Episode 86 — A Reason Not to Lose (Reality)

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

The Platform Exhibition was airing on AFS's channel too, which meant it was on television. A finals broadcast running on TV while the match was still underway was not, by itself, anything strange. So why, of all places, was it coming out of the television in our living room—and why now, with the whole family sitting there watching it together?

"Oh my. Is it the break?"

Mom turned toward me, smiling bright as anything.

"No, I— I mean..."

I had no idea where to even begin objecting. The final was today, and today was Sunday, so both Dad and my brother were off and home. With Mom retired as well, a weekend when the entire family was actually in the house had become a rare thing. Even so, I had never once imagined I would walk in on all of them gathered on the sofa, watching TV.

"Hey."

"Hey, Oppa... N-no, forget that— did you... see?"

I didn't ask what. The commentators' voices pouring out of the television were enough. There was no mistaking what the three of them had been watching.

"Mm. Mom doesn't really understand games and all that, but even I could tell our daughter was incredible. Right, dear?"

"Ahem."

Dad didn't really answer. His face stayed buried in a book, and he was making a very obvious production of having been dragged there against his will. Even so, I could tell. He had been watching the final too.

"Th-that's..."

The whole family already knew I streamed. But this—this was a little much, wasn't it?

"Ugh... ah... um..."

Before I knew it, both hands were over my face. Because it was, well, kind of humiliating. They had told me that even back in my pro days they sometimes caught my matches, but this was the first time I had seen it with my own eyes. And it was extremely humiliating. What was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I supposed to say? Please don't watch, it's embarrassing? You're not even enjoying it, are you? I couldn't say any of that. Mom's eyes were shining far too brightly, and that smile was absolutely not the smile of someone teasing me. It was pride, plain and simple—or the look of a parent who thought her child had done well. That kind of smile.

"When I first found out you were going to stream, Eunha, I was very surprised. I don't know that world well, but it is a job with plenty of hardships of its own."

Internet broadcasting is built so that you catch curses easily. One careless mistake and you can fall straight off a cliff, and the whole business is viciously sensitive to controversy.

"So I was a little worried. I'm glad, though. It seems our Eunha is actually recognized in that industry."

She looked at Dad.

"Right, dear?"

"Of course. Whose daughter is she?"

He smiled, pleased in a way that didn't suit him at all, and looked at me. And that look was a scene I knew was still sitting in my memory. Back when I was still a man—back when I was the pro known as Galaxy. I had won my first domestic tournament and come home to tell Father. As far as I could remember, that may have been the first time I ever saw him smile. In those days he thought I only wanted to go pro because I hated studying, and when I went to him with the news of the win, this is what he said.

These days he would go ho-ho if I showed him even a little charm, but a smile from him back then was a truly rare thing. In its own way, it was an experience I could not forget. I was still blankly sunk in that old memory when Mom called me.

"But is it all right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if you don't go? Isn't the next match about to start?"

"Ah!"

Right. They had said the break was five minutes.

"I'll go right away!"

"Our girl! You have to win and come back~"

"You've got this."

"Don't push yourself too hard."

My brother and Dad cheered without any fuss, while Mom waved both hands. Caught between two opposite kinds of support, I let out a little pfft of a laugh and answered.

"Okaaay. I'll finish it as fast as I can. When it's over, let's go eat something good together."

The fatigue that had piled up a little during the first map felt as if it had blown clean away. Seeing the three of them watching the final had been mortifying at first, but now... I wanted to show them more of what I could do. Was that because of the past, when I had failed to repay the people who believed in me, or was it something else? I didn't really know. I had never planned on losing anyway, but now I had one more reason I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠couldn't.

Five minutes probably hadn't passed already, but just in case, I hurried up toward the second floor.

"Oh, right—water!"

Halfway up, I turned around, went back down to the first floor, filled a bottle, and climbed again.

The screen that had been running Nebula's highlights cut to the defending Jett. Eunha's forward holds on A main, rounds three and five. The first, a quadra in a 1v5. The second, a forward Operator that ran them clean through.

The map for the second set was Icebox, Sprout Patrol's choice. The lanes into site open wide, and long-range fights come often. Their intent in picking it was obvious. They meant to use a Jett who could ride Updraft—her Q—freely between the first and second floors, and who used an Operator, that weapon built for distance, better than anyone. And Sprout Patrol had Pilluelo, Korea-server rank one and their main entry. It looked like a map chosen around the Jett he trusted most, a stage where that Jett could shine, in the hope of a Jett carry game. But...

Pilluelo's condition in the first set had not looked good, so the viewers were not expecting much. If anything, it seemed more likely that Eunha, not Pilluelo, would be the one to turn the map to her advantage. After a countdown of a few seconds, both teams' picks appeared on screen.

On Icebox, the sentinel meta had long been Sage rather than Killjoy. The map favored slows and walls, and Sage's advantage was that her barrier—her C—could set up both. Harbor, a new agent who could take that job, had begun replacing her, and once that slot opened, teams could bring back Killjoy, the sentinel pick that never stops being the right one. As that idea spread through the pro scene, Harbor on Icebox had slowly become the trend.

The first team to show Harbor on Icebox in an official match had been KZ, and the man who played that Harbor was none other than Spax, now coaching Youngest and Oldest.

Both teams had passed on the Sage that had been in fashion on Icebox and locked Harbor, an off-meta agent. Considering that both coaches were pro players still active in the scene, it was a glimpse of how that scene currently thought about him.

Harbor had been an off-meta agent to begin with, so there was a good chance neither side was truly comfortable on him. How far they had raised that comfort during finals prep had become the heart of the match.