You should check with Emika herself.”
“Yeah...”
“But one thing's for sure. If Emika beats me here, all those losses get wiped clean.”
“So how strong are you in this game?”
I answered with a grin.
“Why tell when you can feel it yourself? What combat power should we set?”
1v1 mode let you tweak from low-power duels to high-power brawls. She'd fiddled with the sliders to find the sweet spot where her skills shone.
“Let's start at 5,000 each.”
“Only 5,000...? Fine, whatever.”
Considering Emika's real-world physical prowess, she'd probably need at least 15,000—but it felt like she was holding back for my sake.
Combat power 5,000. With this body, that meant sprinting 100 meters in about 11 seconds. Digging into old memories, even in a mana-less world, track athletes could hit that mark.
“VR doesn't hurt much anyway, so don't freak if I get rough.”
“Yeah, I'm used to it now. Whips, four-way flows—nothing surprises me here anymore. As your junior gamer, please go easy on me, Nami.”
“Used to it? By now, you should be ripping your hair out in rage. What's with you, Emika? Way too calm.”
“Nami?”
The sword settled perfectly into my grip. This sensation wouldn't fade even in another life.
I licked my dry upper lip and pondered her deeply.
Why had she lost at the national exchange tournament? Was it just that Japan lacked rivals, while world stages brimmed with greater talents? No—she hadn't fully bloomed yet. Bound by technique, chained by adult advice, she'd always moved like she wore her own shackles, stifling and frustrating.
So how to fix it? Talent awakens in crisis. But with eyes watching, I couldn't just shove her off a cliff like Klaus. Instead, I chose the tedious, roundabout path: corner her against one.
“Lessons come at a price. So endure it.”
How could swapping one avatar radiate such a different pressure? As Nami swung her sword through the air, Emika's 'so pretty' admiration shifted to 'so cool.'
A deep unease hit her.
Is this really Nami?
Gripping her sword tighter from the inexplicable feeling.
No. Stay calm. Always composed. Just follow what I was taught.
She remembered the viewers' advice.
Viewers showered her with praise. That was why so many craved Nami's academy tournament debut. Elite physical performers in reality often crushed VR too—but the reverse? Not so much. Yet consensus held that NoName's otherworldly talent would shatter norms.
At 5,000 power, it'd match Emika's level from three years ago. Channeling that sensation, she infused her blade with aura.
Here it comes!
Nami's killing-intent sword dropped from above, cold eyes flashing past.
Clang!
Emika's eyes widened like saucers blocking it. Her swordsmanship might differ, but she could spot perfect form.
Flawless.
No nitpick possible—a clean strike. Had she trained with swords? No time to wonder.
“You think too much.”
“What?”
The repelled blade thrust at her side. Reflexively twisting her flexible wrist to deflect downward—
Bam!
“Eek!”
In that instant, the trajectory warped bizarrely, smashing her shin. Lower power meant no room for errors. Her scant aura halved, crisis dawning.
Nami's assault didn't relent.
“Focus till the end! Keep dropping that shoulder!”
Mentioning shoulder, yet the blade targeted her knee. No falling for the same exchange-trick twice. Pouring all strength to recover and block—
Crunch!
Shoulder?
Broadsword slamming her shoulder. Arm mangled gruesomely, HP plummeting.
“It was the knee...!”
“Told you shoulder.”
Her arm dangled limp, pain absent but ligament-snapped useless. Finally grasping the gravity, Emika retreated to reset distance.
“Missed that opening? Again.”
One arm couldn't bear the sword's weight fully. Nami weighted her downswing; Emika's blade spun into the floor.
No cheap tricks from prior matches—just pure sword-on-sword. Emika lost utterly.
NoName Win!
“Till you get it. I'm not as nice as your masters.”
Same situation, same spacing. Nami closed in again. Emika gritted teeth, eyes fierce.
Japan's once-in-a-millennium prodigy, Katsuhata Emika. Replaying the prior exchange, visualizing the upcoming clash.
Forward guard here.
Shoulders leveled, lightly parrying Nami's opener. No pause—she shifted to upper-right diagonal cut.
Nami flicked it away, stabbing her gut. Explosive power surged from Nami's legs through her skin.
Now's the chance!
Nami's motion too wide. Block or dodge exposes huge openings. Aura in legs for massive retreat, torso leaned for instant counter.
Nami's feet hit ground—attack signal.
“What, not stopping here?”
“...!”
A ticklish whisper like sweet nothings. Right foot down, then left—human basics. But Nami right-footed again, charging the retreating Emika.
Clang!
“Hup!”
“Good, like that. Keep going?”
Emika's instincts blocked. An upward cut—taboo in kendo, yet automatic. Nami smiled satisfied.
First original move. From now, all her actions pure instinct.
Nami showed her the vista beyond the wall.
Whether you climb over is up to you.
Nami's blade tore air to crumble her stance. Not denying her training.
Why train? To elevate calculation to instinct. Dozens of reasons per motion—but brains skip the hassle.
Clang!
Nami's sword bounced back.
Life on the line—no time for thoughts.
Scraaaape!
Blades ground at angle, sparks vibrating. Amid fierce exchanges, a smile bloomed on the woman's lips.
“Fun, right? Intense, thrilling?”
Faces inches apart, breaths mingling.
“Nami, you...”
“Wondering where combat assist ends?”
Assist systems stutter between moves. To Emika's point, the woman stuck out her crimson tongue.
“Not telling.”
Score: 9-1. Tenth game, Emika finally pierced Nami's iron defense, stabbing her ample chest.
Like a hero slaying the Demon King, Emika beamed innocently. Even Nami's petty taunts mid-match only drew giggles.
Her obsession spooked even Nami, who raised hands and tweaked power.
“What if we go 100,000?”
“Past that, it's superpower brawl—no real point.”
“Wanna try?”
“For real?”
“Uh? Sure...”
Suddenly Nami opened settings.
Same face, build, outfit. Emika squinted like spot-the-difference. Closer look: elf ears back to human. Black horns elegantly sprouted atop her head.
“Demon?”
“Nah, Demon King. Middle schoolers your age eat this up, right sis?”