Arena Finals (1)
(Attached image: edited photo of Gawol being swept away by expectations)
Gawol! Gawol! Gawol! Gawol!
Show us your armpit!
Please beat Kelberos!
(Attached image: edited photo of Gawol sweating under pressure)
How did it come to this? I'm scared. I'm so scared!
The expectations are way too high! My opponent is last year's mid-season champion.
And me? I just came here for fun after messing around with PKs in the field.
(Attached image: edited photo of Gawol trembling in fear)
Korea's last hope? What the hell is that? Are you insane?
Leave that kind of stuff to the pros!
(Attached image: Gawol search results from the community one month ago)
All those bastards who said a sniper-obsessed noob couldn't possibly have any skill
(Attached image: recent Gawol search results from the community)
are now seriously going on about how she can win
You absolute pieces of trash
Q. Congratulations on the victory. A brief comment, if you would.
A. Victory is always a pleasure. That said, I took an unexpected blow. I believe my opponent prepared well, but there still seem to be many areas that need improvement.
Q. Your streak of set sweeps was broken for the first time.
A. As a record, it's regrettable. But I don't see it as purely negative. I'll prepare thoroughly for the next match and show you a better performance.
Q. Player Luce left a message saying she looks forward to a rematch on the international stage someday.
A. That would be most welcome. I'll wait with pleasure.
……
Q. Coincidentally, you've been matched against Player Gawol in the finals. Does your assessment from the group designation ceremony still stand?
A. Absolutely not. At the time, she was a player who had proven nothing. But now she's shown her true ability, hasn't she?
Q. How would you evaluate your opponent's weaknesses?
A. I won't answer that — for the sake of my finals strategy.
Q. Then can you tell us about Player Gawol's strengths, or anything you're wary of?
A. That I can. Her fundamental physical ability is exceptional. In terms of psychological warfare and tactics, I'd rate her even higher. Thorough and cunning. However, there is one thing I find difficult to accept.
Q. That's quite a long answer coming from you, Kelberos. What exactly do you find hard to accept?
A. I choose my words carefully here, but her playstyle doesn't fit. She is remarkably cautious relative to the raw power she possesses. It's as if a lion is behaving like a fox. That is typically a trait found in players who have spent their careers fighting opponents stronger than themselves. But who on earth could that have been?
Q. An interesting analysis. Do you have anyone in mind?
A. I even looked into professional players from other games, but I couldn't identify anyone. Which is why her developmental background has become a matter of genuine curiosity to me.
……
Q. Any ambitions you'd like to leave us with?
A. None. Ambitions are for the challenger to declare.
When I woke, the room was filled with a deep, dense darkness.
The particular shade of night. In a haze of half-sleep I checked the time — nearly midnight.
I'd woken a little earlier than the alarm I'd set.
Well, my body would catch up on the sleep eventually. As long as I was functional when it counted, it was fine — maybe even a good thing.
It was a good sign. It meant my body had recovered enough from its fatigue.
The original host country of the tournament, Iceland, was nine hours behind Korea. It might be a dark night here, but for the Europeans it was the height of a ripe afternoon.
I needed to start managing my condition in advance.
The messages I'd checked yesterday were still sitting on my phone screen.
I'd received them several days ago, but fan devotion is a child's heart — even a small thank-you like this was enough to lift my mood in an instant.
If my legs had worked properly, my body would probably have been far sturdier and healthier than most people's. One piece of evidence was that no matter how roughly I treated myself, I was still good at waking up.
I got up, splashed cold water on my face, and downed a glass of cool water — and just like that, my mind snapped into focus. It was a kind of ritual for starting the day.
As for food… it was an important day, so I decided to skip the instant ramen. It might be night for everyone else, but for me right now, it was morning.
"Hoo. It's been ages since I've had salmon. I couldn't even think about buying it before — too expensive."
I pulled the carefully stored salmon from the fridge. The one I'd ordered and treasured just for today. The essential ingredient for starting the morning of the finals perfectly.
On the days of important exams or matches, Mom always bought salmon she'd carefully selected the day before and left it to marinate overnight. She'd seen something about "the benefits of salmon" on a TV program — panel doctors talking about how it gave you energy and improved concentration, that sort of thing. So the morning before a match always meant grilled salmon.
I hadn't particularly liked it, but I hadn't disliked it either. I was the type who ate just about anything.
Unfortunately, there was no one left to grill salmon for me now. So there was no real reason to struggle from the crack of dawn attempting a dish I'd never properly cooked. But I wanted to eat this salmon, one way or another.
Always start with the skin side when cooking. That way the flesh draws in and doesn't tear.
If you overcook it past this point, it can get dry and tough.
I must have been staring at the pan for too long out of anxiety. The legs that had been supporting my weight began to protest. Forced to sit in my computer chair, I couldn't see the fish properly and had to rely on my phone camera.
This is harder than I thought. I'd figured you just oil the pan and throw it on. Why is there so much to pay attention to?
Food that was too greasy wasn't ideal for a tournament morning. How had Mom done it? I was sure I'd watched her plenty of times, but I couldn't remember clearly. I'd seen her sprinkling something while it cooked. Whether it was salt or pepper or something else entirely, I had no idea.
In the end, unable to figure it out, I decided to just carefully follow what a famous chef said. A world where you could learn cooking from a chef in the corner of your room. It really wasn't so bad.
As I cooked, I found enough breathing room to check my in-game messages as well. Quite a few had come in — Elderin, BoozeBun, even people like Traveler and DongjakStationAgent. Each of them had left a rough, casual "go win" in their own way. I couldn't bring myself to reply with a thank-you. The moment I said those words, my emotions would become something I could no longer control.
Anyway, the grueling cooking session was over. I carried what seemed, to my eye, a reasonably successful dish, along with a bowl of rice still trailing white steam. There was still some of Master's kimchi left in the fridge. Good. Setup complete.
Eat well, do a final check on a full stomach, and head into the tournament.
The distinctive aroma of salmon rose thickly and stirred my appetite. Sitting at the table, I took my first spoonful — and whether it was the quality of the ingredients or something else, the taste was quite satisfying. Cooking really did seem to turn out decently enough if you just followed the instructions carefully.
It was tasty, as expected of a chef's recipe… but something still felt hollow. The emptiness summoned a memory that tormented me.
Wouldn't it be better to eat a little more? Won't you get hungry once you're there?
I'd rather be a little hungry, Mom.
Still… are you sure you're okay?
I'm fine, I told you. Just this is enough.
No, Mom.
I'm not okay anymore.
The meal I'm eating right now doesn't taste very good. It's greasier than what I used to eat, cooked a little longer, a little drier. So I want the grilled salmon I used to have. The cheering is nice, but I want the nagging too. It's selfish, I know. Back then I even found it a little annoying. I can barely even recall the voice that used to fuss about being late when there was still plenty of time left.
"Ah, damn… all over the rice."
Pointless thoughts had soaked my precious meal. It felt too wasteful to throw away, so I just ate it. I hadn't known — tears had a fairly bitter taste.
The quiet of the house grated on me, so I put on music. I hated loud music, but our house the night before a tournament had always been noisy. Silence was more frightening than noise.
Once I finished eating, I'd wash myself in warm water. Feeling the heat would make things a little better.
An hour later, I climbed into the access unit to prepare for the match.