Black Beetle (8)
“What kind of person is he? I looked him up online, but there wasn’t much information. Other than the fact that he used to be with Team Academy.”
Sitting in the lounge near the entrance, I could naturally see people heading deeper inside. Phone in hand, I watched an unfamiliar face that looked to be no older than a high school student disappear into the back and asked the coach beside me.
At any rate, that had to be the rookie I’d just heard about—the former Team Academy trainee who’d come looking to sign with the team.
“Im Chan-gyu. He’s a talented kid. Aggressive playstyle, solid mechanics. More than anything, he’s confident. Doesn’t get nervous, either.”
The coach praised his own disciple without hesitation. But I still couldn’t tell whether that was an objective assessment from a coach or just the generous gloss of a mentor covering for one of his own. I hadn’t played a game against him yet.
...He’s ambitious.
Still, the moment I saw him, I felt something. I wasn’t sure whether it had been instinct or just my imagination, something that had flashed through my mind in an instant.
I had a feeling I’d only know for sure once I met him face-to-face.
“It’s done, they say? Let’s go! We should greet him! He’s one of us now.”
Not even thirty minutes later, the coach—having taken a call—came to fetch me with an oddly excited expression.
As expected, the contract with the other team member, Im Chan-gyu, had gone through without a hitch. From now on, he and I were on the same team. At least for the next year, we’d share the same dorm, lose together, and win together.
“There shouldn’t be any connection between the two of them, right? One came up from the academy, and the other was recruited from outside.”
Head coach Park Yong-bin made an obvious effort to brighten the mood and even treated us to dinner. In the middle of what had somehow turned into a welcome meal, I made eye contact with Im Chan-gyu for the first time.
I knew nothing about this rookie, and he knew nothing about me, either—the former second-league nobody. There was no private connection between us, no mutual acquaintance to bridge the gap.
“Hello.”
“Nice to meet you.”
We exchanged awkward greetings. Even when both people had experience on a team, it was always awkward at a moment like this.
“...You can talk casually if you want. You’re eight years older than me.”
“Sure.”
Following the suggestion he’d made first, I dropped the formalities. But the way he spoke to me was stiff somehow, almost frozen. On the surface, though, it just looked like he was shy and uncomfortable around strangers.
Either way, he was still a high school student sitting among adults.
Hostility, or maybe strong resentment.
But in that instant, I somehow read a fierce emotion directed at me in his eyes.
It didn’t feel like my imagination. It was almost enough to make me think I was looking at one of the choices that had been appearing in text lately.
It could have been a side effect of being so deeply immersed in Pandemonium. Nothing like this had ever happened before.
“The other three will have their contracts finished within the week, too. The announcement will go out starting that day, so let’s all stick together and bring back the best results we can.”
That said, I failed to glean anything more from studying Im Chan-gyu. Under the lead of head coach Park Yong-bin, the atmosphere—full of hope and talk of passion—grew warmer and warmer, no matter what a few people were feeling inside.
“Hajin, do you smoke by any chance?”
“I quit. Right after I was discharged.”
“Ah. Then give us a minute.”
And after dinner was over and we stepped outside the restaurant...
Park Yong-bin and several of the coaching staff excused themselves to smoke. Which left just me and Im Chan-gyu standing alone in front of the restaurant.
There was no reason to let the opportunity go to waste. I turned to him at once.
“If you’ve got something you want to say, go ahead.”
“...Huh?”
“If there’s any misunderstanding, it’s better to clear it up one way or another. Otherwise the team falls apart.”
I didn’t beat around the bush. I trusted my instincts. Im Chan-gyu flinched, then looked startled, his eyes widening before he averted them.
“If the team falls apart, we can’t win.”
“And if it doesn’t fall apart, we can?”
In the end, he revealed what he really thought. He even gave a crooked laugh, as if he’d already decided to throw caution to the wind.
“Do you not even check the internet? Don’t you know what people are saying?”
He sounded almost offended that I didn’t understand, and when he started talking about what was happening online, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I’d spent so much time lately immersed in Pandemonium and ranked games that I barely knew what was going on in the world anymore.
“Our team’s already getting absolutely roasted. Word got out that we let all the famous players leave and filled the roster with rookies. If we want to prove ourselves, we need good results. We need to win.”
