First Preliminary Round (5)

For the most part, TS Disease had been a curse.

Physical ability was the first thing to plummet. Going from a sturdy young man to a short girl meant losing most of what my body could do, paralyzed left leg or not. Endurance that once carried me through full marathons now struggled just to reach the convenience store down the street. Strength went without saying—and being a woman's body, muscle refused to stick no matter what I did. I could curl dumbbells until my arms gave out and my forearms stayed soft as ever. In the end, the pink dumbbells I'd bought in a burst of resolve became ghosts drifting somewhere around my room. They'd turn up once in a while when I'd almost forgotten them, then vanish again if I left them alone. Last I saw them, they were somewhere under the bed.

Still, it wasn't all bad. When your house burns down, at least you don't have to worry about tomorrow's laundry. There was no need to look at everything in the world through a purely negative lens.

"How late am I streaming today? I don't really know either. I'm planning to go until I fall asleep."

"The One-Shot Hunter… yeah, it does seem strong. I've been seeing it a lot lately."

"It's annoying, but not completely unwinnable. If I shave the build down a little more, I should be able to push the win rate to fifty-fifty, right?"

Take taste, for example—there had been improvements. I could no longer handle the spicy ramen I used to demolish, but in exchange I could taste food with a finer grain of detail. The rich, clean savor of fat melting off boiled pork. The texture of lean meat sliding across the tongue. The sweetness bleeding from crushed grains of rice. And when the greasiness started to rise, the sharp acidity of napa cabbage kimchi flooding the mouth. Sensations I never used to notice.

Which is to say, the boiled pork I was eating while watching Luce's stream was delicious. There was still some left from what Master had brought last time. Properly cooked meat hadn't lost an ounce of its destructive power—and on top of that, I even had instant rice. Liu Bei with Zhuge Liang at his side couldn't have felt more secure than I did right then.

Luce's Arena stream was progressing smoothly. Her trademark solid playstyle shone in a one-on-one environment. Paladins held the front line for their teams, so they often operated alone—and when things went wrong, they had to shut down the enemy's primary damage dealer by themselves. It wasn't an exaggeration to call it the position that demanded the widest range of combat experience in the game. Naturally, individual skirmishing ability mattered.

"Oh, a Hunter. This is that build Yurang posted, right?"

"Duelist's Corridor has no blind spots…"

"I'll close the distance first. Here I go!"

On the open corridor, bullets came screaming in without warning. That distinctive crack of a round ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breaking the sound barrier. A projectile tore through the air and left a dark scorch on the shield.

The matchup was rotten from the start. The streamer who first cooked up the build had named it Extreme DPS Shotgun Hunter. Players who'd actually run it called it the One-Shot Hunter. It abandoned the Hunter class's usual area control and harassment tools and poured everything into raw firepower. All-in builds had a way of resurfacing whenever you forgot about them—but this one was extreme. A tank with Front Guard active got shredded shield and all. The game's basic framework had broken; it was a blatantly overtuned build, the kind of defect only possible in preseason right after a massive overhaul.

On the current patch, a Paladin couldn't seize the initiative against a Hunter, and couldn't lean on Guard or barriers either. There was only one answer: recover Defense and Guard Gauge with the class's unique buff the moment the Hunter dumped firepower. Time it right and you could survive with a sliver of health left.

The instant the distance closed enough, the Hunter pulled the trigger.

"Oh, clean block. Assassins could use a little more Guard Gauge too."

Luce had pulled it off. Shotgun shells poured down like a storm, but they failed to snuff out the Paladin's life. That exchange emptied the Hunter's entire magazine. The all-or-nothing blow had come to nothing.

Kill the opponent's strength, keep your own. From there, the rest wrote itself. Having abandoned every other tool, the One-Shot Hunter had nothing left. Time to finish it.

An enlarged shield rose like a wall. Luce crushed the crude traps in a single charge; the Hunter never secured a reload window. An empty shotgun couldn't pierce Paladin plate if it came back from the dead. After a one-sided thrashing, the match was decided.

