Read Them, and It's Over

From there, he went on a ten-win streak.

Challenger. Grandmaster. Master. It didn't matter who queued up against him. The result was always the same.

Every time the victory fanfare blared across the screen, the chat detonated. Concurrent viewers smashed through seventy thousand — the highest number Ha Ije's channel had ever seen.

What really set the chat on fire, though, was Geum Hyuk's playstyle. It was nothing like a typical fighting-game player.

Most players memorized combos and applied them to the situation at hand — follow the prescribed route. Situation A called for Combo B; Situation C called for Combo D. Learn the patterns, repeat them. That was orthodox fighting-game theory.

Geum Hyuk didn't play that way.

He read his opponent's movement and answered it in real time. He wasn't running a combo route — he was predicting the other player's options and improvising the optimal response, the way a Go player reads several moves ahead.

Like he was boxing for real.

Obviously.

Lee Woojin smiled to himself. He had poured thirty thousand hours into Fighter of Legend. He had memorized the patterns of all one hundred forty-eight characters, analyzed every matchup, and researched every answer. Frame data committed to memory. Combo routes burned into his hands. The optimal solution for every situation filed away in his head.

Iron Fist ran on almost the exact same system. The character names were different, but the technique architecture was startlingly identical. They had either built it with Fighter of Legend as a reference, or they were running on the same fighting-game engine.

I'm the strongest here, too.

Geum Hyuk's signature swagger surged up from somewhere inside him.

The eleventh match queued.

The other player's info popped onto the screen.

Ha Ije looked tense. The camera caught the faint tremor in her fingertips.

"Hyuk, Kingslayer's a really big name. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

Geum Hyuk's answer was the same as always — calm, and somewhere underneath, pleased.

Kingslayer's Valkyrie moved.

An MMA character — a complete all-rounder who could strike and grapple in equal measure. The design was a female fighter, all dense, compact muscle and a short crop of hair that gave her a sharp, predatory look.

A generalist.

Lee Woojin ran the analysis. One of the nastiest types you could draw. A style that flipped freely between striking and grappling to shatter the opponent's reads. Fight them at one range and they switched to another; shut that down and they offered you a third option. A hard type to pin down.

But there was a weakness, too.

All-rounders are mediocre compared to specialists. They can fight at any range — which means they aren't the best at any range.

A boxer's distance. The exquisite pocket where punches landed and kicks didn't. Hold that range, and he would win.

Kingslayer closed in, probing with low kicks. Careful movement. You could feel him treating a ten-win streak like a threat.

Then, suddenly — a level change.

Takedown!

The tackle shot in, dropping for the legs. A textbook double-leg: upper body folding, both arms reaching to wrap the thighs.

I already read it.

Geum Hyuk's knees bent a fraction, and his entire body compressed like a coiled spring.

Then he exploded.

An uppercut that erupted from the floor.

Like a tomahawk tearing itself out of the earth, the force began in the balls of his feet and ripped upward through calf, thigh, hip, and waist, riding the shoulder all the way to the end of his right fist — every ounce of that energy condensed and detonating on a vertical line.

The opponent's chin, dropped for the tackle. A single blow rising into that vital point from below.

BOOOOM!

Kingslayer's character flew backward. The body flipped as if it had been caught by an axe blade and bounced across the canvas. The takedown attempt had been countered perfectly.

You could feel Kingslayer rattle.

A takedown attempt was a fast animation. Level-change, then instantly in on the legs. Against a normal player, it was a technique you ate before you even had time to react.

Landing a counter in that sliver of time meant—

He read the movement completely.

Wariness spiked to the maximum. The look in Kingslayer's eyes changed.

He switched stances. Converted to a striking-first game, using his reach advantage to out-fight from the outside. Grappling was too dangerous now — that was the read.

Geum Hyuk had no intention of letting him have it.

He ducked under Valkyrie's jab on the exact timing it came in and stepped into the pocket — the range where a boxer was strongest, one punch away.

Body. Uppercut. Hook.

A three-hit combination detonated.

Thud! BOOM! Crack!

Kingslayer's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠character staggered. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The health gauge plunged.

This bastard...!

