The Scammer Became a 33-Win Streak Pookémon Master (6)
Future Sight.
Two turns after using the move, a mass of telekinetic force would slam into the opponent…
Except this wasn't about the Pookémon move. This was about the real psychic ability to see the future.
This is such complete and utter bullshit.
Being able to read the future was an enormous advantage, but it wasn't omnipotent. In my case, the curse had tangled itself into the ability — probably because I'd touched the wrong painting right before dying in my previous life. Still, I could read the future.
The moment I'd first realized that, I'd torn through every piece of media about future-sight powers that had ever existed, starting from childhood. Some people saw the threat of their own death flash before their eyes like a dying montage. Some ran fourteen million simulations to find the single endgame path that led to one solitary victory. And some saw scattered scenes of the future the way you see a dream.
In my case, I saw moments. Snapshots of what would unfold if things continued as they were. Sometimes they appeared as text. Sometimes I saw them directly.
The problem was that even knowing the future didn't mean you could change it—
Is that too abstract?
It's a complicated subject. So let's talk about the Pookémon match sitting in front of me right now — the thirty-third duel.
"I said I was going for thirty-three wins in a row. Well… I'm not dropping this one, at least."
The opponent's username was in Japanese. If it had been a Korean nickname, I would have covered the team select screen without even bothering to look at the future.
Why?
As the roughly seventeen viewers pouring into chat kept pointing out, stream sniping was something that attached itself to streamers of a certain weight class. A brand-new tiny streamer with five average viewers getting sniped only happened if you had a past life — and I was a complete fresh account. Even so, if a sniper actually showed up, it would mean one of two things: either my coordinates had been dropped, or I'd unluckily run into some maniac who went out of their way to hunt down micro-channels just to stomp them into the dirt.
Fortunately, that wasn't the case right now. Even among snipers, the people grinding ranked games one tier below Master were a dime a dozen. This was a global server crawling with Koreans, Japanese, Americans — every nationality under the sun. Even elementary schoolers could queue.
There was no need to hide my team select, and no need to strain myself trying to see the future. Even if I tried, it wasn't like the vision came through at a hundred percent anyway.
Instead, I just read the board. My six monsters and their six monsters. I predicted which three they'd lock in after seeing my lineup. If I were them, what would I bring with that composition? And against that composition, which three would I select? Who would they lead with, and what answer did I have for that lead?
At its core, this game was rock-paper-scissors. You had to account for seventeen types, dual typings, and every other factor under the sun — but fundamentally, it really was rock-paper-scissors. Six hands in your deck. Maybe three scissors, two rocks, and one paper. Maybe two of each. The path to victory was calculating every possibility inside the time limit and always playing the hand that beat whatever they put down.
That wasn't seeing the future.
"I think their lead is going to be Mermaid Fairy."
"The meta for Stealth Rock is… well, a gimmick set could have it, I guess."
Analysis and deduction built on accumulated knowledge and experience. And the result:
"Yep — their lead is Mermaid Fairy."
Just as predicted, I threw the rock that beat their scissors. Though it was a little ambiguous, honestly. Their scissors could still cut my rock clean in half.
"Do I set Stealth Rock with Killa, or do I just press attack like a maniac…"
But this one had a sash tied around its forehead — no matter how hard the enemy hit, it would tank the first blow solid as a rock.
…That last chat was pretty damn cheeky, but looking at it the other way, it meant they'd been watching my play and getting a weird feeling about it. You don't call the money you put on a mission that looks like it's going to fail a "safe asset," do you?
That viewer must have believed I was going to hit thirty-three wins. When I'd first said it, they'd probably written it off as empty talk. But I was stacking wins in real time and putting results on the board, wasn't I? When the evidence was sitting right there in front of your face, how exactly were you supposed to deny it?
Even Cassandra might have delayed the fall of Troy if she'd climbed up onto that wooden horse and split its belly open to expose the Greek warriors hiding inside.
Back to rock-paper-scissors.
"I'm going to fire off Sludge Wave for now… but they'll switch, right?"
In Pookémon, pulling out your rock-paper-scissors hand wasn't the end of it. The real core was putting that hand on the board — what they called "using a move." So what if I threw rock, and they played a card that said "switching to paper this turn"?
I'd thrown the punch. Scissors could snap my index and middle fingers like dry twigs — but if they pulled out a sheet of paper and caught the fist in an open palm?
"Yep, they're switching."
Chat was really cooking today. It was a fairly long message, but they weren't wrong.
"If I'd read that, I would've pressed Earth Power."
