Set One Result (Just Chatting)

"All right, let's get it~."

Spax had called the timeout, dumped every instruction he had, and cut his mic right there.

A soft chime.

"Hoo..."

A minute and thirty seconds to get as much of the plan across as he could. It was not an easy job. For the first time, he felt in his bones just how brutal a role the head coach had been carrying all along.

"If we're shutting the rush down with Zero Point, what's the plan for A site?"

The moment the timeout ended, the teammate beside him—the team's maknae, Foxy—spoke up.

Right. This talkative brat had actually managed to keep his mouth shut for a whole minute and thirty seconds. Spax decided to answer him gladly enough. He was a teammate, after all. Hearing the explanation might even raise his understanding of the game.

"These are the numbers I put together. Want to take a look?"

What he handed Foxy was a sheet tracking how often AFS rushed on Ascent.

"Hmm... this is pretty weird. A site or B site, it's just a brainless charge through main. Wouldn't it be stupid to just let them?"

"...You're not wrong. It only works if the skill gap is actually meaningful."

A long lecture would lose this cute little maknae—this idiot—halfway through, so Spax kept it as short as he could. The gap between AFS's entries and Oldboy. The defensive shift meant to answer Nebula, and Phoenix's Curveball.

"Okay, but so what if they hit A? I mean, hyung's team's Jett looks like she can shoot, sure, but if she eats a Curveball she's just dead, isn't she?"

"...Did you actually look at the sheet?"

"Yeah. The rush rate on A and B is about the same, right? So why bother sending KAY/O all the way to B—"

"Look closer. Look at what they're holding when they rush A."

When Sprout Patrol ran an A rush, the guns were almost always a Sheriff and a Spectre. In other words, an eco round.

"They only hit A on eco? Why?"

"Well, the exact reason, I don't know. But the most likely one is..."

Their A-site rush was less refined than the B-site rush.

"...probably."

"Come on, isn't that a stretch? Then why rush A at all on an eco, when their guns are worse?"

"A bluff. The kind that says, we can rush A, not just B. If rush is your main plan, a stack—piling every defender onto one site—is the last thing you want, right?"

And A had so many places to hide that attacking on flashes alone was a messy proposition.

"Anyway, Eunha? That person's really good. I'd heard plenty about Nebula, so I knew him, but..."

"You don't know her? She's pretty famous."

"I know who she is. I just didn't know she was this good. Why hasn't she debuted?"

For a kid that proud to admit it out loud—she really was good. Too good to stay an amateur.

"Well... she doesn't seem all that interested."

Even so, if she herself didn't want it, there was nothing to be done. The pro world was a harder road than people thought. It wasn't a place you stepped into lightly just because the people around you talked you into it. And Eunha was a woman. Settling into pro gaming, a job as male-dominated as they came, would be rough enough on its own. Most pros lived in the dorms attached to the practice building, and he had real doubts that she, a different gender from the rest, could even do that kind of living. Some pros commuted, of course. But she would take more looking after than a male pro, get dragged into every kind of gossip, and be expected to be far more exceptional than the men around her.

"She'll figure it out herself."

Debut or not, in the end it was her choice. But if she did debut...

"It would be absolute chaos."

An unprecedented superstar would be born in the world of Project A.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Go practice, kid."

If she debuted. That is.

"A Short, they're coming in! Watch it!"

"Stall them. You have to hold."

"Holy shit, Jett's down forty. They're hitting A right now—she might be wrapping CT. Careful."

"Yeah."

"Ah, shit, what kind of reaction time is that..."

"Haa... their Jett is actually disgusting."

"What do you want to do? Force it?"

"No. Save the guns and play for next round—"

"Fuck!"

"Haa... let's at least save two rifles."

"It's fine, it's fine. We read the whole thing wrong. Just get cleaned up and prep the next map."

"Our rushes not working at all was huge."

"Yeah. Nebula is actually fucking insane. I can't beat him in a one-v-one."

"We just double-peek and make it a two-v-one. Take out their Nebula and Jett and honestly there's nothing there."

"Their Jett is fucking good, though. I've never seen her before."

"You don't know Eunha? God, you culture-dead piece of shit."

"..."

"Haa... of all maps, Icebox next..."

Icebox was an even better map for a Jett to run wild than Ascent. They couldn't stop the Jett already running wild on the other team—Eunha—and now the series was moving to a battlefield where she could run even wilder. Of course, the team that had picked Icebox was none other than Sprout Patrol. They had trusted Pilluelo's Jett, so they had chosen a map where a Jett could shine. But...

