The Beast Awakens
It happened back in the early days of Zenith, when I was still physically gifted in name only. Back then, my skills were barely above average, so I had to juggle idol schedules with brutal vocal training and dance lessons. The early period wasn't as packed as it would become, but I was still lagging behind everyone else in a pretty serious way. To close that gap, I had no choice but to put in twice the effort. I practiced like my life depended on it, even cutting into my sleep.
Singing wasn't a problem. Becoming a woman had raised my vocal range, so just refining my breathing technique made my skills improve rapidly. Plus, idol songs weren't insanely difficult to begin with, so within a few months I could hold my own with the other members.
The real issue was dancing.
Stamina to endure dozens of minutes of full-body exercise. Coordination to finely control every muscle in your body. Agility to maintain rapid movements in perfect time with the beat. Every single one was difficult, especially for someone who used to be nothing more than an ordinary college dropout.
And among them all, the part that gave me the most trouble was timing.
No matter how hard I tried to match the tempo, my timing was always just a hair slower than everyone else's. It wasn't noticeable enough for regular people to spot, so I could still perform on stage. But even as Zenith started gaining massive popularity, timing remained my chronic weakness.
About six months after Zenith's debut, I finally learned the root cause of my timing issues from the dance instructor.
Her diagnosis was spot on. Whenever I danced back then, I was always conscious of the people next to me and matching my timing to theirs.
Superhuman dynamic vision paired with the reflexes that came with it. If you lacked even one of those two, this method couldn't be used at all. That's why even a professional dance instructor like her took so long to identify the problem, and fixing it wasn't easy either.
It took three months to break the habit. After that, instead of looking at my members on stage, I started looking at the cameras.
And then, completely forgetting about that time, three whole years passed.
Reaction Speed Test
132ms — Top 6%
"......"
The viewers exploded the moment they saw the reaction speed test result I had taken on a whim. Prism, having checked the results himself, spoke to me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"...What do you mean, garbage? I'm not that bad, you know?"
The follow-up donation message hit a sore spot, so I grumbled in response. Prism paid it no mind and continued his explanation.
"......"
The sudden declaration that I was a certified beast made me narrow my eyes at Ali. But before I could teach him some manners, Prism immediately started playing the replay of the first round and continued speaking.
Normal matches didn't pair high-rank players together often. That was why Ali had been able to massacre the people in the weapon warehouse at the start... but even taking that into account, taking out two enemies simultaneously while being flanked was definitely a super play.
"However."
As soon as Prism continued, a bullet hole appeared in my character's head on screen.
Bang!
Physical gifted. The overwhelming physical ability that transcended biological limits, obtained by sacrificing all the other talents one should have been born with. At those words, Ali snorted and added,
"......"
"Ahem... hmm..."
At my continued silence, Prism awkwardly cleared his throat and broke into a cold sweat. The fact that he didn't refute it at all suggested he secretly agreed with Ali's beast declaration.
I glared at the two of them with sharp eyes for a moment as the character assassination continued. Then Prism, with a shameless expression, spoke to me again.
I had a vague idea of what positions were. It was a sort of 'job' you chose before starting the game. And since each position had restrictions on what weapons you could use, players usually picked one that fit their preferred playstyle.
Ali's position is Sweeper, for example.
Sweepers used explosives and heavy weapons to act as Nukers against multiple enemies. The reason he wielded that RPG-7 he called Aladdin's magic lamp was because his position was Sweeper.
Prism continued speaking to me.
There were a few weird parts, but overall they were right. In fact, most of my deaths across the five games came from getting sniped while trying to fight at long range. Most of the close-range deaths were because I failed to spot enemies lying in ambush.
I asked with a trembling voice. Prism answered me with absolute certainty.
At his following words, I stared at him with a dumb expression and asked again.
At the single word 'Hitman,' the chat began to stir. I stuttered as I asked Prism again.
Hitman was famous even within Survival Island for being one of the most difficult positions to control. A close-range dealer that used pistols, SMGs, and shotguns. In RPG terms, it was basically a tank position. But Survival Island wasn't a world of swords and magic—it was a world of lead bullets and fragmentation grenades. In a game like this, tanks were nothing more than easy-to-hit meat sandbags. That's why the operational difficulty of Hitman was considered insane even among pros.
"......"
Prism was right. There were only about two weeks left until the Black & White Survival preliminaries. To raise my skills enough to pass the preliminaries in that short time, the way I'd been playing until now wouldn't cut it.
I can't miss this chance to get a partner streamer contract.
Switching to Hitman was practically a gamble. But I couldn't give up the opportunity to become a partner streamer either. After all, when had anything I'd done up to now not been a gamble? Even if it was the slimmest possibility, if there was even a shred of hope inside it, I had no choice but to grab onto it.
Having made my decision, I told Prism.
Play Hitman. Win the tournament. Become a partner streamer that way, and shatter the platform. That had been my only thought from the beginning.
I would stand on the final podium in third place.