Fortune Without Warning

I shoveled food down like someone possessed, and before I knew it the meal was over.

A little ways in front of me: scritch. scritch.

The fruit knife in Master's hand was peeling an apple. A few disposable plastic bags sat on the table ahead of him — he was clearly cutting it up so it would be easy to eat.

I couldn't hold back. I popped one of the cut pieces into my mouth.

Just a moment ago I'd been sure nothing else would fit in my stomach. But the thought of that sweet-and-tart apple flavor had been too ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much to resist.

Juice flooding my mouth. Delicious. Was this what happiness felt like?

As the corners of my lips curled up in a foolish little smile, Master asked quietly,

"So. How have you been getting by these days?"

"Same as always. Making money, going to the hospital. Just living like that."

"They say you're improving any?"

"Hard to say. At least they told me it doesn't seem to be getting worse."

He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meant my left leg.

He knew how much money I was pouring into the hospital, so of course it weighed on him. How much had I spent altogether by now? I couldn't put an exact number on it, but it was certainly a considerable sum.

This leg that felt like it was rotting while still attached to me. If I'd just amputated this worthless extremity, I probably wouldn't be living on the floor of a one-room studio like this.

But… I simply couldn't let go of the attachment.

The moment I cut it off, I felt certain I'd never be able to go back to the way things were.

"I know this is going to sound like more nagging, but take care of your health. Everything in the body is connected. If you keep working at it… someday something good is bound to happen."

Master let the end of the sentence trail off a little.

By now I understood the reason for that hesitation. He was afraid it might become a form of hope-torture.

Sports was a world as cold and merciless as it was blazing hot, wasn't it? There was no middle ground in competition. You were either a winner or a loser. And sometimes talent itself crushed you without mercy.

Having spent so long in that industry — and living as an educator on top of it — how much frustration must he have witnessed? How many times had hope turned to poison and swallowed a student whole?

Contrary to what people believed, hope was not such a beautiful word.

Even so, Master had chosen words meant to comfort me. I nodded — not at what he said, but at the sheer courage it took to say it.

"I've got a trip to Japan coming up soon, so I'll shop around the hospitals over there too. If I hear any good news, I'll let you know."

"I'd be grateful. Please do. Japan — is that for training camp?"

"Yeah. They're treating it like a friendly and holding a bit of a tournament, but nothing major."

"If you're going to compete, you should win. Have a good trip."

"I will. I'll make sure to come back a winner."

I wasn't an athlete anymore, but Master was still my teacher. So if I could, I at least wanted to watch. Something that small-scale probably wouldn't even be broadcast — I'd have to ask him to record it for me.

A tournament… It was a word that always sounded good, no matter how many times I heard it.

Still, going back to the kendo world would be hard for me now. And it wasn't only because of the TS Disease.

Kendo had no weight classes. Since it was a weapon art, differences in build were something you could overcome well enough — and I'd faced plenty of opponents taller than me. I'd heard it was designed with real combat in mind… though I wasn't sure how much stock to put in that.

The real problem was still the leg.

Even if my left leg healed, rehabilitation would take a considerable amount of time. Becoming fit enough to compete as an athlete would take even longer than that — long enough that, from where I stood now, it felt almost unreal.

"What about you? You said you're good at games. Those are fighting games too, right? With your skill, couldn't you place in something?"

"Well, most official tournaments require you to show up in person. And you have to use the gear they provide on-site."

"I know that much. I just wondered if there might be some smaller event — something you could enter from home."

"Nothing that's really satisfied me so far…"

I had no interest in entering anything too small. Winning at a place like that would be like drinking seawater when you were thirsty.

I'd actually received a few invitations to tournaments run by streamers, and I'd turned them all down. If anything, they felt like they'd chip away at my reputation.

Reputation… was that even the right word for it?

What I had now was a thirst — for winning, for being the best in the world. The dream I'd never achieved. The dream I could no longer achieve. I wanted to reclaim what a single natural disaster had stripped away from me.

It didn't have to be kendo anymore. I just wanted to be recognized for something — properly.

The resolve I'd carried right before the international competition had twisted into something grotesque. It had become a monster.

"There was a tournament announcement that went up recently. I still haven't read ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through one of them."

"Yeah? Then you should. Let me take a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look with you."

I waved it off, insisting it wouldn't work out — and still found myself swelling with a strange sense of anticipation.

The title of the notice the client had sent me not long ago caught my eye.

I scrolled down, packing the important details into my head.

Unlimited participants. No entry requirements. No gear restrictions.

Players would be sorted into five ranks by specs and level… then matched at random for one-on-one duels. In the first preliminary round, win three or more out of five matches and you advanced to the second prelims.

In other words, they were casting a net over every single user of the game to determine the strongest one-on-one fighter.

As an event, the prize pool couldn't compare to the pro scene. But that wasn't what mattered to me.

No matter what the tournament looked like, it meant nothing if I couldn't enter.

And sure enough, at the bottom of the page was the usual line about "an invitation including airfare for finalists" and so on.

Tsk. Looking at it for nothing had just ruined my mood.

Still, Master was here, so I needed to keep my face under control.

"Looks like I can't do this one. It's fine. There'll be a good day eventually."

Thud. Thud. My heart was hammering for no reason. Calm down. This wasn't the first time.

I clenched my right fist tight and poured every bit of strength into it. That way the tension wouldn't reach my face. It would loosen that stiff, awkward expression, at least a little.

Fortunately, Master was still looking at the monitor.

I was about to close the event page I no longer wanted to look at when a thick finger pointed at one corner of the screen.

"Hey, Daeh—… Daeun. What's this?"

"Which one?"

Apparently my field of vision had narrowed quite a bit. Probably from not sleeping long enough. It certainly wasn't from being emotionally shaken.

Where Master was pointing, a notice posted barely an hour or two ago was listed as the next post — under a title I could never have overlooked.

Had I seen it while browsing the community at the convenience store? It was a news item that had briefly flickered past in some post.

A volcanic eruption.

It was unfortunate, sure, but I'd figured it had nothing to do with me. So I hadn't even read it. Human affairs really were impossible to predict even an inch ahead.

Just as misfortune had come for me without warning, fortune, it seemed, could arrive without the slightest sign either.

As if entranced, I kept scrolling down.

Afraid I might have misread it, I checked the notice again and again. Scrolled up, scrolled down, scrolled up once more. I opened my eyes wide and read every single character so I wouldn't miss one.

I rubbed my blinking eyes, then — just to be sure — dug through the community as well. A notice like this ought to have spawned at least a couple of articles.

All I could do was hope I'd understood it correctly.

Every single one of them was saying the same thing.

This tournament. I could enter it.

Would a chance like this ever come again? I didn't know. It felt so unreal that my brain wouldn't turn over properly.

Master seemed to have said something, but I wasn't sure I'd even answered him.

What I did know was that my hand moved as if possessed.

Back at the bottom of the event page. When was it — I'd opened the registration page once, desperate to press that participate button, only to hit "Cancel" in gut-wrenching agony. The memory was still there.

Oddly enough, this participate button looked exactly the same as that one.

At the peak of my excitement, I pressed Participate.