Chapter 3: Sometimes You Get Tossed Around by Updates

'…It’s true, I can’t see a damn thing.'

Over voice chat, Liz let out a bitter grumble.

My monitor showed the shooting range. Three of us—team members—were gathered there, running a test.

It was about Firefly’s ultimate and smokes.

Smokes, put simply, are smoke screens. In Valorant Battle (VB), they’re technically water magic, but anything that spreads a misty cloud to block the enemy’s vision gets called a smoke—or just “mok” for short—in FPS games.

In VB, there’s this samurai-like fishman called Suigetsu who can throw up a smoke screen with a splash of water. It’s a skill meant to hide yourself or block the enemy’s line of sight to avoid getting shot. Naturally, Firefly’s skills or ultimate, which pinpoint enemy positions, could pretty much nullify it.

Yeah, could.

As of this afternoon, when VB got patched, that became past tense.

'Huh? No patch notes, right? It’s not even balance adjustment season…'

'The patch today was supposed to be just bug fixes… or so they said.'

A hotfix, in other words. A small update to iron out minor glitches in the game. Updates that tweak weapon or character strength only happen on a set schedule, but hotfixes? They drop whenever.

And yet, smokes that Firefly’s ultimate could pierce through yesterday? Today, they’re impenetrable.

Which means…

'The devs fucked up…'

Liz muttered, her voice dripping with frustration.

Fix one bug, and another one pops up—classic game development nonsense.

'…Is this gonna get fixed?'

Minē chimed in, sounding uneasy.

'The tournament’s in a week! If they don’t fix it by then…'

Firefly’s recon ability would be rendered useless by smokes.

This was a massive blow for us.

Our team’s whole concept revolved around combining Firefly’s recon barrier with Bubblewalker’s water wall to one-sidedly hammer the enemy. But now, a single smoke—Suigetsu’s skill—could shut it down. Trading two ultimates for one skill? That’s a terrible deal.

If this bug doesn’t get fixed by the tournament… we’d have no choice but to change our comp.

'Goddamn it! Things were going so well… Can’t they just postpone it or something!?'

Minē, unusually pissed, practically shouted. Liz responded in a cool, measured tone.

'Nah, that’s not happening. They’ve already booked the venue, and changing the schedule now would mess with the pro league’s timetable too.'

At the very least, Liz muttered regretfully, an announcement about whether it’d be fixed would’ve been nice.

But I wasn’t holding my breath. The devs probably didn’t even notice this bug until now, and there’s no way they’d know when it’d be fixed at this point.

In other words… we had to prepare assuming the bug wouldn’t be fixed.

We’d have to ditch the comp we’d honed through the group stages.

'What the hell do we do now…? Suigetsu’s gonna be everywhere!'

'No doubt about it. Then what about Yeager? His scan still works, right?'

'What!? He’s trash right now! His skill’s got an ultimate-level cooldown! If we need a recon guy, Roost is way better!'

'Roost, huh… Honestly, I’m not great with him…'

Liz’s voice was troubled. As the IGL who needed the most info, she often played recon characters. But I’d never seen her use Roost, the hawk-master who’s supposed to be the best at gathering intel.

“What’s the deal with him?” I asked.

Liz, still sounding uneasy, answered, 'It’s like… I see too much, y’know? I end up overthinking everything. Plus, constantly switching to hawk vision and flying around throws off my movement and attack rhythm.'

'That’s just Roost’s downside, ain’t it? Can’t be helped. Let’s just give him a shot! We don’t got other options anyway,' Minē said.

'…Yeah, you’re right.'

Liz agreed, but her voice stayed grim.

And so, our scrims for the day began.

As expected, Suigetsu with his smokes was everywhere. No matter where we went, water-splash smoke screens filled our vision. Roost’s hawk could scan enemy positions and share them with the team, so it was a countermeasure—sort of. But if the hawk got destroyed, that was it.

Roost had strengths beyond just intel-gathering. His ultimate, Purifying Wind, let the hawk unleash wind magic in a set area, dealing damage to enemies’ armor. It also had a cleansing effect, wiping out stuff like Garden’s poison trees or Hexagon’s ground runes—basically any placed skills.

That let us gain a health advantage while breaking down enemy defenses, which was Roost’s big strength.