Shock rolled through him. He was losing the striking exchange, too. His reach was clearly longer, and he was still losing the distance fight. Valkyrie's long limbs had been rendered useless.

His range control is insane. Like a real boxer...

That was when it clicked.

This kid didn't see the game as a game. He was reading his opponent the way you read someone in a real fight. He wasn't pressing buttons. He was throwing actual punches.

Round one ended.

Round two.

Kingslayer clenched his teeth.

I don't want to admit it... but this kid is strong.

He dragged up the instincts from his pro days. That focus from tournament finals. That edge. He brought it all back.

Concentrate.

He watched every movement. The rhythm of the footwork, the angle of the arms, the direction of the eyes. The split-second the shoulder turned a fraction. The instant weight loaded into the ball of a foot.

He tried to break down the patterns.

This kid's still human. There has to be a pattern.

It wouldn't read.

There was no pattern in Geum Hyuk's movement.

More precisely — it wasn't that there was no pattern. It was that the pattern was rewriting itself in real time to match the opponent's. Like water taking the shape of whatever vessel held it, he was improvising the optimal answer to whatever choice the other player made.

This is...

Kingslayer understood.

I can't win.

Round two, one minute forty-seven seconds.

Geum Hyuk's counter uppercut drove clean through Valkyrie's chin. A perfect trajectory rising from below — a single blow that, even in a game, carried the distilled essence of a technique honed in real fights.

Match over.

The chat detonated. Concurrent viewers smashed through one hundred thousand, and the number was still climbing.

That was when it happened.

A donation popup exploded onto the screen in a shower of effects.

"......?!"

Ha Ije's eyes went wide.

Ten million won?

The chat froze with her.

The donation message appeared.

".........."

Ha Ije's expression stiffened in a subtle, complicated way. The camera caught her smile freezing in place.

Geum Hyuk pulled off the VR gear and looked at the screen.

"......A donation?"

"Y-yeah...... ten million won."

Ha Ije laughed awkwardly. Her eyes weren't laughing with her.

Geum Hyuk read the donation message.

A collab request. A famous girl streamer.

.......

Lee Woojin's brain spun fast. He'd caught the slight darkening of Ha Ije's face — the corners of her mouth dropping, something complicated flickering through her eyes.

Ha Ije was a streamer. Of course she would know people in the same industry. Who StarlightPrincess was. And why someone like that would drop ten million won to ask Geum Hyuk for a collab.

Hmm.......

Geum Hyuk opened his mouth.

"Sorry."

He looked straight into the camera. There was something unyielding in those gold eyes.

The indifference of a man shooing off a salesman.

Geum Hyuk added one more thing.

"Besides. I've already got someone I stream with."

He glanced sideways at Ha Ije sitting next to him. For a moment, those beast-like eyes went soft.

Ha Ije's face went red in an instant. The flush climbed all the way to her ears.

"Wh— wha......?!"

The words wouldn't come out. Her mouth just opened and closed.

Geum Hyuk pulled the VR gear back on as he spoke.

"Alright. Next match."

"Ah— y-yeah...!"

Ha Ije scrambled to pull herself together. The professional instinct to keep the stream moving finally kicked in.

But there was no hiding the red that had climbed all the way to her ears. Her heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Stream over.

Geum Hyuk's record: fifteen wins, zero losses. Challenger number one. Grandmaster number one. Upper Master ranks. He had swept every opponent they threw at him.

The broadcast highlights were clipped and uploaded in real time.

Views smashed through a million in an hour. The comment section lost its mind.

The last interview, in particular, went nuclear.

Near the end of the stream, Ha Ije had asked him:

"Hyuk, this is your first time playing. How are you this good?"

Geum Hyuk grinned. A beast's smile hooked itself at the corner of his mouth.

"Kyakya."

Ah, shit. Here it comes.

Lee Woojin's reason screamed, but it was already too late. Geum Hyuk's ego had taken the wheel.

"Games are the same as boxing."

Geum Hyuk looked straight into the camera. Under the lights, those gold eyes shone like a predator's.

The video spread through the night, riding social media all the way around the world.

The next morning, the portal site's real-time search rankings:

The name Geum Hyuk shook the entire country once again.