Unexpected Connection (2)
Blinding morning sunlight pierced my rundown dorm room, and I groaned, barely mustering the energy to shove the blanket aside.
I'm seriously wiped out.
After grinding all day on work and juggling schedules with Lumine and Melody, dark circles had settled under my eyes like permanent residents. I already had a mountain of tasks, but not nearly enough hands to handle them.
While washing up in the bathroom, complaints spilled out automatically.
"Ugh, I really don't wanna drag myself to class."
Students are supposed to attend lectures, sure—but man, it pissed me off.
Whatever, the content's all predictable anyway.
Most of it was stuff I already knew, and the class I had to take today was just some basic liberal arts elective.
Liberal arts? It's nothing special.
Academic credentials meant jack shit in the game industry, but if there's even a 1% chance our game flops, I'd need that diploma as a safety net.
"At least I can sort out my to-do list while half-assing the lecture."
Non-stop work had my brain throbbing like a migraine. As I grabbed my bag and headed out, I mulled over today's lecture.
Liberal arts music appreciation, right?
Maybe I could scout someone there for sound design commissions.
But how the hell do I pay for it? I'm barely scraping by on student loans.
...Stock options, maybe?
I scratched my head furiously.
Come on, realistically—who offers stock options for an unlisted, non-existent company? It's just a half-baked group project game that isn't even finished.
Lost in thought as I walked, a familiar shock of red hair suddenly entered my peripheral vision.
"Ah!"
It was that woman from last night, the one who'd thrown a tantrum over the noise complaint. She spotted me and whipped her head away like she'd seen something gross. I averted my eyes too.
...No way she's at the same university?
What rotten luck. But weirdly, our paths kept overlapping as we walked.
Eh, she'll probably split off to a different classroom nearby.
...Even after entering the building, no sign of parting ways. We kept heading the same direction, and the redhead's expression soured noticeably.
"No way..."
My bad premonition nailed it. We both arrived at the exact same liberal arts classroom door.
"Ah, for real!"
We locked eyes and pointed accusingly at each other in unison.
"You noisy upstairs nuisance!" "You oversensitive whiny boss!"
Words barely out, we bolted to opposite ends of the room, claiming seats far apart. Just in case crossing paths turned us both feral.
Other students trickled in, followed by the professor starting the lecture. As everyone knows, liberal arts classes don't teach anything groundbreaking.
I hunkered down in the corner, eyes half-closed, mentally sorting my tasks.
But can we really finish the game in the time we have left?
I had a flawless roadmap in my head, zero trial-and-error bullshit. But separately, my team was all total noobs. Top student, underground ero artist... Sounded impressive on paper, but zero real-world experience meant raw beginners.
Half-listening with one ear while letting the rest slide out the other, the professor suddenly called a name.
"Miss Hafne, what are your thoughts on this section?" "Well..."
The redhead from earlier mumbled some response to the prof. I tuned it out.
So her name's Hafne, huh.
Nothing worth noting. Staring blankly ahead, plotting my schedule, the professor's praise hit my ears.
"Excellent interpretation, Miss Hafne." "Thank you, Professor." "As expected from a student admitted via the 'professional composer' special track."
Envious glances from classmates swarmed her. Hafne bowed politely with confident poise and sat back down.
...Hold up. Did he say professional composer?
Even if she was pro, she couldn't be some big-name hotshot. I wasn't a music expert, but I knew all the industry players worth knowing.
...Which meant she was a nobody, or fresh off debut at best.
...Jackpot. University buddy discount for cheap sound work?
Rookies breaking into creative fields were always desperate to build portfolios and rep. Hafne wouldn't be any different.
Sweet.
Finding a fresh 'sound slave' this quick? I inwardly cheered.
Then, her scream from last night flashed back.
—I'm already pissed from losing that game just now!
Wait... I curb-stomped someone in the Crystal Orb cafe yesterday too. And she lost a game right then and raged? No way...?
Timing was too perfect for coincidence. Suspicion sprouting, I watched her every move until class ended.