Of course, we leaned into that, playing aggressively, but…

'This is bullshit! The screen’s all smoky, I can’t see shit!'

'Sorry! My hawk’s down! Fall back!'

No matter where we attacked or who we targeted, Suigetsu threw up a smoke screen to block our vision. If we knew the enemy’s position with the hawk, great—but the enemy wasn’t amateur. They’d spot the hawk and carefully take it out. Compared to Firefly’s ultimate, it just wasn’t reliable.

As a result, even when we gained a health advantage, they’d hold out, and while we were stuck in the mess, another party would swoop in and third-party us.

'This is so freaking annoying~~~!'

After about three matches, Minē let out a heartfelt wail.

'Smokes here, smokes there! We can’t even fight properly!'

'Yeah, the hawk’s scan just isn’t dependable… If I keep controlling it, it doesn’t get destroyed as easily, but then I can’t join the attack…'

While controlling the hawk, Roost’s main body can’t move. To attack while scanning with the hawk, you’ve got to place it somewhere it won’t be spotted. But the enemy gets a notification when the hawk’s watching, so it rarely survived a fight.

'And honestly, the one-tempo delay bugs the hell outta me…'

Attacking with Roost followed this pattern:

Roost releases the hawk from a safe spot.
The hawk spots enemies and activates Purifying Wind.
The two of us push the enemy base first.
Roost, done controlling the hawk, catches up and joins us.

In attacks, syncing up for a burst of firepower is key, but Roost forces a health advantage at the cost of the main body lagging behind.

Sure, you could preposition the hawk where it can hit with the ultimate, but for Liz, who valued tight coordination, it clearly didn’t feel right.

'Sorry, can we try Yeager instead? Other teams are using him too.'

'Hmmm… sure, why not? Might be stronger than we think.'

Starting the next match, we swapped to Yeager.

Yeager’s a character who—per the lore—listens to earth spirits to track enemy footsteps and positions. In practice, he’s a simple sonar-type character who can briefly highlight enemies through walls.

But as Minē pointed out earlier, Yeager in this patch is honestly weak. His skill’s cooldown is absurdly long, useless when you need it most, and the intel he provides doesn’t hold a candle to Firefly or Roost.

As matches went on, we noticed other teams gradually dropping Yeager too. Some switched back to Firefly. But overall, Roost was on the rise, with hawks zipping around the sky in droves.

And with that, the day’s scrims ended.

'…Ugh…'

Liz kept groaning.

Our results weren’t exactly stellar, and honestly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our current Yeager comp was just a worse version of our old one. We couldn’t use the old comp, so it couldn’t be helped… but because it had felt so good, the difference hit hard.

'Y’know, why not just stick with Firefly?'

Minē, ever the optimist, piped up as Liz stewed.

'I mean, it’s just a bit weaker to smokes, right? We can make it work! We’ve got the practice for it~'

'…You really think that?'

Hearing those words, my heart skipped a beat.

There was a sharp edge to Liz’s tone, hinting she was genuinely irritated by Minē’s carefree attitude.

Minē picked up on it too, awkwardly backtracking with, 'Well, we won’t know till we try…'

I couldn’t say a word.

Deep down, I had one idea that might break us out of this mess… but unlike yesterday, I didn’t have the courage to speak up.

This isn’t gonna cut it.

That’s the vague thought swirling in my head.

A hazy unease gnawed at me, a sense that the team was heading in a bad direction. I’m probably not the only one feeling this. Liz, Minē, and even the viewers watching our streams likely feel it too. Yesterday, when Liz got all tense, I saw a bunch of comments—some worried, some trying to lighten the mood.

When you’re serious about gaming, clashes of opinion happen. Some viewers who don’t get that on a gut level overreact with pointless worrying, but this time, it didn’t feel like just overthinking.

We’ve got less than a week until the tournament.

If we don’t do something… we’re probably gonna lose.

No team’s untouched by this bug, but Harin’s squad doesn’t need to change their comp. They’ll go into the tournament fully polished. Meanwhile, we don’t even have our character lineup settled or our opinions aligned. There’s no way we can win like this.

I’ve gotta… do something.

Waking up around noon, I mustered up some courage and reached out to Liz. She’s probably still annoyed with Minē, so I figured talking one-on-one might lead to a solution that clicks.

She’s likely in a university lecture, so I sent a chat message. About an hour later, I got this reply:

Offline?

