The Rank-1 Race (Real Life)

The content I'd found was simple. Hit rank one.

For a long time, Korea-server rank one in Project A had belonged to Pilleulo, and not by any modest margin. The gap was its own kind of statement. After the platform tournament, though, he hadn't merely stopped streaming. He hadn't touched Project A at all, and most players decided he'd quit the game for good.

Garbage personality, skill you could still stand to watch, and a love for Project A that I'd thought was the one genuine thing about him. And he just quit. Strange. We weren't close, and I didn't hate him enough for it to matter. Whether he quit or not had very little to do with me.

The point started here. Quit or not, his ID was still sitting in first. Even if the account went dormant, the gap down to second was wide enough that his name looked ready to finish the summer season on top.

That was when BS stepped in — the streamer who had captained KKT in the platform tournament, Korea-server rank two — and put the goal out in the open. Take rank one back. A guy who had quit the game finishing first? How did that make any sense? One of his regulars, a whale the broadcast world called Boss, hung a mission on it: if BS closed the season at rank one, the donation would be five million won.

Left there, it would have ended as one more mission passed between a big-platform streamer and his boss of a viewer. BS made it bigger. A KKT teammate from that same tournament, a streamer BS treated like a younger brother, asked whether he'd get the five million too if he was the one who hit first. The boss viewer and BS said yes. One thing caught the tail of the next, until it had warped into a massive event across the whole Project A streaming scene: ten million won to whichever streamer passed Pilleulo's score and finished first.

"Almost let content this big slip away."

Good thing I'd held on to that senior's advice.

Saying I would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enter the Rank-1 Race didn't mean I could queue on the spot.

"I'm heading out!"

Before anything else, I was a high school student. On a weekday, most of the morning belonged to school.

"Get there safe."

"I will."

The rules BS's boss viewer had set were simple.

I'd been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠duo-ing with Han Seongun a lot lately, but the original me was a solo-queue soldier. That part was no problem. The real problem was something else.

"Hey."

"Oh."

I'd been sitting in the classroom with my chin propped on my hand, turning the race over in a blank stare, when someone spoke to me. I didn't have to look to know who. There was exactly one person at this school who would talk to me.

"Hey. You're early. You usually come in later than this."

What was there even to say. Until last week we had been nothing to each other, and in a single day Han Seongun had been promoted to my one and only friend.

"Oh — school's close to the team house."

"...Team house?"

"Didn't I text you? I joined a team."

No. I remembered him asking me to debut pro together. It had been the day before yesterday, and I wasn't forgetful enough to lose something from a stretch that short.

"So it wasn't joining together. You got scouted?"

What surprised me wasn't that Han Seongun had joined a team. It was that he had already joined one.

"Yeah. Still just a verbal agreement, but I'm on SC."

"You don't waste any time..."

If he was going to move this fast, I had no idea why he hadn't debuted before now.

"And you came to school? Offseason shuffle or not, the season starts in a month, doesn't it?"

"The roster still isn't full. I'm dropping out soon anyway."

Even with Father's company behind it, and a coaching staff of A-tier or better, was a roster that hard to fill? Or maybe the standard they used on players was so high that everyone snagged on the cutoff. If it was the Kim Sangho I knew... probably the latter.

"Anyway. You see the forums? You're seriously hot right now."

Han Seongun wore an unpleasant little smile, like he was teasing me. Same annoying feeling in voice chat or standing right here.

"Shut up."

He meant the rumor about my face. Had to.

"Zzangdol-hyung felt really bad. Said he never thought a few words would catch fire like that..."

"What's he got to be sorry for? All of us agreed he could tell what happened that day. The ones in the wrong are the guys who flooded my chat."

Han Seongun was watching me like he was worried. He seemed to think the viewers had worn me down pretty hard. They hadn't. Not really. To show him I was fine — and to crack the awkward air a little — I decided to toss out a joke.

"Besides, I get why Zzangdol reacted like that. I am ridiculously pretty."

I said it while sweeping one side of my hair back behind my ear.

This ought to look unbearably obnoxious, right?

My own small revenge, prepared specially for an annoying guy.

"Uh...?"

Han Seongun looked flustered. If that had been the whole of it, I would have called the result satisfying enough. The problem was, what flustered him wasn't my line.

"Hey. Hey, did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Just now, Choi Eunha..."

"No way..."

It was everyone around us.

"Ah."

Right. This was a classroom.

"Uh... I mean... it's not wrong, but... kind of a lot of ears in here..."

"...I know."

Why did everything I tried turn around and hit me?

Blaming myself, I glanced around and realized most of the class had their eyes on us.

"...Hey."

"Yeah..."

Han Seongun had realized it too.

"Let's talk after school."

He answered with a nod. I didn't add anything else, and quietly sat down.

