Something's Wrong with the Damage

Every time the Leviathan shifted, the world trembled slightly.

Occasionally, seawater splashed up violently.

The salty sea breeze swept down my windpipe and filled my lungs.

I pressed my feet firmly against the swaying ground as I moved forward.

There were no distinct structures atop the Leviathan's massive body.

However, the environment wasn't completely devoid of cover.

Abnormally grown scales jutted out like wings, meaning I had to scan my surroundings meticulously.

As we advanced, I took the right side of the frontline.

Our team's tank took the left.

I can do this. I... can do this. If I just fight calmly, I'll win.

I calmed my mind as I moved, almost hypnotizing myself.

My vision, which had narrowed from tension, seemed to expand again.

My thoughts grew cold and analytical as I reviewed the situation.

My gaze first landed on our team's tank player.

Even among the trainees, I was exceptionally unsociable.

They say many pro gamers are introverted, but in my case, it went far beyond a simple personality trait.

Hardly anyone ever approached me to talk first, so I still didn't have a single person I could call a friend.

But memories forged in battle are far more intense than ordinary encounters.

By now, I could tell who was who just by looking at their silhouettes.

Naturally, I had also memorized their individual playstyles and skill levels.

Our team's tank, "Endure," had a very solid playstyle.

Although he lacked the power to apply aggressive pressure, his defensive capabilities were arguably the best among the trainees.

Since he had chosen the Dragon Knight class, which possessed high stopping power, he would serve as a reliable wall on the battlefield.

With our team possessing a solid shield, I had to become the sword.

In our previous scrims, Endure and I had a remarkably high win rate.

We had never actually spoken to each other, but our coordination was surprisingly good.

It was a strange relationship—like the middle-aged men you always run into at the gym, where there's zero communication but a weird sense of familiarity.

Anyway, being able to trust my teammate meant I could direct my focus elsewhere.

Endure's perimeter scanning had even been praised by Hero as excellent.

In that case, I could afford to use my focus a bit more aggressively.

Further away.

Something caught my eye at the very edge of my field of vision.

I raised a clenched fist, signaling my team to stop.

In this match, the enemy team's bruiser had chosen the Monk class.

The enemy had a sensory amplification passive, and the distance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠between us was already short.

If we spoke carelessly, our intentions would be exposed immediately.

Therefore, communication in this match had to be done primarily through hand signals.

Any spoken words were reserved only for information we didn't mind the enemy overhearing.

The advantage of hand signals was that they made no sound.

The disadvantage was that conveying complex ideas was difficult, and communication itself was highly restricted.

However, sharing the enemy's location and proposing an initiation wasn't particularly difficult.

Actually... I think I might prefer this?

Is not having to speak really this great?

I don't even have to look at their faces, just their hands!

I wish the enemy team had a Monk every single day.

We had detected the enemy's position first.

In situations like this, a surprise attack was always the most effective strategy.

Surprisingly, Assassins and Bruisers shared many commonalities.

Both relied heavily on exploiting the enemy's vision, and both were exceptionally strong when launching a surprise attack.

A Bruiser suddenly appearing at point-blank range had the power to completely shatter the flow of a team fight.

However, the situation didn't favor us this time.

This battlefield had relatively few visual obstructions.

On the other hand, a Berserker's stealth and infiltration capabilities were virtually non-existent.

I mapped out several routes in my head, but none of them felt viable.

Ultimately, our team's choice was to initiate first and seize the upper hand.

Timed with the Wind Mage's casting, the Enchanter's staff began to glow.

A biting chill clung to the razor-sharp wind.

The sweeping storm swept across the wide area, leaving a deep, icy frost that seized the battlefield.

Meanwhile, Endure and I didn't just stand by.

The moment the skills were cast, the battle had effectively begun.

As Endure charged forward with his shield raised, I followed closely behind, keeping a slight distance.

The enemy tank hurriedly rushed out to meet us.

Nachal, an active pro gamer in SnowWitch's second division, was in a foul mood.

Yes, he admitted it honestly.

It was true that he had been underperforming lately.