We live close by, so it’s no big deal… but why go out of her way?

Puzzled but agreeing, I headed out.

For the first time in a week, I stepped outside and met Liz at a café in Daikanyama.

It’s close enough that even a shut-in like me can manage, and the crowd here’s different from the FPS scene, so we’re less likely to get recognized. It’s our go-to spot for offline meetups.

“Sorry for dragging you out,” Liz said, idly spinning her teaspoon, sitting across from me with a restless air.

“No biggie. It’s close…”

“I just thought talking in person might make things easier.”

“…Is there something hard to talk about?”

Liz’s expression was heavy. No doubt she was about to bring up something tough.

“It’s about the characters…” She stopped twirling the teaspoon. “Honestly… I think the best move is to build our comp around Roost.”

“Yeah, I agree. But… it doesn’t feel right for you, does it?”

“That’s… just an excuse, I think.”

“An excuse?”

“I said it’s ‘cause I see too much, but honestly… it’s just that my brain can’t keep up. Too much info comes in, and I completely overload.”

Her frail confession left me speechless.

Sure, Roost—who can freely control a hawk to gather every scrap of info—takes some serious skill to master. I know I couldn’t handle him either.

In a custom environment with players packed into a small space, you’re constantly processing a flood of info while making decisions. Roost piles on even more data, and since you’re seeing things from a totally different perspective than your teammates, you can’t lean on them for decisions as much.

If one was able to master him, and it could be straight-up the strongest.

But that comes at the cost of putting a massive load on the IGL—that’s Roost as a character.

“I think of myself as pretty level-headed… but when I’m using Roost, I sometimes panic. My head gets all scrambled, I can’t think straight, and I end up giving orders like I’m just trying to escape. That’s why everything I do feels a beat late… and I can’t shake the feeling I’m the one screwing up our teamwork.”

“If you got used to him, it’d probably get better… It’s a character you haven’t played much, so it’s normal to feel overwhelmed at first.”

To me, getting better at a game is about building up your unconscious skills.

From controller or keyboard and mouse inputs to recoil control, situational awareness, callouts, and giving orders—once those become second nature, your brain has more room to handle new stuff.

So, it’s only natural your performance dips while you’re still getting the hang of a character.

“If this was before the group stage, I’d think that too. Like, practice would sort it out… But we’ve got less than a week.”

“…Yeah, but… then what do we do?”

Liz lowered her eyes, bringing her coffee cup to her lips.

After a pause, like she was gathering her courage, she spoke again.

“Right now… I’m in my third year of university. It’s June.”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“Job hunting’s starting.”

The word, so steeped in the heavy scent of reality—something I’m far removed from—made me tense up a bit.

“The other day, I got a resume guide at school. Stuff like how many times to knock for an interview, what angle to bow at, that kind of thing. The joint company briefings are scheduled, and it’s all starting to feel real. Like I’m running out of time.”

“…Are you quitting? Being a pro?”

“I’m not a pro yet.”

Liz shook her head slowly.

“I haven’t achieved anything. I haven’t proven my strength. I can’t call myself a pro like this. If I don’t win this tournament, I’m not a pro gamer—just some nobody listed on the team’s website, scraping by on streaming.”

Her hands tightened around the cup.

“I’ve gotta win this year. Before job hunting gets serious. I can’t even face my parents otherwise. I need to win this and get into the pro league. This is probably my last shot. If I don’t win this time—even if I’m not suited for it, even if I don’t have the skill, I’ve gotta use Roost. It’s the strongest option, and if I know what’s strongest, a pro’s gotta do it.”

Her words, like she was convincing herself, left me breathless.

In FPS, pros usually retire in their early twenties—I’d once told Shikimi that.

Liz is in her early twenties.

The deadline for chasing her dream is staring her down.

I’ve still got time, and thanks to being taken in by a well-off family, I can game freely without school. Liz’s situation is completely different. The value of her life is being decided right now, in this moment.

“Sorry for whining. But the conclusion’s the same… I wanted to talk to you, Urume, for two reasons. One, I’m sorry ‘cause I might be a burden for a while. And two… honestly, I’m not sure if I should keep competing, but I don’t want you to waver. That’s what I wanted to say. You’ve got talent—Urume, you could absolutely be the best in the world. No woman’s ever reached the top in FPS. But you? I genuinely believe you can.”

