Round of 16 (3)
Luce's Round of 16 run closed out at two wins to one.
The matches themselves had been solid. The losses had been razor-thin, and in the final match Luce had pulled away with a decisive margin. Going in, everyone had expected a coin-flip series — so this was a far better result than anticipated. The last exchange in particular had drawn even my admiration. A clean counter, and the win was sealed.
Growing sharper in trades as experience piles up is common enough. Improving physically, though — that is rare. It is a genuinely hard road. There is a reason people call physical talent a gift of birth. A day or two of training will not do it; only sustained effort yields the tiniest increments of progress. And once you finally climb that far, what waits for you is not the finish line but the starting line all over again.
That's why so many fall off. I almost did too.
Looking back, it was a fairly bitter memory. In any case, that small achievement of Luce's was clearly steeped in enormous effort. On top of that, the use of vision had improved considerably — hiding attack trajectories behind the shield to cut down the opponent's reaction window. A tactic that had once felt like Kelberos's personal trademark, and now Luce was starting to deploy it.
Listening to the casters, I found my own mood lifting for no good reason. But you cannot ring victory bells every single day. As if to declare the sweet stretch over, matchups against heavy hitters were locking in one after another.
In the next match, Ripper took down the Witch of Silphyroz and advanced to the quarterfinals. Kelberos kept the undefeated streak alive and put a name on the bracket as well. My own opponent would not be set until the final match of the round played out, but the opposite half of the bracket was already locked.
Traveler versus Kelberos.
Luce versus Ripper.
Traveler had, in the end, drawn a match against the single greatest threat in this Arena. Even domestic fans were calling the odds hopeless, and the casters' assessments were just as cold. Traveler probably knew the objective power gap as well as anyone. And the person who actually had to fight it… was sitting right next to me with a thoroughly unimpressed look on their face.
I asked, half in disbelief.
"Why are you even here?"
"What kind of question is that? I came to watch the matches, obviously."
"Wouldn't it be more comfortable watching from outside?"
"Our team doesn't care about the Arena, remember? Anyway, I'm heading out soon. No need to stick around for the later matches."
Luce's match was done. Kelberos's match was done. The ones preparing next were the players scheduled to face me in the quarterfinals. For Traveler to meet any of them, a finals berth would be required first.
I waved by way of goodbye, and Traveler stared at me. Lips working like something difficult was about to come out. What actually emerged was a request that required almost no deliberation at all.
"Hey. Once you've watched the rest of this, if you've got time left, run a few practice games with me."
"…Do I have to?"
"It's not a bad idea. No skills — just fundamentals. Building the basics."
"Fine. I'll help. Let's go right now. I can rewatch the matches later."
"Appreciate it."
I agreed without much fuss. The money Traveler had promised a while back had already hit my account — a little more than the original figure, even. If the client shows sincerity, the least I can do is throw in a little service. The books have to balance.
We found a decent open patch of ground and started the practice matches. Traveler came out with a short spear instead of the gunlance. Fair enough — if Kelberos showed up as a Magic Knight, that loadout would be the smoother path. We traded light attacks and fell into side conversation.
"Think you can win the next one?"
"Obviously. You didn't see the interview?"
"Not all of it. Just the headlines. What's the real feeling?"
"It's going to be really hard."
In official settings, Traveler had projected confidence even against Kelberos. I thought that was the right call — not letting the nerves show. But it took real courage. Lose, and it becomes perfect material for the pile-on. The more popular a pro gamer gets, the more hate they attract. That is just how it works.
"I stayed up till dawn ripping through every Kelberos match I could find. I already knew the guy was good, but the more I learn, the higher the wall feels."
"Hmm. Yeah, the play is clean."
"It hit me — our entire concept of combat is different. Kelberos has been living in a world I didn't even know existed. I'm only just starting to see it, so catching up is going to take a while."
Words that all but conceded defeat. So why the confident interview? If you asked, Traveler would answer like this:
"I'm still a pro, though. If I start shaking before I've even fought, what does that make the people who came to watch?"
"That mindset is pretty cool."
"And… tch. I wasn't going to say this to an amateur — pride wouldn't let me — but watching your matches this time, I had a similar thought."
"Huh."
I had not expected to hear that from this one. From the rookie days, Traveler had been pure pride packed into a human shape. That version was long gone now, but early on the self-righteous playstyle had drawn serious heat. The pride had not gone anywhere, I was sure of that — I just had not expected to be elevated this high.
This one had probably gotten here by cutting away at the self, over and over. So had the weaknesses from last time been patched?
I tested it — drove in low with the same approach as before — and nearly took a shield straight to the solar plexus. Apparently that bait no longer worked. A pointless move, and my precious guard gauge was gone.
"I'm saying this because you watched Luce's match too, right? That was absolutely your influence."
"Yeah? What makes you so sure?"
"Our analysis team put up a report on your play. Extremely detailed. If we did it, Sigma already has, and so does Kelberos. The amateur treatment is basically over."
No wonder the guard had felt so solid today. My habits, preferred attack lines — all of it had already been taken apart. Good to know. From here on, the Chain-Sickle was sealed. I had been feeling the limits of it since the fight with Ripper anyway. Without pushing the mastery higher, it was just a free-loss card with no surprise value left.
"I gave you useful intel, so you tell me one thing."
"Depends if it's reasonable. I've got professional ethics too."
"Why are you so obsessed with winning?"
"Mm."
That one hit a tender spot. Maybe I should not have offered to answer.
"I've had something wrong with my head since I was a kid. Back then I just thought I had a strong competitive streak, but looking back, it was a real problem."
Apparently a card game had been popular at Traveler's school growing up. Skill mattered, but so did luck. Naturally there were losses and wins. Traveler hated that. This one had always been a demon of pure competitive hunger, desperate to win every single time. Hated losing so much that dirty methods were not off the table — learned sleight of hand to win card games, marked cards with fingernail scratches when no one was looking. And winning that way still felt good, apparently.
Having heard that much, I offered an honest reaction.
"Wow. That's actually kind of messed up. Wait — did you bet money on it too?"
"I did. But if I won, I gave it back. If I lost, I paid without a word."
"You absolute maniac. Why?"
"If something's on the line, the match matters more. And if I give the money back, they'll play me again later. I got plenty of allowance as a kid anyway. Winning mattered more than the cash."
What a sickening little creature. I clicked my tongue, and Traveler laughed.
"Pro gaming was the perfect career, then. Minus the cheating."
"Right? I graduated from the cheating in school, though. Fighting fair is way more fun."
"Good. I was about to start getting weird suspicions."
"Why do you always have to say it like that? Anyway — I've got something wrong with my head, so that's my excuse. What about you?"
The kid had laid out a personal flaw, more or less. Maybe I should give a little something back. But dredging up those memories was painful in its own right. Say I wanted to be a pro gamer, and the natural next question would be why I could not. So there was only one answer I could give.
"Denied. I'm not telling you that. Ask something else."
"Cheapskate. Fine — put it on the tab."
"Sure. I'll even throw in some interest."
Someday the bill would come due. I keep clean books, after all.
After that, Traveler ran four more practice matches against me. Fought every one of them desperate and fierce.
A few days later, the quarterfinals began.