The Rank 1 Marathon

Why? Why on earth?

For what conceivable reason? Why?

"Why are you people suddenly acting so out of character...?"

Sure, my build had seen play in a tournament, but that was no excuse to flip their attitudes like flipping a coin. I couldn't comprehend their motives in the slightest. It had only been a single game. And no matter how massive the prize pool had been, it was still just an exhibition showmatch, not an official sanctioned league.

"What? 'Gotta admit, you play well'?"

I slowly reread the chat message sent by the enemy Watchtower laner—someone I had thoroughly abused and humiliated for the entire match. Wondering if there might be some insidious subtext, I even pronounced the syllables out loud. But feeling not a single spark in my chest, I realized it was completely devoid of sarcasm. It was pure, unadulterated praise.

"Haaah..."

Hollow disappointment drained every ounce of strength from my limbs. If I hadn't raised my expectations, I wouldn't have felt so utterly betrayed. But alas, I had already let my hopes soar. Thump. My back slumped against the chair entirely against my will.

As my slumped posture widened my field of view, the live chat caught my eye.

To make matters worse, even the chat had betrayed me. Where did all the vicious trolls go—the ones snapping at my heels and tearing into me before the match even started?

"Ah..."

Never in my life did I imagine that a simple compliment like "you're good" could feel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so thoroughly detestable. I knew, rationally speaking, that this was how a normal stream was supposed to look. The viewer count had dipped slightly from earlier, but it was still comfortably hovering in the triple digits. A wholesome chat, brimming with viewers purely invested in my gameplay... Truly, it was nothing short of a miracle for a no-mic solo queue broadcast.

"Aaaargh...!"

The only problem was that this miraculous reality was the polar opposite of what I actually craved. The dull ache in my lower abdomen—something I had managed to ignore amidst the morning's dopamine rush—surged back with a vengeance.

"Hah."

Perhaps I simply wasn't built for modern society. Here I was, actively turning my back on a paved road to success, throwing a petulant tantrum over a golden opportunity that had practically dropped into my lap. I knew, of course, that nobody gets to go through life doing only what they love. I knew full well that one has to swallow unpleasant duties without complaint, but...

"...It's so annoying."

Knowing that didn't stop the irritation from boiling over. Part of it might have been the hormonal tempest currently wreaking havoc on my guts, but deep down, I had always been someone ruled by raw impulse. In other words: a total societal misfit.

With nothing happening on the still screen, the viewers carried on banter among themselves. Leaving them like that for a bit wouldn't hurt. For me, coming up with a scheme to overturn ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this unbearable wholesome atmosphere was far more urgent than anything else.

I racked my brain for circumstances where a gaming streamer would draw the maximum amount of hate.

First: Boosting and account sharing. Except this account had climbed all the way to Challenger from Level 30 playing strictly Watchtower Priest. What kind of lunatic would hire an elo booster and force them to play a bespoke off-meta build that nobody else on Earth touched?

"Dismissed."

Then... Hack accusations.

"Could this be the one?"

I slowly straightened up from the backrest and brought both hands to the keyboard.

Having typed that line, I pulled both hands back and clasped them tightly against my chest.

"Please."

This was my last card. Please, frame me as a filthy cheater...

Yet despite my earnest prayers, I had been betrayed once more.

Come on, wasn't this the classic internet cliché? Why was the world denying me the routine witch-hunt? Why did reality have to be so uniquely strict only with me?

"Haaah..."

Tears welled up, forcing me to tilt my head back toward the ceiling. Even while swallowing back the sorrow, my trembling fingers groped across the desk until they collided with my phone.

This was my true, absolute last bastion of hope. The cesspool of Path of Knight, known vulgarly as the Gallery.

Biting down hard on my lower lip, I snatched up the phone and opened the Path of Night Gallery. And there, blazing at the very top of the page, was the grand first post.

That single title was more than enough to snap the fragile tether of my sanity.

"Ah."

They say that once a month, a woman becomes overwhelmingly impulsive. It was in that very moment that I realized both the truth of that statement and the bitter reality of having become a woman.

I was simply too miserable to endure it any longer.

I wanted... to be flamed so badly...

The next day.

I stirred awake as morning sunlight filtered through the window. It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. In other words, a truly perfect day for a kid and a skeleton to have a bad time.

"Urrrgh..."

A good night's sleep seemed to clear my head somewhat. The abdominal cramps had subsided, and the distant chirping of birds slowly reconnected me with reality. But once the morning haze dissipated, I was left with a single, unvarnished ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conclusion.

Following yesterday's fiasco, my stream was well and truly ruined once again.

"...What kind of utter moron behaves like this?"

Naturally, the "utter moron" in question was me. Even by my own standards, ending the stream for such a reason was thoroughly pathetic. It had been pure serendipity—a stroke of godsent fortune stitched together by coincidence. So what if things hadn't gone entirely my way? Did I really have to throw that massive golden ticket right out the window?