“…And you won’t be standing next to me when I do?”

Liz’s brows dipped sadly, her eyes narrowed with a hint of regret, and then she gave a small, bittersweet smile.

“I want to. More than anyone—probably even more than that Korean childhood friend of yours.”

Her words, heavy with an unfulfilled wish, left me at a loss for what to say.

That night, when I joined the team’s voice chat, only Minē was there.

‘Morning, Meru~’

“Morning.”

Was Liz late because of some errand? Or… was meeting with us feeling too heavy for her?

As I entered the shooting range, still mulling over our café talk, Minē suddenly spoke up.

‘Sorry, Meru.’

“…Huh? For what?”

The apology came out of nowhere. I had no clue what she meant.

‘Yesterday… there were moments I couldn’t keep up, right? You got damage in, but I wasn’t ready…’

“No, that’s more on me for rushing in too fast…”

‘No, I’m the one who’s supposed to keep up.’

Her voice carried a pained edge.

‘This team… it started with you, Meru, scouted in. Then Liz and I joined after passing tryouts. Our job—both of us—is to bring out your full potential. So you shouldn’t have to adjust to me.’

“That’s not true… A team’s about syncing up, right?”

At least, I’d never heard this was my team, and I don’t think of it that way.

If anything, I’m just a wild boar. Without these two holding the reins, I couldn’t even fight properly.

“Besides, your sniping always saves me, Minē. Your long-range damage makes it easier for me to push, and when I’m escaping, I’d have died a million times without your cover. Why’re you putting yourself down like that?”

‘‘Cause I’ve got reasons to. You’re on a whole different level, Meru.’

Her blunt tone left me speechless.

Maybe because of that, she hurriedly added, ‘Sorry, sorry, that came out cold… I just mean I’m not good enough. If my aim was better, if I was better at character control, I could force better positions… I think about that sometimes. But that’s why I practice so hard!’

Her bright tone tried to shake off the darkening mood.

‘Liz is crazy smart too, y’know? Being so close makes it hit harder sometimes. I get a bit down about it. Don’t worry, though—it’s just me being me.’

“You’re good too, Minē.”

‘Heh, thanks!’

I wished I could’ve said something to really lift her spirits, but my brain’s language center is, as usual, a total dud, refusing to spit out the perfect line.

‘I get hung up on my insecurities sometimes, but… I love this team. We just happened to meet through tryouts, but I’ve never been able to go all-in on gaming like this before. You don’t meet gamer girls like this every day…’

Apparently, Minē had a hard time finding gaming buddies.

With her friendly vibe, joining groups with guys often led to messy romantic drama… Her player name, Minē, was chosen to ward off weird dudes—though the extra e in Minē was just a typo.

For her, who’d been shunned like that, this team was the only place she could focus purely on gaming.

…Though I wished she’d stop hitting on Shikimi.

‘I wanna win with this trio. Even if people say we don’t deserve it… we’ve been grinding together all this time.’

Maybe she saw something harsh in an ego search.

Even so, Minē seemed to acknowledge her own shortcomings. That she couldn’t keep up with me. That I… was supposed to be on a higher level.

Just like Liz.

…We’ve been grinding together, the three of us.

I feel the same way.

The same way…

'…Ugh! Sorry…'

That day’s scrims didn’t go well either.

Our best placement was seventh.

The rest? We got caught in chaotic fights around the fourth ring and wiped out every time.

It felt like we weren’t clicking. Liz’s IGL calls lacked their usual sharpness, and Minē’s normally soft voice had a prickly edge. Calls were coming late, and with more desperate situations piling up, we were shouting for instructions more often.

And on the results screen, where only the last surviving party stands, Harin’s team, TYM, was always there.

‘They’re just so consistent, huh…’

“Yeah…”

‘…’

Minē tried to lighten the mood, but Liz didn’t even bother to respond.

Her silence screamed self-blame. If I could just do better, everything would turn around… That’s what it felt like she was thinking.

I wanted to tell her that wasn’t true, but our results were undeniably worse. No matter what I said, it wouldn’t carry any weight in this situation.

Should I just go on a rampage? If I could, I would’ve. No matter how strong my mechanics are, this tournament wasn’t soft enough to win on that alone.

