An Opportunity, Not a Crisis

The *Climb To Glory* series uploaded videos irregularly.

What had started as Episode 00 at the beginning of the season was already on its fourth episode.

Coinciding with this, the IKL Next season was reaching its midpoint, with the first round of the full league drawing to a close.

Perhaps conscious of this timing, the beginning of the video briefly summarized the current state of both the first and second divisions.

In the first division, the top three teams, including SnowWitch, were locked in a fierce battle for the rankings.

Having traded wins and losses with one another, a rock-paper-scissors dynamic had formed.

Meanwhile, in the second division—Yu Nabi's first target—Lee Seul-bi's Blue Serpent was running rampant all on its own.

Every once in a very long while, an apex predator emerges to disrupt the entire league's ecosystem.

The arrival of a rookie blessed with overwhelming talent.

A miraculous surge in teamwork, as if the final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.

Whatever the reason, there are days when the balance of the league is completely shattered.

It wasn't entirely a bad thing.

The rise of a new powerhouse acted as a catalyst.

To secure a win, other teams would restructure their rosters and develop new metas, ultimately raising the overall level of the entire league.

In fact, it was a single Assassin player who had brought an end to the dark ages of the IKL.

Unbeatable in a one-on-one. Yet, investing too many resources to shut down that single Assassin would cause the rest of the game to fall apart.

In the end, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the entire league had to endure brutal, merciless matches until they finally grew accustomed to the monster.

While raising the overall standard was good for everyone... that was only from the perspective of the league as a whole.

For trainees like Yu Nabi, the situation was a bit different.

Roster restructuring.

Just hearing the phrase was enough to send shivers down one's spine.

There was no position more vulnerable to being "restructured" than a trainee with poor results.

"Did you hear the news? Apparently, there are going to be a lot of roster shuffles this season."

"Ah, yes... That's why the atmosphere has been so tense lately."

"I've been hearing rumors about trades in the IKL too. Do you think it'll affect us?"

"Probably. I think that's why everyone is so worried..."

Teams in the league wanted to bolster their strength.

This ultimately meant changes were coming.

And for trainees, changes to the main roster felt like a massive earthquake.

A trainee's life was directly impacted by who the team decided to recruit.

What if you were an aspiring Support, but the team signed a multi-year contract with the league's top Support?

For those years, getting called up to the second division would be a pipe dream, naturally delaying your professional debut.

Of course, it didn't mean the path to becoming a pro gamer was completely blocked.

In such cases, teams usually helped look for transfers to other organizations.

Refusing to call a player up, refusing to let them debut, yet keeping them bound as a trainee was an injustice commonly referred to as "shelving."

Fortunately, SnowWitch was a team that diligently assisted its trainees with transfers.

There was no need to worry about being shelved or having one's path completely blocked.

Even so, where one would end up was entirely up to fate.

While it could lead to a faster debut, it was still a gamble.

"I took a quick look around, and there are already rumors about transfers."

"Yes. After all... a new player might join the first or second division. If that happens, the number of trainees will probably be cut."

"You might be in danger too, Nabi."

"Mmm. Yes. That's why they say this upcoming scrim... is going to be really important."

In times like this, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there was only one thing a trainee could do.

Prove their worth in the internal scrims.

In the end, it all came back to skill.

The team's head coach and coaching staff weren't fools.

Naturally, they would look at their own second division players and trainees before recruiting someone new.

Only when they deemed the current roster insufficient would they decide to sign someone.

Furthermore, Infinity Realm, which featured random rules, allowed for relatively flexible rosters.

They would try their best to hold onto truly exceptional prospects until the very end.

The brief waiting period came to an end.

The coaching staff walked out with grim expressions.

They might have grown fond of the trainees over time, but this was not a world where one could rely on warm sentiments.

Ultimately, every trainee's neck was on the chopping block.

Some would survive, but others would have to leave the team.

"Starting this week, we will be mixing the rosters of the second division players and the trainees for our internal scrims."

"As you all know, the atmosphere around the team has been quite tense lately."

"I won't sugarcoat it. Starting this week, a lot of things will change depending on the results of these scrims."

"I hope you all achieve results you won't regret."

Playing crucial scrims with the second division.

It seemed the trainees weren't the only ones on the chopping block.

While not everyone had been called out, the second division players present did not look pleased.

In the current second division, Lee Seul-bi was running rampant.

Those playing the same Bruiser role must be under immense pressure.

And the eyes of the head coach, Hero, were as sharp and demanding as ever.

Yu Nabi tilted her head slightly.

Behind her pure, innocent face, a competitive spirit flared, and a single thought crossed her mind.

Wait. Isn't this... actually an opportunity, not a crisis?

Quite some time had passed since I was first put into the scrims.

Hero was investing a significant amount of coaching resources into me, and I hadn't let that time go to waste.

I tried to make the absolute most of every opportunity given to me.

As time went on, I noticed something.

SnowWitch's scrims were always conducted with a clear, defined purpose.

They weren't held under the simple assumption of "play a lot and you'll get better." There was always a specific element the coaching staff wanted to observe in each match.

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would be especially true during such a critical period.

Paying a bit more attention made it easier to guess the coaches' intentions.

And in this match, it was quite blatant.

The blacking out of my vision now felt familiar.

When my sight returned, a deep blue ocean stretched out before my eyes.

The salty scent of the sea wafted through the air, and beneath my feet, dark green scales glistened, wet with water.

This place, "Leviathan Drift," was a battlefield set atop the body of a colossal marine creature.

Since the map was a living organism, the battlefield itself was constantly in motion.

As the game progressed, it was common for the creature to dive underwater or for the entire battlefield to tilt violently.

Naturally, the high and low ground shifted constantly with its movements.

In other words, Leviathan Drift was the map with the most variables among those without active environmental hazards.

Yet, the structure of the battlefield itself was extremely simple.

Because the Leviathan took the form of a massive dragon, the battlefield was long vertically and narrow horizontally.

With no side paths in the middle, it naturally created the most traditional layout.

Melee classes would form a front line between the two teams.

Ranged classes would poke at the enemy's health while posturing, leading up to a massive, decisive clash—the most basic form of combat.

In a way, this is going to be a pure test of raw stats and mechanics.

A player's true skill doesn't shine on a completely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flat, predictable battlefield.

During intense combat, unexpected situations are more of a constant than a variable.

A player who only performs well in standard, uneventful games can never receive a high evaluation.

In that sense, the variable in this match was quite straightforward.

No one would be foolish enough not to notice the very ground beneath their feet shifting.

Since the information was given equally to both sides, the team that adapted to and utilized the changing environment faster would claim victory.

On top of that, the team compositions for both sides were the absolute standard.

One Ranged DPS, one Support, one Tank, and one Bruiser.

It was a matchup where it was hard to think of any strategy other than a head-on clash.

My eyes drifted toward our team's Ranged DPS.

While both teams had similar attack ranges, our Ranged DPS was an active pro player from the second division.

Conversely, the second division pro on the opposing team was their Bruiser.

This match was going to be a test designed entirely for me.