Objectively speaking, not every play across my thirty-three-win streak had been the one hundred percent correct answer. Cases like this one — where I used a Poison move and they brought in a Steel type to nullify the attack. I'd known. Through deduction and through Future Sight both. I'd known they were going to send out that smug steel crab, and even though I had a move that could deep-fry that crab with geothermal heat, I'd still burned a turn.
I'd even glimpsed that exact snide little line aimed at me back during the team select phase. And still, I'd chosen. The wrong answer.
But playing the wrong answer didn't mean I was currently at a disadvantage. Even if they'd thrown paper, I still had scissors left in my hand.
"What now. Do I switch, or do I just go for the stab?"
Do I play a fresh pair of scissors, or do I hurriedly spread two fingers out of the rock I'd already thrown?
"Hmm."
Thirty-three wins was a confirmed future… up to a point. Because what if I just turned the stream off right now? What if I did something so brain-dead even a total newbie wouldn't attempt it? What if I just kept spreading Poison attacks that couldn't touch them onto that steel crab like seasoning?
Before any future, I'd just be quitting streaming, that's what.
A newbie could make mistakes out of ignorance. In some kindergarten or elementary school tournament, a mistake of the "you'd only make this if you didn't think deep enough" variety could be waved off as cute. But in a micro-channel like this, a single mistake was a straight road to ending the stream.
End the stream? Not an option. Outside was dangerous. Whether it was accounting or a construction site, the second I stepped into any place with men around, I'd be getting eye-harassed every single day by thirsty fortysomethings and twenty-something guys who sent unsolicited DMs full of sexual garbage.
I'd rather just talk dirty at my viewers.
Panting and huffing on the other side of a monitor screen was still better than getting visually harassed in person.
So.
"I'm just going to hit them."
Sometimes, you had to be bold.
The viewers voiced their concerns, but I trusted my choice with conviction. And the "present" that unfolded was…
"Bingo."
Their scissors, back on the field. At a glance it looked like brain-dead rotating into free hits — but this was the opponent overthinking it way too hard.
"You predicted the switch, switched yourself, and still got smacked, huh?"
Their lead was back out. The first time, they'd dodged the Poison attack with a switch — but this time, the moment they came in, a massive boulder erupted from the ground and carved off about a third of their health.
Two-thirds remaining. Momentum: seized.
"So what are you gonna do now? If you eat a Spudge Wave, the Sitrus doesn't pop and it's a guaranteed KO, right? Switch into Memeta again and catch an Earth Power this time? Or were you thinking of just leading and Mega Evolving? Third time out and you're just eating a hit no matter what, yeah? Ooh, getting a lot to think about now, aren't we?"
The viewers started turning their arrows on the opponent.
"Folks. This is how scary a fancy-play disease can be."
If the opponent had been a streamer it might have been different… but when it was some anonymous Japanese player, all I had to do was set the table a little and the viewers would fall right in line. Fall in line with what? About thirty percent got on board with my god-tier plays. About seventy percent got on board with the idea that the opponent's clumsy — or overly elaborate — prediction play had been the fatal mistake.
"It only looks like I'm attacking now… but it was Focus Sash the whole time!"
What did it matter if a viewer voiced their regrets? The enemy lead had already gone down, and out came the steel crab once more.
"Even if I Mega, Fire Punch is coming in, right? You did your job. Good work, buddy."
Without a switch, my lead went down to the priority move the opponent threw out. But that was fine. Their health was already chipped, and I still had two more sitting pretty on my side.
"I can just press Fire with Wajamon and win from here."
Thirty-three wins in a row. The future had become the present.
You won the battle!
I had reached Master rank.
"Hey, guys."
"Are you just going to congratulate me with words?"
Would spamming clapping emotes be faster, or charging up Biz and firing them off?
[Anonymous Supporter] has donated 33,000 Biz!
"WAAAAAH—!"
A sound burst out of me before I could stop it.
"Anonymous Supporter just dropped thirty-three thousand!! Thank you so much!!"
Who cared if they hadn't put up a mission? Just fire off a donation directly and call it done.
"As a token of my gratitude — I'm ending the stream!"
"…Not right now, obviously."
I left the Master rank screen up and filled the remaining stream time with stories from the matches along the thirty-three-win run, wrapping things up at a leisurely pace.
"Oh. I'll be on a bit late tomorrow."
Even if the people watching said things like "so you're climbing ranks now?", there were things I still had to do.
"Got some real-job stuff going on."
And then, the next morning.
"Harin. Have you lost weight?"
"No."
"Hmm… really? If you're going to lose any, start with the chest. That way we can actually use you as a model domestically."
"……"
I arrived at a studio somewhere in Gyeonggi Province.