Today, Pilluelo's form was the worst it could be. People usually called a 200 ACS a solid, average share, and anything past 300 a carry. ACS didn't describe everything about a game, but coldly speaking, his play this match had been miserable. He had let almost every IGL call go in one ear and out the other, and at every important moment he had turned his brain off and broken the round. And Pilluelo knew that fact far too well.

"Pillu, lock in. You're better than this."

The team's captain, the one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠calling as IGL, was a streamer himself, and he soothed Pilluelo out of worry for his mental. Both of them knew it was a bald-faced lie. Even so, saying nothing at all felt worse, with his head in that state. As captain, he couldn't just sit and watch a factor that might swing the matches still to come.

The viewers, watching as a third party, were merciless. Pilluelo simply found himself pathetic. Thoroughly run over by a user two years younger than him—and a woman, at that. He was the one who had climbed to this seat by ignoring most situations and most strategy, on physical skill alone. Today, that hadn't worked at all. The other team had two people whose mechanics were better than his.

"Next map, I'll listen to the calls."

The words felt deeply strange. The sort of thing a little kid would say to their parents. Absolutely not the sort of thing that should have come out of Pilluelo's mouth.

"Huh?"

If he thought about how he usually regarded his teammates, the shame was enough that he couldn't even lift his head. But he wanted to win, however he had to.

"...Yeah. Let's play the next one right."

Pilluelo had to win this final, no matter what. Not only to claw his way out of the pit, but to protect his pride. Say whatever you liked—losing to a girl two years younger than him was something he simply could not stand.

"Nice."

"Nice~ Ah, that felt so good."

The first map of the grand final was over, and contrary to what everyone had expected, the scoreline was overwhelming.

"Hyung, your hands are all warmed up! Why were you so nervous?"

"Aigoo, it's the final, how am I supposed to not be nervous... This is the first time I've ever been in a tournament like this."

Oldboy and Zzangdol, who had started out tight and looking rough, were back to chatting the way they always did, and back to that old confident shape ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of themselves. The two of them kept going.

"Hey, it's my first time too, hyung."

"Mine too. Other than Pola, isn't this a first for all of us?"

Unlike pure streamers such as Oldboy and Zzangdol, Pola was a streamer who had come up as a pro in another FPS. True to that background, he hadn't shown a trace of final-stage nerves, and alongside Nebula he had put in no small amount of work shutting down the enemy B rush. And not against just any broadcasters—against AFS, a roster made up mostly of former Project A pros.

"I'm used to events, but honestly, I was nervous."

Well. Ex-pro or not, most of that career had been second division. Even so, for someone who had only just started Project A, it was an absurd showing.

"You were nervous and still played like that? Youth really is something else..."

"Ahaha..."

"Hyung, is this the self-deprecation bit again...?"

A full year younger than I had been in my past life. Once I knew that, I caught myself reacting rudely before I could stop it.

A soft chime. While we were still chatting, Spax, our coach, joined the channel.

"All right, great work, everyone. They say set two starts after about a five-minute break, so hit the bathroom quick and top off your tumblers!"

"Yep~."

There would be about five minutes of rest before set two began.

"Then I'll go fill my water."

I didn't particularly need the bathroom, and the honey water in my tumbler had just run out, so I decided to refill it in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the kitchen.

"I'll come too, then."

I opened the door and headed for the kitchen. My brother's room and mine were on the second floor, and the kitchen was on the first, so I had to go down a level. This house really was nothing but needlessly huge, and a pain. Back when I was a pro, something the size of the KZ practice room would have been perfect. Or just the size of my old studio. I was grumbling about the house in my head, on my way down toward the first-floor kitchen, when—

"Kyaaa! Our daughter is so cool!!"

I was heading down, and—

"Honey, I'm trying to read—"

"Aigoo! You be quiet! Our daughter is out there looking that incredible! Right, Eunseo?"

From the first-floor living room, I heard my father and my mother.

"...Yes."

And my brother, too.

Down on the first floor, there they were. Looking nothing like themselves, Mother and Father were crowded onto the living-room sofa, and my brother with them. The sight sent a chill up my spine, and with it a horrible suspicion.

"Um... what are you all... doing there?"

"That's not— that's not what I think it is... right?"