"Kheuu, that's more like it. Anyone trying to freeload wins off a one-shot build needs to go back to school."

A result that cleared the chest right out. Justice had been served in Infinity Black once again.

Anyone who rode the meta without real fundamentals was a heretic. The ones who climbed a few ranks while the game was broken and then clung to their tier for dear life. How were you supposed to acknowledge people whose ranks bounced up and down several steps with a single patch as equals?

That Hunter build that ended games with one pull of the trigger deserved every bit of contempt it got. The abnormal firepower twisted matches into pure timing contests. A duel was supposed to be a field of fierce mind games and layered reads—and instead they showed up to that sacred arena hoping for a lucky punch. It was an insult to dueling itself. No—it was the equivalent of flinging filth at every player in Infinity Black.

The streamer who spread that blasphemous build had already died twice by my hand. Shotguns had wide attack cones, which made them a pain to dodge. And with my Sensory Synchronization Rate, getting hit hurt like hell. Catch a round in the left foot by accident and I was genuinely in danger.

Generally, Sensory Synchronization Rate only affected performance up to about ten percent. Pro players set it a little higher so they could skip checking the interface. Mine was locked at seventy percent—uselessly high—which meant acute shock was on the table. There was a reason the device still in development had never gone commercial.

So my newbie days had been genuinely nightmarish. The first time I died in-game, I came out of the rig crying, throwing up, making a complete scene. My body was fine, obviously, but the inside of my throat burned. Bad things come in clusters—and of course that was the day Master came over to help with the moving boxes. He took one look at me hacking on the floor and rushed me straight to the ER.

"The exam shows nothing particularly wrong with the throat. It's a little swollen, but is there anything that comes to mind?"

"Well, I mean. Uh…"

"Your guardian said your throat was raw and painful. Is that correct?"

"Yes. When I walked in it was chaos. I saw the vomiting myself."

"Understood. I'd like a word with the patient alone, if that's all right."

"Of course. I'll wait outside—listen carefully to what the doctor says."

It was not a good choice. Exam results showing no actual injury. A patient radiating embarrassment. A guardian's testimony about retching in agony. The doctor arrived at a conclusion that wasn't common, but wasn't exactly rare either.

"Miss Han Daeun? Developing an interest in sexuality is a natural phenomenon."

"…Excuse me?"

"I mean there's no need to be embarrassed. But oral tissue is quite important in the human body, and surprisingly delicate. I'd advise against inserting foreign objects or engaging in rough activity."

"Uh—uhh?"

"I recommend finding a healthier outlet."

"I died in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠game and it hurt too much" was not a sentence I could bring myself to say—not in front of Master, and not in front of a doctor. Correcting the misunderstanding also seemed too agonizing, so all I could do was hang my head.

Still, I'd adapted a lot since then. Humans were creatures of adaptation. Ordinary pain had become something I could handle. As long as I watched the left foot, there shouldn't be any real problems going forward.

"Dishes… later, I guess. I already finished the pork anyway."

I'd gotten so absorbed in the stream that the meal was already over. Stomach ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠full—time to get back into the game. But I wanted to keep watching Luce's stream. Well, dessert was still left. It felt wrong to call a meal finished with a sweet-tart apple still sitting there. Once I went into the rig I wasn't coming back out, so I had to eat properly while I could. Be a shame if I tried to save it and it went bad. If I lost a precious piece of fruit, it'd take the necks of three Kimchi Ninjas to work off the grief.

And this was also about scouting a rival's skill in advance. I never knew when I'd run into Luce, so it paid to burn her current playstyle into my eyes. Even back when I was at my peak, I never skipped an opponent's match footage if it was available. So this absolutely was not just me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not wanting to move.

Luce had said she could beat me, hadn't she? Then I had to prepare seriously too.

With a strangely buoyant feeling, I rested my hands on the keyboard.

If I'd had money to spare, I would have sent a donation. If she ever took home prize money, maybe I'd try sending one myself sometime.