The Unstoppable Tank

People are incredibly obsessed with grades, numbers, and rankings. They love to talk about who took first place this time, how the neighbor's daughter got straight A's and got into medical school, or how some guy is raking in cash and making a hundred thousand dollars a month. The casual rumors people throw around don't just end as baseless speculation; they spread, solidifying into a sort of social phenomenon. People prefer visible metrics. Even those who pretend otherwise tend to go wild and cheer louder the higher those numbers and grades climb.

The reasons are manifold. Such metrics are practically synonymous with social status, completely changing how a person is treated. As the grades and numbers rise, the pool of people who achieve them shrinks, lending them an aura of rarity. Because human DNA prioritizes survival above all else, people naturally strive not to lose in any aspect to avoid being left behind. These are all valid points, and they have naturally intensified the competition in our society. We determine who is superior and who is inferior, establishing a hierarchy that separates the winners from the losers. No one wants to be the loser subjected to ridicule. Thus, society becomes a bloody arena.

And right here, there was another microcosm of that society.

The phrase "prove your skills" felt almost like a provocation. Divided into eight distinct tiers from Bronze to Challenger, the ranking system stimulates one's competitive spirit, making players wonder just how high they can climb. Those who reach the highest tiers are met with awe and praise, along with a tacit right to look down on those below them. For a gamer, it was an incredibly enticing proposition—and the exact reason why everyone was so obsessed with their tier. Like most, they confidently believed they could scale the peak. Though reality, as always, ruthlessly shattered their expectations.

Yet, the stream of challengers attempting to scale this towering mountain never ran dry. Today, another spirited challenger had just thrown down the gauntlet.

Placement Matches: a system that evaluates a player's wins, losses, and overall contribution across their first ten ranked games to assign them an appropriate starting tier. In theory, if you successfully swept all ten placement matches, you could place as high as Diamond. This was the highest tier ever achieved during placements, a feat pulled off by a professional gamer, placing them in the top 2% of the server. Diamond. The top 2%. The fifth tier from the bottom. With just ten games, a player could widen the gap between themselves and the rest of the player base right from the starting line.

This was why players hung their lives on their placement results. To the point where some spent every new season praying for a miracle placement run. After all, it was an objective fact that a strong start in placements significantly boosted one's chances of reaching a higher tier. Though skilled players would eventually climb anyway, a poor placement run meant grinding an agonizing number of extra games. Even if they reached the same destination, it would take far longer.

But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠acing your placements was no easy feat. Winning ten normal matches in a row was hard enough, so one could only imagine the difficulty of doing it in ranked. The fact that it was a team game only added to the struggle. It wasn't a game you could win simply by playing well yourself. Even if you performed flawlessly, you could still lose simply because your teammates were lacking.

Furthermore, Asteria's unique matchmaking system was notoriously brutal. The more you won and the higher your tier climbed, the more bizarrely difficult it became to secure a victory. The system would pit you against opponents on massive win streaks who were clearly smurfs, while saddling your team with players so incompetent it was hard to believe they belonged in the same tier. It was a matchmaking system that felt as if a devil were whispering in your ear: "Even now? Can you really win even with this?"

Only those who overcame all these adverse conditions earned the right to climb. In that regard, the viewers' predictions were entirely reasonable. Their consensus was that no matter how skilled Geummisa was, sweeping her placements perfectly would be impossible.

While the debate over Geummisa's placement results raged in real-time, the matches marched on.

Slash! With a clean strike that cleaved her foe, Jeong-ah turned around. As if waiting for that exact moment, someone behind her raised their arms high into the air.

"Geummisa! Geummisa! Geummisa!"

The female warrior, holding a shield as massive as her own body, chanted her alias. At first, she had seemed embarrassed by her lack of contribution, but now she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

The viewers reacted wildly to Han-ah's blatant 'passenger behavior,' but those with a decent understanding of the game acknowledged it in their hearts. They knew she was doing the right thing. Swallowing her pride and picking a tank was the correct play. If she had locked in her main, the archer, it would have only ruined their team composition. With a cracked DPS duo partner who could slice through enemies effortlessly, there was no need for her to try and be the main character. She just needed to balance the comp as a tank, absorb enemy attacks, and pull her own weight. As long as she stood firm and held the line, victory was guaranteed.

As if to prove it, a cheerful trumpet fanfare echoed, and the word VICTORY flashed before their eyes. This winning formula had already held true for three games straight. With their latest win, the Hanya and Geummisa duo smoothly secured a 3-0 record. Judging by the matches so far, it looked incredibly easy. The chat began to buzz with excitement.

As even those who had dismissed Jeong-ah's words as a mere newbie's overconfidence began to react, Han-ah's shoulders, already puffed with pride, practically touched the sky.

"We're invincible! The ultimate placement match duo! A truck? Exactly. We're an unstoppable armada that smashes through everything in our path like a runaway truck—no, wait, is there anything stronger than a truck? ...A tank? A tank is perfect. Yes, we're a tank, a tank!"

"Please calm down," Jeong-ah said.

Taking a moment to catch her breath at Jeong-ah's words, Han-ah's eyes flashed sharply.

"Alright! Let's ride this momentum straight into the next match. Ready, Geum?"

"I'm ready."

"No, no! You're supposed to say, 'Of course, Nya!'"

Amidst the warm, celebratory atmosphere of their consecutive victories, they queued up again. The match popped in a single second.

Scanning the allied and enemy rosters, Han-ah's eyes shook violently.

"Let's run the same comp as last game... Huh?"

Sensing the sudden panic in Han-ah's voice, Jeong-ah asked in confusion, "Why? Is something wrong?"

"N-no. It's just... the enemy team..."

"The enemy team?" At Han-ah's words, Jeong-ah checked the opponent list.

Two usernames explicitly featured Hanya's name. The situation was immediately clear.

"It's stream snipers..."

"They queued at the same time on purpose."

A new enemy had emerged, as if refusing to let things go so smoothly. And they were a formidable squad of stream snipers.