‘…Hey, Liz,’ Minē said hesitantly.

‘What if… just once, we go back to Firefly? It’s worked for us before, and we could just play around smokes…’

‘But Roost is the strongest, right? Other teams are deciding that too.’

‘Sure, but… whether it suits us is a different question, isn’t it?’

‘That’s why, if I could just make it work, it’d be the strongest!’

Liz wouldn’t budge.

I could almost see the tense expression she’d shown at the café.

‘Keeping up with you two, gathering and processing info, keeping Urume safe—that’s the bare minimum to call myself a pro.’

‘Yeah, but we’re short on time, and you’re great with Firefly—’

‘Then I just need to get good with Roost, don’t I?’

‘No, that’s not—!’

Minē, who’d kept things soft until now, raised her voice for a split second, and I froze.

But she swallowed it down and spoke again, her voice bright, trying to lift the heavy air.

‘Fine! Let’s keep at it a bit longer then!’

‘…You really think that?’

Liz’s voice, like it was echoing from the dark depths of water, made time stand still for a moment.

‘Huh? Uh, what…?’

Minē faltered, and Liz pressed on, not hiding her irritation.

‘You were about to say something. Spit it out. We can’t get stronger if we don’t speak honestly.’

‘No, it’s fine, really. Getting all prickly doesn’t help…’

‘What? Are you worried about the stream’s vibe or something?’

Minē went silent.

At the edge of my vision, comments kept scrolling. But I couldn’t look. I was scared—terrified of how we looked to the viewers, what they were thinking.

But Liz, her switch flipped, didn’t care.

‘What’re you competing for? To win, right? This is about winning. Why won’t you have that conversation?’

‘I-I’m trying in my own way…’

‘Always worrying about how the viewers see you… What’s being a pro to you? A stepping stone to streaming? Sure, that pays better.’

‘…What?’

She crossed the line.

Minē’s voice, low and resonant, didn’t sound like her usual cheerful self. I knew instantly—Liz had stepped on her landMinē.

‘I don’t think that at all! I want to win too! I’m saying this to win! How many days do we have left!? We can’t just willpower our way through this! I’m just saying we should trust the comp we’ve practiced!’

‘Trust? That comp’s weaker now, so we have to change it!’

‘Fine, then go ahead and choke in the tournament with your brain fried!’

Their argument escalated endlessly, and I couldn’t say a word.

I couldn’t do anything.

Once again, I…

My friends from Korea, including Harin, celebrated when I went pro.

At least… on the surface.

We’d played together forever. Competed in tournaments together. Walked the same path.

But I was the only one scouted.

They had to feel frustrated. Jealous. Especially since they’re from Korea, where pro gamers have way more status than in Japan.

Not everyone felt that way. Just one person. One person vented behind my back. Another friend called them out. It turned into a fight. I found out.

I should’ve been the one to settle it.

But Harin stepped in.

‘Don’t let it get to you, Meru. Not everything said behind your back is their true feelings. They meant it when they congratulated you. So go all-in as a pro!’

…I was pathetic.

I relied on Harin until the end. Yet I was the one moving forward, getting recognized, earning the title of pro.

It was pathetic, shameful, and guilt-ridden.

Becoming a pro didn’t mean I couldn’t play with them anymore. But the reason I hadn’t talked to Harin in so long was because I couldn’t bring myself to join their server.

If I stayed away, I wouldn’t have to face that pathetic version of myself.

If I could just avoid showing that side of me to my new team, in this new place—

That’s what I thought.

…That’s what I thought.

I couldn’t move from my bed for about an hour.

I knew it was a waste of time, but my body wouldn’t budge. If I moved, I’d have to face everything. But I couldn’t keep putting it off. I wasn’t sleepy or tired. I was just doing something pointless, and the guilt kept piling up.

Would someone come get me? Ran-nee’s out with friends, probably. Chinana’s likely at lessons. Kiku-nee doesn’t even leave her room…

No one’s coming to pull me out.

What am I thinking, expecting someone to save me? This is something I have to face myself. I shouldn’t lean on anyone. Everyone else handles this stuff. My problems aren’t even problems to normal people—they’re just things they deal with, no whining, no help needed.

I shouldn’t be tripping over something like this.

“…Haa…”

All I could do was sigh.

I rolled over pointlessly.

Everything felt like such a hassle.

