One to Ten

The moment the enemy Yoru dropped Yangjeon, she started crouching and standing on his corpse, over and over. Tea-bagging — exactly what Yangjeon had done the round before, handed straight back to him.

But there was something neither the viewers nor Eunha herself — the one who had thrown the taunt — actually knew.

"This motherfucker..."

Yangjeon's single biggest complex was the size of his head.

Yoru kept tea-bagging even as an enemy closed in, and died for it — as if killing him was the only thing that had mattered. It was more than enough to set Yangjeon off.

"Obviously! I'll show you me dropping that bastard right now."

What had just happened to him was only because he'd been zoomed in, hunting a headshot for the mission. If there hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been a mission, he would have taken her clean with a no-scope — or at least, that was what Yangjeon told himself.

"Aigoo, zxcr, a mission already — I'm on it!"

It was revenge he meant to take anyway, and now there was mission money on it. Yangjeon's energy spiked. Money always makes a person happy. One line from the enemy Yoru, though, knocked that mood straight back down.

She never said who it was for. Everyone knew it was for Yangjeon.

You mock the size of my head, you pay for it.

I baited their Jett on purpose. If you've got a problem, come at me.

Once I was sure Jett had bitten, I told my team to hit through somewhere other than A main, so none of them would get picked off by their Jett on the way in.

Am I good? They ought to be worrying about their Jett's mental.

I hit Tab and checked their money against mine. A team that had just won round two would normally play a bonus, reusing the guns they'd bought the round before. Their Jett probably wouldn't. Two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reasons. Last round he'd bought a relatively cheap gun, a Marshal, plus light shields, which left him plenty for a rifle and light shields now. And the other reason was simpler: right now Jett was going to try to beat me no matter what. Someone who had to win, who had to avenge the last round, had no reason not to arm himself with a real rifle.

I bought a Marshal and medium shields.

I'd only bought a Sheriff last round, so I could have afforded a rifle and light shields too. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I picked the Marshal on purpose. Why? Dying to this would crack his mental harder. Under the viewers' puzzled noise I took the Marshal and headed for A main, where Jett was waiting.

There's a saying in Project A. Up through Diamond, your right hand matters. After that, your left hand does. Past Diamond, movement matters more than aim. An obvious peek and obvious movement are just the short road to a hole in your head.

Down the long lane of A main I hugged the wall, jutted the tiniest sliver of a peek into the lane, and snapped back. Tat-tat-tat-tang! I'd been out so briefly I never saw where he was, and he never landed a shot on me either. A shoulder peek: you show the enemy nothing but a shoulder, bait the shot, and pull information out of it. The gunfire told me what I'd expected — he'd bought a rifle — and I had a rough read on where he was standing.

I immediately peeked left into main. This time I didn't stop for even a moment, and I wasn't walking. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tang! Jett saw me come out and fired, but he was only shooting the space I'd already left. The moment I confirmed that, I stopped dead, zoomed, set the crosshair on his head, and fired.

Tang!

With the Marshal's bright crack, Jett's head came off for the second time. A wide peek: you move farther than the enemy expects, and you rattle them with it. Two simple peeks, and Jett sprayed bullets into empty air like an idiot, then died for nothing. This is why, in Project A, the left hand matters.

"Fuck! Why didn't that hit? I shot him right in the head!"

"Ah, seriously, this one was rigged, guys."

Coldly speaking, he had just made a mistake. He'd seen her wide-swing in, panicked, and failed to track. He simply didn't want to admit he'd messed up, and he didn't want to admit she'd played it well. So Yangjeon reached, uglily, for the excuse of rigged.

"Hoo. From next round I'll play it properly again. That Yoru isn't exactly average, I'll give her that."

You could call the Sheriff one-tap in round two luck. What had just happened was absolutely not. The opponent had to be Diamond at the very least. Yoru tea-bagged on his corpse again and died to a teammate, and the four-on-four without Yoru or Jett ended as a win for the enemy team, who simply had the better guns.

And Yangjeon headed for A main once more, chasing revenge.

But there was one fact that the Project A gallery, the people who had piled into the broadcast just to troll, and even the small few who had been watching Eunha's stream from the start all failed to know.

Eunha really had ended the stream because she was in pain. The reason was nothing other than—

"Ugh... what am I supposed to do about this..."

It was a woman's magical day.