"Hah."

A dry scoff escaped my lips. For a rookie broadcaster, entertainment value was paramount, but right behind it was consistency. Streaming every single day at scheduled hours with relentless diligence. Since I ran a no-mic stream, I was already dead in the water in terms of banter, which meant I should have clung to that second virtue with everything I had...

"Hehehehe."

With yesterday, that made two unannounced rage-quits in a row. Counting my stunt in-game, it was a triple bunker rush of self-destruction. If the greatest pro gamers of an era couldn't survive that kind of psychological obliteration, there was no way a washed-up former trainee like me could pull through.

"I'm finished."

The mutter that slipped unbidden from my mouth summed up my predicament with surgical precision. Having spent my entire life doing nothing but playing games, only to run my budding streaming career into the ground, I was left with exactly two options.

Option one: make a drastic life decision and take the plunge. Option two: look for an actual job before it was too late.

To a reasonable person, the choice required no deliberation whatsoever.

"...Let's see here."

I reached for the smartphone sitting on the nightstand. The moment the screen flared to life, a job-hunting app caught my eye. The terrifying application that I had installed right after my body transformed, yet had never dared to tap open...

"......"

My finger hovered for a fraction of a second before swiping straight past it. Naturally, I had settled on Option One: the drastic decision. Even so, I resolved to leave my search history intact as a form of petty vengeance. It would be my merciless retribution against the Korean Path of Knight player base who had so cruelly betrayed me. Let them squirm when they saw the news headline: The Tragic Consequences of Gaming Addiction.

"Heheheh..."

In a state of half-delirium, I tapped aimlessly across the screen. Whether by pure coincidence or ingrained muscle memory, the display flashed blue before settling on an all-too-familiar community website.

Right on the front page, the very first post caught my eye.

"Oh...?"

A glimmer of anticipation stirred. I immediately sat up and began scrolling down the Best Posts board.

"Oho?"

Every single thread was about me. To be completely honest, it didn't give me the same electrifying thrill as before, since this was justifiable anger directed at something I had genuinely messed up. Still... it offered a flicker of hope.

"Hmm..."

No matter how far I scrolled, the threads never ended. It had already been ten hours since I abruptly shut down my stream. How was this topic still raging?

"...Aha."

Reading through the backlog of pages, the pieces fell into place. Peppered between the hit pieces aimed at me, I spotted frequent jabs roasting TG. It seemed the rival fandoms were still locked in a vicious trench war. In other words, they were using me as a scapegoat to deflect the narrative.

"They already despised me to begin with, so..."

To bury yesterday's humiliating defeat, TG's fanbase was deliberately directing all their firepower toward me to change the subject.

"Heh."

When looked at through that lens... wasn't I getting flamed far beyond what I actually deserved?

I let my phone drop onto my lap and turned my gaze toward the window. Outside, it remained... a truly beautiful day.

"Ehehe."

Feeling light on my feet, I sprang out of bed and planted myself in front of the computer desk.

"Haaah..."

Letting out a ragged, breathless gasp, I powered on the PC and logged into the streaming platform. But I didn't hit the "Go Live" button right away. I wasn't so foolish as to believe this sudden surge of euphoric toxicity would last forever... probably?

"Ahem."

In any case, looking at the situation with cold, objective rationality, my stream's ruin was already a foregone conclusion. Judging by community sentiment, going live right now might pull in as many viewers as yesterday, but they wouldn't be genuine followers—just Gallery degenerates scavenging for their next hit of drama and dopamine. Fleeting tourists, in other words.

To revive a channel doomed to wither away, there was only one foolproof trump card.

"A face cam... is out of the question."

As for a microphone, I could turn it on if push came to shove, but that required serious deliberation. Above all, I had zero confidence in suppressing the ragged, perverted gasps that involuntarily escaped my lips whenever the game got intense.

"Let's hold off on that for now."

It was a guaranteed hit whenever I decided to use it anyway. Once I grew more accustomed to this body and felt less awkward interacting with people, it wouldn't be too late to turn it on.

"Whew..."

After agonizing over it for a long while, I finally dragged the cursor over and clicked the "Start Stream" button.

The title: [Rank 1 Marathon: Streaming Until I Hit #1].

That was my resolution. Since overthinking yielded no answers, I chose to brute-force my way through. Trying something was better than doing nothing at all.

The stream went live, followed by a brief moment of quiet.

Before long, the chat window began coming to life. Despite my disastrous broadcasting schedule, three grateful followers showed up.

And alongside them arrived a pack of hyenas hunting for drama.

Swallowing dryly at the sight, I slowly tapped on the keys.

Given my current ladder position... winning about twenty straight games should just about do it.