If only I could fall asleep.

If I could just sleep again, I wouldn’t have to think about all this mess—

Knock, knock.

“Meru. You awake?”

…Shikimi…

I stared silently at the door, but even without answering, Shikimi kept talking.

“I baked cream puffs. Ranka told me to teach her how, so I tried making some myself. They turned out pretty good. Come eat before they get cold.”

…Cream puffs…

I want some.

It’s been forever. When was the last time I had one?

That thought made me realize I was starving.

…If I’m gonna think, I should probably eat first.

I dragged myself up.

My hair’s a mess. What do I do? …Eh, whatever. It’s just Shikimi.

I shuffled out of bed, walked to the door, grabbed the knob, and pushed it open.

Shikimi’s bespectacled face was there.

“Morning.”

“…Morning.”

My voice was all raspy.

Kinda embarrassing.

I cleared my throat quietly, hoping he wouldn’t notice, as Shikimi headed toward the stairs on the left.

“They’re ready downstairs. Come on.”

“Mm…”

I followed him like a Pikmin, not thinking, just moving on autopilot down the stairs.

One step, and I saw the red Tokyo Tower in the distance.

Two steps, and the bright, sunlit living room came into view.

Three steps—and I saw my family gathered on the sofa.

“She was actually brought by him…”

“Told ya. He’s the best at this.”

“Good morning, Meru-nee!”

Ran-nee looked at me, a bit surprised. Kiku-nee, for some reason, had a smug grin. Chinana greeted me energetically.

I was shocked to see all the sisters together for once, and Shikimi guided me forward.

“Sit down for now. I’ll grab them.”

I plopped onto the sofa as told, and Chinana, sitting next to me, gasped at my hair.

“Whoa, what a mess! Hang on, I’ll grab a comb!”

“Meru, I keep telling you to take care of your hair. You’ve got good hair, so use it.”

“S-Sorry… It’s just such a hassle…”

“Look at Kiku-nee’s hair. You’d never guess she’s a shut-in.”

“Heh. Gotta stay clean, or the high school girls will run away.”

“The only high school girl worried about high school girls running away is you, Kiku-nee.”

“I got the comb! Turn around, please!”

As Chinana brushed my hair, Shikimi came out of the kitchen with a tray full of cream puffs.

“First batch. Not a ton, so don’t scarf ‘em down.”

“These are really homemade? Aren’t cream puffs kinda hard to make…?”

“He’s so damn handy. Like, he never fails at anything with a manual.”

“Oi, Kikuri, you’re lowkey dissing me.”

“Keep some for me! I’m busy with Meru-nee’s hair right now!”

The sisters grabbed cream puffs one by one—I’ll take this, I’ll take that. I snagged one too. It was crispy yet fluffy, like something from a shop.

“Whoa! So good! It’s so good it’s kinda freaky.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“Seriously, is there anything you’re bad at? You’re good at studies, sports, housework—where’s your character flaw?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Yeah, yeah! There is one! Senpai’s flaw! He’s not exactly delicate!”

“‘Ohhh…’”

“Don’t agree in unison! I’m not indelicate! I’ve got a little sister, you know!”

“Why do you think that’s a winning card?”

“Ask yourself, senpai. About a lot of things.”

I took a small bite of the cream puff.

The crisp shell broke, and creamy sweetness flooded my mouth. My tongue was enveloped in it.

Delicious.

That feeling filled my chest.

“By the way, isn’t this the first time all five of us are together?”

“What’re you talking about? We eat together all the time.”

“Nah, Kiku-nee’s usually just on a screen, right?”

“I gotta say, seeing you talk to the sisters like that feels weird.”

“And when did you start talking to Kiku-nee’s real self, Shikimi?”

“That’s a long story…”

As Shikimi moved to sit next to Kiku-nee, the cat Hanasaka hopped onto the spot, curling up like it was claiming territory.

“…Oi. You’re not gonna let me sit?”

“Ranka said it’s all five of us, so maybe it feels left out?”

“No way, that’s not true~!”

“I’ve always thought this, but seeing someone baby-talk a cat makes me cringe.”

Beep! “Senpai, non-deli point one! Ranka-nee’s like that sometimes, so cut her some slack!”

“You’re plenty indelicate yourself!”

Noisy, warm.