The voices praising him as a rising star had quietly vanished, and frankly, his mindset wasn't what it used to be.

He had already guessed that getting called up to the first division would be difficult at this rate.

Whether it was the head coach or the assistant coaches, they were just too demanding.

They didn't criticize him directly, but he wasn't blind.

He had realized long ago that the coaching staff's expectations of him had faded.

But still.

No matter how bad things were.

How dare they match me with these wet-behind-the-ears kids?

Unless he was an idiot, he knew exactly what was going on.

What else could it mean to insert "some" of the second division players among the trainees at a time like this?

The coaches were practically forcing them into a competition for starting spots.

As if the situation wasn't annoying enough, the name Yu Nabi made him even more uncomfortable.

This scrim was blatantly obvious.

They had created mirror teams as if to weigh him against her, placing Yu Nabi on the opposing side.

If he showed even a hint of struggling, he might be benched immediately.

Moreover, Hero was clearly showing favoritism toward Yu Nabi.

When Nachal first joined the team, Hero had taken charge of his coaching one-on-one.

Although they said it was only temporary, such arrangements naturally shifted depending on the situation.

With his rapidly improving skills, his confidence had soared to the heavens.

But it only lasted a week.

As soon as another coach arrived, Hero handed Nachal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off to them.

Since then, she hadn't spoken a word to him unless it was strictly necessary.

He could understand that.

She was the head coach dedicated solely to the first division.

He knew the weight of her name, so he simply assumed he was still lacking.

But then, what about that bitch?

Why was Hero going so far for a trainee who had just joined, let alone someone not even in the first division?

What was the difference between her and him that made Hero dump even the first division players onto Phantom?

I'm better. Objectively, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I have the skills to aim for a starting spot even in a lower-tier team in the first division.

Through Nachal's eyes, he couldn't see any difference.

The only thing he could perceive was the gap in mechanical skill, which was his specialty.

So, he had no choice but to reach a conclusion that comforted him.

It's obvious. Isn't it just because she has a pretty face?

SnowWitch had truly hit rock bottom.

To drag some amateur into this industry just because they needed a pretty face for marketing.

On top of that, forcing a competition for starting spots showed that the management's judgment was completely rotten.

Well, whatever.

What's done was done.

It was better to show them with his play rather than grumble internally.

He clenched his fists tightly.

Before Lee Seul-bi appeared, he was a well-known Bruiser in the second division.

He just had to prove that he wasn't at a level to be pushed around by some mere trainee.

Along with the Wind Mage's skill, the enemy advanced.

The opponents had made the first move, but striking first didn't guarantee victory.

As he closed his eyes, all sorts of footsteps flooded his amplified hearing.

The sound he needed to find was a particularly light, soft pattering.

Considering the weight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠distribution of a female body, it wasn't hard to distinguish.

Is she entering almost glued to the tank?

This might end easier than I thought.

This was why amateurs were hopeless.

Initiating first meant their team's positioning was heavily skewed forward.

While attention was drawn to the tank, Nachal quietly slipped out to the flank.

If he could counter-attack the enemy's ranged dealer like this, it would be the best-case scenario.

Even if he got intercepted midway, he could force a numbers disadvantage or engage in a one-on-one with an isolated enemy.

Well, it seemed she wasn't a complete fool, though.

Yu Nabi, whom he expected to charge forward blindly, suddenly changed direction.

She rushed over and blocked his path.

"Your field of vision is wider than I thought," Nachal sneered.

"..."

"Hey. I'm still your senior, you know. How about an answer?"

"..."

Rude bitch.

She really found every possible way to get on his nerves.

Instead of answering, she launched an attack without a word.

It was incredibly simple, exactly the kind of brute-force style he expected.

Nachal lightly parried the side of the axe blade, attempting to deflect the strike.

Or rather, that was what he intended to do.

...Why isn't the trajectory changing?

Blood splattered from his body as he hastily retreated.

Checking his health bar, Nachal's face twisted in shock.

"What the fuck?"

Something was wrong with the damage.

Is this a bug?