As I passed her packing up to leave, her Crystal Orb screen caught my eye. Lobby screen already up, itching to queue another game.
...One sec.
Zooming in hawk-eyed: definitely a Stars' War Use Map server.
ASMasterAccount: 26 Wins1 Loss
A disbelieving chuckle escaped my lips.
"...ASMasterAccount? 26 wins, 1 loss? No freaking way—that clown assassin I soul-crushed yesterday?"
Freeze!
Hafne, mid-stride past me, halted like a statue.
"How... how do you know that?" "Oh boy."
She whirled, radiating murderous intent, storming toward me.
"You!"
Fastest way to defuse? One option.
Bail.
I slung my bag and bolted. Behind me, Hafne kicked up dust in hot pursuit.
"Don't you run, you bastard?!"
**
Minutes of panting flight later, a weird thought bubbled up.
Wait... did I even do anything wrong?
Brainstorming gamer trash-talk mid-sprint:
No emotes for teabagging. And no random confession nuke to embarrass her either.
...All I did was state she got wrecked by me. No crime there.
Screech.
I halted dumbly. Thinking I'd tired out, Hafne crowed triumphantly from behind.
"You're dead meat!" "Hold up!"
I spun, hands raised. She crossed her arms, smirking like she'd hear my excuse first.
I cleared my throat.
"Look, I didn't teabag her corpse or hit her with a confession bomb to humiliate her. I just said she got stomped by me."
"......"
My ironclad logic furrowed her brow into silence.
"...Huh? Yeah, when you put it like that..." "Right? I'm innocent."
She stomped in frustration at my shamelessness.
"You little shit! You talk like such a smug asshole!" "Hey, losses happen in games. After 26 straight wins, one L was due."
...Use Maps had no win-streak protection matchmaking, so usually not—but whatever. Hafne flushed beet-red, yelling passionately.
"That's the biggest problem!!! You took my 'first'!" "First?"
...Why were people in this world so obsessed with 'firsts'?!
Passing students whispered.
"Whoa, that guy's dumping her?" "Took her first and now ghosting? Total scum."
...Fuck.
Mountain after mountain, seriously!
Agape in disbelief, I snatched Hafne's wrist.
"Let's talk somewhere private first!" "Wh-what the hell?!"
Dodging stares of contempt, I dragged her into an empty classroom. Door slammed, breaths ragged—then she realized her hallway meltdown, face draining white.
"Ahem... sorry for the misleading wording." "What about my reputation?!"
I raised my voice in outrage; she fidgeted, scratching her neck awkwardly.
Not that I had much rep to begin with, loner life and all...
My eyes gleamed sharp. Opportunity.
Chance for free sound work.
Composing myself, I called her calmly.
"Anyway, Hafne, right?" "Yeah." "You lost to me, trashed your electric guitar next door like a sore loser." "...Yeah."
Face screaming denial, she nodded barely. Losses were routine for gamers—but admitting them? Torture. She bit her lip.
"And you yelled about me stealing your 'first' in front of everyone, putting me in a spot." "...Sorry, okay?!"
Did I bait too hard?
She snapped.
"So what? What do you want from me?" "You're a professional composer, right?" "...Yeah."
Her expression darkened. 'Pro' stung for an unknown composer.
Arts or games—survivors were always the minority.
I patted her shoulder, dropping my pitch.
"If you're sorry, help with sound design for our game." "...What?"
She snorted in disbelief. Even guilty, unpaid labor crossed a line.
Chest puffed to assert pro status over undergrads, she enunciated:
"Look, I feel bad, but that's crossing it. I've got a line of people begging for my sound work. Pros like me blow past undergrad level—requests pour in from other students."
"Sure. But hear our game's name, and you'll beg to do it for free." "Pfft, what makes it so special?"
Eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"If it's some half-assed trash..." "A.S."
"......What?"
Her gaze wavered. I hammered the nail home, face-to-face.
"Arena of Special. Not some Use Map gimmick—this is the standalone client version dropping soon."