He let out a bitter laugh and pointed at me. I stared at the gesture, blankly.
“Can you win, hyung? Against the players in first division—the ones from the first-place team all the way down to the tenth-place team? Against the players in your position, who are considered the best in the world?”
And then Im Chan-gyu’s intent became perfectly clear. What he was doubting was me. He was asking whether I, a failed player who had never even played in first division, could stand against the domestic league’s players—people said to be the strongest in the world across all leagues.
***
This is completely screwed.
When he first heard the news, Im Chan-gyu had been full of the bold ambition to show his skills to even more people on a bigger stage. Instead, he lost every last bit of the joy he’d felt at finally making his debut and sank into despair.
Blaming others was taboo for professionals. Im Chan-gyu knew that. But no one could deny that synergy between teammates was the most important thing in a team game like Redfield.
With that common sense in mind, Lee Hajin, a twenty-six-year-old second-league player, was absolutely not someone he wanted as a teammate.
And that was true even though he knew nothing about what kind of person Hajin actually was. In the end, pro gaming was judged by results alone.
I screwed up.
When he was unexpectedly caught in the middle of his own thoughts and pressed, then finally couldn’t hold back his emotions and blurted out what he really thought...
His heart sank at the realization that he’d done something awful, but at the same time, his resentment only grew stronger. It was the backlash from having been filled so completely with fiery passion and brilliant hope; the more those things had been trampled, the harder the recoil.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Huh?”
After standing quietly for a moment, he finally spoke. Im Chan-gyu, bracing himself for an outburst, was taken aback instead by Hajin’s unblinking response.
“The people we have to face are all monsters. The old me couldn’t even dream of challenging them.”
“The old...? Then can you win now?”
“That’s not what matters. What matters is this—what is it?”
As he spoke, he took one step closer. Im Chan-gyu instinctively felt fear from him and backed away. Part of it was simply that Hajin was tall, but the strange atmosphere around him was something a normal high school student would never have experienced before.
“E-Er, practice and talent? Heart?”
“None of that can come first. You’re similar to me. You’ve got something you want.”
He shook his head. Im Chan-gyu, who had been about to say something after seeing that, swallowed the words and only worked his mouth soundlessly.
“A desire strong enough to make you do anything to achieve it. No matter who my opponent is, no matter what happens, my purpose is victory—and the championship. I’ll do anything for that. You too... right?”
Desire.
Completely crushed by his momentum, Im Chan-gyu nodded before he even realized it.
“Then are you moving into the dorm next week?”
“I’ll finish clearing out my house and my stuff. I’ll move in as soon as I can.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you then. Get some rest in the meantime.”
In front of the company building after sunset, Team Fluke parted ways there. The players were spending their last bit of vacation, while the office staff and coaches were still keeping one more eye on the remaining contracts.
I don’t like it, but it can’t be helped.
Meanwhile, Im Chan-gyu watched the figure walking away alone with a troubled expression. He was nothing like the person he’d imagined, and nothing like the version the public had heard about, either.
The hostility was still there, but with his momentum pinned down like this, all he could do was grumble to himself in private.
“Looks like everything’s getting familiar to you now.”
“So what I felt today was related to Pandemonium after all?”
On the other hand, as he walked along and spoke, Hajin was fully occupied talking to someone else.
“Indeed. With that much experience, it would be stranger if it weren’t.”
“That wasn’t experience from the real world... Forget it.”
He clicked his tongue and changed the subject. Agares, sounding amused, didn’t press the matter any further.
“Your forces have now fully established themselves. But the world’s currents keep flowing, and they change direction whenever they please. You must keep making choices. For everyone’s sake.”
“You don’t say.”
With a faint smile, he tapped his phone. Another world—one he treated as seriously as reality itself—began moving with that single touch.
“New enemies, new events, new quests await you. For someone like you, who can only satisfy his desire by devouring all of it, there is no option to refuse. So what will you do now?”
As always, choices appeared before him. Now that his faction had become a vast army spreading influence throughout the entire barony, there was no shortage of things to do.
[4. Root out Baut spies who have infiltrated Brant Barony]
That unexpected line, one of the choices that had appeared in the sixth selection, was among them as well.
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