This vibe—I’d been so far from it, but the heavy knot in my chest started to melt away…

“There you go, Meru-nee. Hair’s done.”

“…Thanks.”

I mumbled my thanks, and Chinana peeked at my face from the side.

“No prob. We’re(Boku) always on your side, Meru-nee.”

…Oh.

That’s… what this is.

They saw yesterday’s stream. They know Liz and Minē fought.

So… they thought I was down and wanted to cheer me up without bringing it up directly.

“…Boku?”

“You just said ‘boku’…”

“Didn’t you drop that?”

“Ah!”

Chinana covered her mouth, her ears turning red.

“P-Pretend you didn’t hear that…”

“It’s fine. Boku-girl’s cute.”

“Yeah, lean into your character.”

“Though it kinda overlaps with Shikimi.”

“That’s a problem. Or do you have an issue with Doraemon’s ‘boku’ too?”

“You change yours. Go with ‘shosei’ or something.”

“Nice. That’s got character. Like an Amazon review poet.”

“No idea what that means, but that’s definitely not my vibe!”

“…Heh.”

I let out a tiny laugh.

But that tiny laugh felt like it untangled the mess inside me.

“—Thanks, everyone, for worrying about me.”

When I said that, they all stopped talking and looked at me.

“Liz and Minē didn’t really fight. They both just want to win—for me, for the team.

“When we formed the team, honestly, they didn’t get along great. Liz really hates being treated like a ‘girl’ in-game, so she didn’t mesh with Minē’s super girly vibe. Yesterday, when Liz said that about using pro as a ‘stepping stone to streaming,’ I think that’s what she actually thought at the start.”

“But… after gaming together for so long, you get how serious your teammates are. Liz doesn’t really think that anymore.

“It was just a heat-of-the-moment thing… I’m sure they’ll make up before today’s scrims.

“The real problem is that I didn’t say anything.

“They both passed tryouts to join the team. I was the only one scouted. And I was just a middle schooler, getting all this attention—it wouldn’t have been weird if they were jealous. …Maybe there was some of that early on.

“But that stopped because they believed in me. They thought they had to help me win.

“Their argument was about helping me win. And I couldn’t say a thing. That’s the worst part.”

I spilled it all in one breath, paused, and took a deep gulp of air.

Then, I turned to my family—my allies—and asked.

“What… should I have said?”

It might be a tough question.

But I can’t figure it out on my own.

Leaning on my reliable family… that’s not pathetic, right?

The sisters hummed thoughtfully, but Shikimi—still standing after Hanasaka stole his seat—walked over and lightly placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Didn’t you just show the answer yourself?”

“Huh…?”

“Say what you’re thinking. That’s all there is to it.”

In that moment, it felt like the fog cleared.

Say what I’m thinking.

Right.

In-game… that’s what I always do, isn’t it?

Ran-nee shot Shikimi a skeptical look.

“You’re one to talk? You don’t even have friends to fight with.”

“You’re the ultimate armchair expert, huh?”

“Senpai… you don’t have to force it.”

“Who was calling me indelicate earlier!?”

I shook my head slowly at the sisters ganging up on Shikimi.

“No… I think Shikimi’s right.”

It was like when a breakthrough idea hits mid-match—suddenly, what I needed to do was crystal clear.

At our post-match reviews, we’ve said it a million times.

It’s not about being right or wrong. It’s about deciding what to do and doing it together.

This… is probably the same.

“Thanks, Shikimi. …I’ll keep that promise.”

“Yeah, I’m counting on it.”

Right then, Ran-nee and Chinana gave an “Huh?” look.

“Wait, what promise?”

“What’d you promise, senpai!? Don’t tell me it’s some death-flag stuff like getting married if you win!?”

“Nice one, Kunshi-kun. More of a player than I thought.”

“Why’s it always me!?”

I finished my cream puff, left the living room, and headed up the stairs.

Shikimi, I’m leaving the rest to you.

When I joined the voice chat, Liz and Minē were already there.

Both of them apologized awkwardly.

‘Urume, sorry about yesterday. I got a bit heated…’

‘Really sorry~! But we talked it out properly!’

As expected, they were adults about it. They found a resolution on their own.

But that didn’t mean things were fixed.

If we don’t win, it’s all the same.

Problems caused by losing in a game can only be solved by winning.

