Surely We Won't Meet Again?

The final game of the morning ended in victory.

After taking down my opponent without much trouble, I pressured their backline. This gave my team's main force some breathing room, naturally leading to a favorable outcome.

As soon as I returned to the lobby, a system message popped up. Reading the contents, I couldn't help but clench my fists.

"A friend? Me, getting a friend?"

Yu Garam. Zero friends until his death at the age of eighteen.

Yu Nabi. Same age, currently living a friendless life.

Combining the memories of both, I had spent a grand total of thirty-six years without a single friend.

And now, a message saying 'Friend Request' had finally appeared before me. Even if it was just in a game, this could be a major turning point in my life.

But perhaps I had let my expectations swell too much. I quickly remembered where I had seen the username Hanul before.

He's the Berserker I just killed.

My excitement instantly evaporated. Instead, a cold sweat broke out down my spine. Had I made an enemy?

Did he realize I was teasing him at the end? If so, this friend request definitely wasn't sent with good intentions.

Of course, what did I expect? It's ridiculous to think I'd make friends when I haven't even spoken a word to anyone in the first place. Even if I did make a friend, I'd probably just stutter and make a fool of myself, and they'd dump me immediately, so it's better to just...

Whoops. What was I thinking? I barely managed to pull myself out of the downward spiral of self-deprecation.

Pat, pat. I slapped my cheeks twice. This was the problem with introverts like me. Nothing had even happened yet, but my thoughts were already spiraling into negativity.

People didn't care about me as much as I thought. So, there was no need to be scared. I just needed to focus on doing my job.

I had to consciously force myself to think this way to avoid bringing about the worst-case scenario. Maybe being a bit shameless was the way to go.

What's he going to do about it? Surely we won't meet again anyway. I'm hungry, so let's go grab some food first.

Another name for social phobia is social anxiety disorder. A type of mental illness characterized by an excessive fear of being scrutinized or criticized by others.

Though the medical definition was complex, in my case, it could be summed up in one phrase: terrible shyness.

Whenever a stranger spoke to me, my mind went completely blank. Their gaze terrified me, goosebumps broke out across my back, and my body froze. It felt as if fear had been hardwired into my genes, like a rabbit facing a tiger.

The key point was that what I feared wasn't "communication," but "people." As long as my face wasn't exposed and I couldn't see others, I was fine.

In short, as long as I could hide behind anonymity, my social anxiety didn't plague me. For instance, I could browse online communities without any issue. Back when I was paralyzed, I didn't bother because typing was too hard, but now all ten of my fingers moved perfectly.

Even so, I didn't live my life glued to the screen. I just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clicked on interesting posts occasionally and showed off the food I ate. If I had time to spend on forums, I preferred watching pro ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠players' streams.

So, I usually didn't care about what went on in online communities. That is, until recently.

The class selection screen for a ranked game, just like any other day. As soon as the screen transitioned, my teammates flooded the chat. I squeezed my eyes shut. I was in trouble. It was only the first game, and I was already exhausted.

Since my victory at the Graveyard of Shipwrecks a few days ago, I had unwillingly become a celebrity. It was all because of that streamer, Hanul.

He was already quite popular, and the video of our match had become a massive hit. On top of that, people kept talking about it on various forums, so more and more people started recognizing me.

Rejecting his friend request at the end seemed to be the deciding factor. Hanul became genuinely curious about me, and with his viewers joining in, the situation snowballed.

The way I avoided eye contact when he suddenly tried to look at me, the tongue-sticking-out gesture at the end, and the block that followed—all of it was broadcasted, earning me the nickname "Shy Berserker."

My build was even starting to spread through word of mouth among Berserker players. I didn't completely hate it. The reactions were more endearing than negative.

Objectively speaking, it wasn't a bad thing for me. Higher public attention meant a higher chance of catching the eye of pro team scouts. If I kept performing well, opportunities would open up.

I wasn't unaware of this. But that didn't make it any less of an ordeal.

I typed with trembling hands. I kept making typos like "Tahnk yuo" or "Thnak you," and struggled to correct them. I was achieving the miraculous feat of stuttering even through text chat.

Still, at least I could fix my typos in the game. It was better than actually saying, "Th-th-thank y-you..." out loud.

Fortunately, the chat ended there. The teammates focused on preparing for the game, and no further attention was directed my way. I let out a deep sigh of relief. I appreciated the sentiment, but I really wished they wouldn't talk to me.

Did they not see my username? Every time someone called my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name, my heart pounded so hard that I lost all concentration. Honestly, when I first started playing, about fifty percent of my deaths were caused by my teammates' chats.

In any case, the game was my only refuge now. Once the battle started and I couldn't think of anything else, it would get better.

But the moment I entered the battlefield, I couldn't believe my eyes. In the swamp shrouded in a dark curse, Hanul, who had spotted me from the opposite side, waved his hand in greeting.

For ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠some reason, he was acting incredibly friendly. Hanul was shouting something at the top of his lungs, though I couldn't hear him since he was blocked. He was even using active body language.

After a series of overwhelming extrovert moves, he even went as far as mimicking my tongue-sticking-out gesture. Seeing a muscular man stick his tongue out at me completely bleached my mind blank.

The battle? It was a disaster, of course. I couldn't do a single thing. My angry teammates asked if I was throwing on purpose. It was a fair complaint, but it did nothing to help me regain my composure. We lost miserably.