The Moment of a Star
People, as they go through life, will inevitably encounter at least one moment that shines as brightly as a star. A moment when a vague certainty washes over them—that in this particular field, they are better than anyone else in the world.
Being a pro could be described as stepping into an arena where those stars gather to compete over who shines the brightest. A coliseum for madmen who would rather be the tail of a dragon than the head of a snake. In that chaotic battlefield, everyone sets their sights on the impossible goal of becoming "normal" and begins a race with no visible finish line.
And in that world, those who aim to become stars will inevitably encounter them. Beings like black holes that can dim even starlight. The kind of people who, simply by existing beside you, reduce someone like you to a completely insignificant human being.
—What the hell is this player doing?! This is a complete lack of respect for the opponent! He's literally crushing them!
—He won't fall! The Berserker Playmaker refuses to fall!!!
Beyond the monitor screen, a slender man was shown weaving through a storm of light and explosions like some kind of acrobatic performance. His light armor, unsuited for the vanguard position, seemed chosen purely for mobility. Perhaps that was why it felt slightly strange to see him wielding a thin, elongated straight sword instead of the massive greatsword typically associated with a 'Berserker.'
—To counter a Berserker hyper-carry composition, they brought out a triple-caster lineup, and he's dismantling it by simply dodging everything!
It happened the instant the man twisted his upper body just enough to evade the optical ray aimed at his head. A split-second later came the sound of rushing air, followed by the man's face—frozen for the briefest moment and finally captured on screen. At the same time, the commentators' cries of astonishment poured out from the monitor.
—But right now! Right in front of us! This impossible thing is actually happening!
The camera angle was perfectly framed, almost as if it were deliberately looking straight into the broadcast lens. His piercing, deep blue eyes then turned toward the enemies who had closed the distance to just a few steps away.
—This player just saw the Optical Ray coming and—
The screen, which had been spitting out the commentators' passionate voices one after another, vanished with a single click. No matter the class or weapon, the moment a melee dealer closed in on a caster, the match's outcome was obvious. At the pro level, there were no variables left to speak of.
If a movie's dramatic final charge ended with the line, "And so the hero chopped off all the villains' heads," passionate fans would surely send the director prayers for a long and healthy life. But this wasn't a movie. It was a game. A competition where money and glory were on the line.
By now, all that remained was probably the protagonist striking a cool pose for his ceremony and the crowd roaring in ecstasy at the sight.
"He's really something else."
After sending a text to his old friend's number—laden with rather aggressive goodwill to congratulate him on a job well done—the belated silence pressed down on his shoulders so heavily it felt suffocating. Had the commentators' passion been that intense? Had the battle visible beyond the screen been that fierce?
People, as they go through life, will inevitably encounter at least one moment that shines as brightly as a star. A moment when a vague certainty washes over them—that in this particular field, they are better than anyone else in the world.
And in that world, those who aim to become stars will inevitably encounter them. Beings like black holes that can dim even starlight. The kind of people who, simply by existing beside you, reduce someone like you to a completely insignificant human being.
"...Ha."
Just like the opponents who had fought against that monster moments ago, the ones who kneel before such an overwhelming gap yet rise again are the ones who truly become shining stars. His tightly shut eyelids dragged his vision into complete darkness.
His closest friend, the one who had shared that starry moment with him. The friend he'd held hands with and leaped into the madmen's arena, declaring they'd become real stars together. Unfortunately, that friend hadn't become a star—he had become a black hole. The very person who had pushed him forward, saying they would aim for the top together, was the monster who would end his moment of stardom.
The match must be over by now. The MVP was probably him again this time. Between the post-match interview and team feedback, it would likely be quite a while before he even noticed the text. Amid those thoughts, a heavy, sticky, unpleasant emotion that he'd tried so hard to ignore slowly raised its head.
"He's really something else."
Jealousy. An emotion far too filthy for someone who had given up on himself to feel toward someone who had seized victory with his own hands. Why was it that no matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get a grip on it? Every time he watched that guy's matches, he felt this way—yet why did he still make sure to watch every single one?
It was something even he couldn't understand. And he didn't particularly want to think about it too deeply.
"Maybe I should just sleep."
It had been exactly two years since the day they became trainees together. One year since the day he'd watched that guy's figure, broken by his own inadequacy, and stormed out of the practice room. In that time, the person who had been like a black hole to him had become the brightest star in the world, while he had become a loser darker and more wretched than any black hole.
He had decided long ago not to ask himself "How did it come to this?" Every time, it had only ended with him resenting his own half-baked talent and taking it out on his pillow or keyboard. Right now, all he could do was desperately swallow down this boiling sense of helplessness and jealousy, desperately wishing he could fall asleep as quickly as possible.
He carelessly turned off only the monitor's power and threw his exhausted body onto the bed tucked into the corner of his small room. The silence of the night felt unusually heavy and uncomfortable—enough that he briefly considered turning on some random streamer's broadcast just to have noise while he slept.
As his consciousness slowly drifted away, a sudden thought crossed his mind: maybe he would never wake up again.