The Rising Super Rookie Streamer (1)

But I couldn't see him anywhere. He was probably watching me from somewhere far off.

Still, dealing with a rain of grenades is simple enough. You just smash every last one of them before they can hit the ground in front of you.

I drove a fist into empty air, and a mass of energy launched from my knuckles and shot forward. A heartbeat later it collided with a grenade overhead and blew it apart. I'd even cleaned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up the shrapnel perfectly, so I hadn't taken a single point of damage. If nothing else, I hoped this would kill the stereotype that a Fighter has no choice but to dive into an opponent's arms to land a hit.

Grenades were still pouring down like a storm, but I decided to spare a glance for chat.

A few of them had caught on—that a punch thrown into empty air had sent a translucent energy bullet flying. It was a technique that loosed a round the size of a fist with every swing, the skill commonly known as One Fist, One Bullet.

Buoyed by the viewers' reactions, I started swinging at a speed the eye could barely follow, determined to show them just how great the technique was. More explosions answered me. Boom. Boom. Boom. The blasts came scattered at first, then rang out every half second, and once the last grenade was gone, black fireworks hung in the sky. A perfect clear. Anyone watching would have to agree it was far more efficient than dodging.

Now I ought to explain why I'd met them head-on instead of slipping aside.

"An attack that ruthless is meant to herd your movement. In other words, they were trying to make me crawl into the trap of my own accord."

I laid it out kindly. People grasp these things much more easily when you spell them out, and I didn't want the viewers deciding the Fighter was some impossibly difficult class.

More importantly, where had those grenades come from? From what I'd just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seen, they hadn't arced in on a parabola. They'd dropped straight down. I tipped my head back and found machines glittering high overhead.

"Aircraft...? Hmm, looking closer, I don't think there's anyone inside... So they're unmanned?"

I phrased it as a question because, for unmanned aircraft, they looked a little small. I knew drones had been used back in the World War, but had they really been that tiny? Even accounting for how high they were flying, they seemed awfully little...

Drones, of all things. Back when I was living in South Korea, piloting them at that level had been impossible. I'd managed, somehow, to accept virtual-reality games, but had real-world military technology advanced this far too? Either way, this was no time to stand around gawking. I needed to destroy those drones before they could attack again, so I kicked off the ground and ran straight up into the sky toward them.

Oh, for the record, this was the same technique I'd used when I went to save Hyeeun from that stalker. You treat the air above the ground as a staircase and plant your feet, without hesitation, along a path no one else can see. That's the whole principle, which is why anyone who isn't a seasoned Fighter like me would have a hard time using it cleanly.

The moment I'd closed in on the dozens of drones hovering overhead—

"Hmm, I wonder where they launched these from? Either way, it means they aren't far, right? I can't wait to see your face~."

—I smashed their propellers and sent every last one crashing down, sweet little line and all. I hoped the viewers could feel how badly I wanted to meet Soldier, even a second sooner. And I hoped the man I suspected was hiding near the rocky mountain could feel it too. Pleased with that thought, I sprinted through the air in the opposite direction from where the drones had been facing.

Then a distinctly ominous chat flooded in.

Done—short for donation. I'd heard it was a lot like the moon balloons from the era I knew. Ten moon balloons used to run about a dollar; a donation was literally firing cash at someone. I'd picked that up while researching how viewers and streamers talk to each other. I just never thought anyone would react like that because I'd closed them. From where I stood, turning donations off while I streamed was the obvious thing to do.

"Um... I'm grateful when you donate, really, but I have to turn them off while I'm playing. I can't let the flow get broken, you know?"

A line I'd prepared in advance. Put simply, that distinctive donation-alert voice got on my nerves. Imagine the ding from the last time someone tipped me going off in the middle of a match. Back then the fight was already over, so it hadn't mattered. This time was different. Even with my ambition to earn money and repay Hyeeun, I'd agonized over it and chosen to protect my pride as a Fighter. Chat notifications you can just mute. Donation alerts, you can't. I hoped the viewers would understand, even a little...

Huh. That was a thing? I'd only been thinking I had to shut donations off no matter what. I never imagined there was a feature that turned them off automatically the moment a fight began. Set it once, and I wouldn't have to keep toggling them on and off like a nuisance. Being called out for not knowing the new technology left me embarrassed enough that I cleared my throat, lightly. This is pretty mortifying...

Anyway, I opened the settings menu and changed them exactly as the viewers had said. I kept streaming at an easy pace as I flew, and before long the rocky mountain was right in front of me. I touched down softly so I could get a look at the ground first.

"Where are you~? I'm completely defenseless right now, so hurry up and show me something, okay?"

I taunted him because I was certain he was here. A land mine sat half-exposed nearby, which was enough for me to finish the thought: he was close enough to hear my voice. Whether the provocation worked or not, the chatter of automatic rifles started up a moment later.

"Whoa... Judging by the bullets coming in, that's not just one or two guns, is it? Shooting with nobody behind them again..."

I meant it literally. Rounds were flying in from every direction—more precisely, from around the handful of trees that were actually there. But they didn't seem to be tracking a real target. They were only firing along fixed lines, which meant I wasn't what those guns were aiming at. Suspicious, I slipped the bullets whose paths actually came my way and studied the rest of it closely.

Guns firing in set directions... Then he has to be somewhere those guns aren't shooting.

I'd figured the whole thing out. He probably never imagined that a setup meant to scramble me would be read backward instead. Not that his tactics were bad. Anyone who wasn't used to a real fight would have had the soul startled clean out of them by bullets whipping this way and that. I can say with certainty it would have worked, if his opponent hadn't been me—a Fighter of the Heavenly Realm.

Analysis finished, I charged toward the one stretch the bullets weren't covering. A light hop told me there was a slight rise underfoot, and one step down a space almost like a stair brought Soldier into view, not far off at all, prone in combat fatigues. The moment our eyes met, he started to scramble up. Seeing that—

"The first strike is mine, though?"

—I stamped the ground with my right foot mid-sprint and shook the earth. He toppled with a heavy thud. I didn't stop there. This time I lifted my foot high and drove it down again, and he bounced into the air like he'd just hit a trampoline, stuck in an awkward half-crouch. I was already on him. A straight punch slammed into his chest.

A crack like breaking bone rang out, and he flew in a dead-straight line. He sailed for a good long while before slamming into the rocky mountain a short distance away.

"How about that? Impressive, right? If you've got sharp judgment for reading a situation, you viewers can do it too."

I hadn't forgotten to advertise the Fighter, either. The whole point of my stream was to give toxic smurfs a proper lesson, and to turn people's eyes toward the class. That one line left chat on the verge of blowing apart.