After sixth period ended, we picked the conversation back up. The stares came with it. I understood, more or less. My own popularity went without saying, and Han Seongun was fairly popular with the girls himself. He didn't seem to know it, but from the talk about him that drifted past my ears, it was a settled fact. On top of that, both of us had kept to ourselves at school. Two loners suddenly talking — of course people found it strange.

"The Rank-1 Race? You're entering too?"

"Yeah. You already knew?"

"More or less."

He looked about as far from online communities as a person could get — the very picture of a popular kid — and he already knew about this. More importantly, was he entering too?

"Wait. Are you joining the event?"

If I entered the Rank-1 Race, every player currently in Chaser had to count as a rival. Nebula especially. Someone who had reached Asia-server rank one, who had stood out that hard in solo queue, would be the opponent I needed to watch most carefully. If we met as enemies in a ranked game, I was confident I would win. The race, though, was only won by actually finishing rank one. He was about to drop out and have time spilling over. I had a promise with Father, and I had to keep showing up at school.

"No? Obviously I'm not entering. I'm a pro."

"Oh. Right."

So rule one — streamers only — apparently didn't include pro gamers.

"So what's your score right now?"

"Uh... three-fifty-something?"

Chaser, the highest rank, started at 200 points. I'd hit it right before the final against AFS in the platform tournament. I'd kept playing Project A after that, and in a pretty short time I'd climbed to around 350.

"Hah. Hey—"

Nebula looked thrown by the answer.

"Do you... even know what Pilleulo's at right now?"

Looking again, it was closer to disbelief than surprise.

"How much?"

"680."

"...For real?"

The current number one I had to chase, Pilleulo, sat 330 points above my 350. I'd known rank one was Pilleulo. I hadn't known the gap was that wide.

"There's a month left until the season ends, and you're going to gain 330?"

"Mm..."

"While still commuting to school?"

Han Seongun stared, a notch more incredulous than before. I did my best to ignore the look.

"Well... it's not completely impossible, is it?"

"...Hah. Sure."

We talked our way to the front gate. I was taking out my phone to call Driver Kwon when—

"Miss."

He was already standing at the gate.

"Ah— Driver Kwon, I told you it's fine to wait in the car."

The weather was only getting hotter. He ought to have been inside with the air on. He could have dressed lighter, too, but today, as always, Driver Kwon was in a drab black suit. He looked at me for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Han Seongun beside me.

"...And this person?"

It wasn't his usual heavy, steady voice. This one laid the harshness right out in the open. I glanced at Han Seongun. He looked just as thrown, and fair enough. You're walking out of school with a friend, and suddenly a man who calls that friend "miss" and waits on her is openly hostile toward you. Considering the suit couldn't quite hide the muscle underneath, not running was impressive nerve all by itself.

"He's just a friend. A friend."

Han Seongun couldn't get a proper word out under that pressure, so I covered for him. It wasn't the kind of relationship Driver Kwon had any reason to suspect, anyway.

"Hmm... is that so?"

He eyed Han Seongun, unconvinced.

"More importantly, isn't it way too hot out here? Let's just go home."

"Ah, it has gotten hot. I've got the AC running. Get in."

I brushed my bangs back with the back of my hand as I said it, and Driver Kwon hurried to open the door, as if he couldn't stand to leave me in the heat.

"See you next time, then."

"Y-yeah."

I left Han Seongun still failing to catch up with reality, and climbed in through the door Driver Kwon held open.

Oh. It really is cool in here.

I got home, washed up, and turned the stream on at once. A month to reach first. There wasn't time to spare.

After five minutes of letting the room warm up, I switched the mic on and greeted them. Bright today, too. Cheerful.

"Ah— ah, can everyone hear me?"

"We did Just Chatting yesterday, so let it go. And everyone saw the title, right?"

Rule three of the race: state clearly that you were entering. I'd written it into the title, so that one was covered.

"I'll cut straight to it and queue. My score isn't exactly a comfortable one..."

Three hundred and thirty points to climb. A win handed out somewhere between ten and twenty, which meant fifteen wins, or as many as thirty. Even I couldn't string a streak like that together in the highest bracket, so the smart play was to raise the number of games. At this rating I was worried matchmaking would drag forever, but luckily the queue popped fast.

To farm rank points, ACS — average combat score — had to be high. The best position for that was entry, and among entry agents the one with the most carry was Jett. Locking her was the advantageous choice.

The moment I went to lock Jett, a teammate locked her first. Taking another entry wasn't open either — someone else had already grabbed a second one — and the second lock went Killjoy, which erased sentinel as an option too.

"Uh... this comp is kind of dead, isn't it."

What I trusted most was entry, and sentinel after that, but both roles already had the right number of bodies. I could lock entry anyway and force a triple-entry comp, or lock sentinel and go double sentinel, but either one was likely to wreck the balance.

"Well... nothing else for it."

You didn't have to be on entry to carry. For the win, which was the thing that actually mattered, filling out the team's comp was the smarter choice.