“Both of you… I’ve got one thing I wanna try. Is that okay?”

If their words about believing in me weren’t lies.

If it wasn’t just my imagination that they trusted me.

Then… they’d surely listen to what I had to say.

Once the stream started, they first apologized to the viewers.

I doubt that completely erased the audience’s worries, but that’d have to wait… until we showed them what we could do in the matches.

The scrim began, and the character pick screen appeared. The order we pick characters in is random, but this time, I went first.

My pick was Cloudcross.

—Or it would’ve been, until yesterday.

The moment I clicked my character, the comment section erupted.

<What!?> <For real?> <Yami!?>

The character I chose was Yami.

A character no other team was using.

But for me, it was the one and only strongest character.

Next, Liz picked Roost, the hawk-master, and Minē chose Garden, the poison-tree user.

Garden was a character that had given us trouble before. Its ability to control both offense and defense with poison trees and bombs, plus its mage-class skill to predict ring locations, was why we picked it.

This was the idea I’d been holding onto—the best comp for us in this meta.

I’d been too scared to suggest it. Nobody uses Yami anymore, and worse, I had a personal attachment to it. Dragging the others into what felt like a hobby? I didn’t have that kind of reckless courage.

But Shikimi taught me that if I had an idea, I should say it.

If they truly trusted me, they’d take my idea seriously—

‘Alrighty then! Don’t blame me if this goes south!’

Despite her words, Minē’s voice was brimming with excitement.

Liz, in a lighter tone, said, ‘Well, if it flops, it flops. Let’s go in ready to crush everyone!’

“Obviously.”

It’d been a while since I dropped into a map feeling this pumped.

Like chains had been snapped off.

Like a kid before a field trip, I eagerly scavenged items scattered around Dragon’s Bed.

At the edge of my vision, comments scrolled by.

<Won’t you fall behind on rotations?>

Exactly right.

But we were done playing the pointless musical chairs of the meta.

Minē read the antenna’s data and marked the second ring’s location on the map.

‘Hmm… somewhere between Water Bazaar and Mithril Quarry, maybe?’

‘Yeah, probably around the container cluster.’

Liz pinged a spot northwest of Riverside.

“We’ll be chasing the west team, then,” I said.

We’d dropped on the east side of Dragon’s Bed. Another team had landed on the west side, and with the ring spawning west, we’d be tailing them.

‘What if we catch up to ‘em?’

‘What’s this comp for? We crush ‘em, obviously.’

‘Hell yeah! This is getting fun!’

Minē was hyped, probably venting some pent-up frustration.

To avoid catching up at a bad spot, we looted slowly before heading west from Dragon’s Bed. Using a jump tower from the swamp, we landed on the west side of Earthbuckle, and Minē peered through her sniper scope.

‘One party inside Riverside.’

‘One in Onigiri too. Probably the Mithril crew.’

Liz said, controlling her hawk spirit.

A cracked road stretched northwest from Riverside, right in front of us. About fifty meters down, ten meters off to the left along a rock wall, stood a high-stilted warehouse with a triangular roof—nicknamed Onigiri for its shape. It’s a strong position, adaptable whether the ring shifts east or west.

I peeked from the slope, eyeing Onigiri.

“Which way?”

‘Gotta be Onigiri. It’s strong.’

‘Oh, really? To get to Onigiri, you gotta sprint down that stupid-long road, y’know? Won’t you get chipped to death closing the distance?’

“That’s why I’m here.”

I leaned into Minē’s playful greed.

“Liz, you got your ult?”

‘You bet.’

“Minē, cover me.”

‘Got it!’

“We’re ending this before other parties close in.”

I activated Yami’s ultimate.

The screen’s edges shimmered faintly black, and I dashed down the road at breakneck speed. I couldn’t see it, but a jet-black afterimage should’ve been trailing behind me like a contrail.

About twenty meters in, the Onigiri party noticed. A Cloudcross stepped out, scanning the area, and started shooting to scare me off. But I triggered my skill instantly. Ninpou: Zetsuseki—my body slipped into the world’s underside, ignoring all attacks.

From behind me, a sharp bullet zipped past.

‘Hitting! Hitting! They ducked inside!’

“Got it. Linking up.”

I reached the base of the stilted warehouse and ended my ult.

Ninpou: Kyoketsu.

This opened a dark portal in front of Liz and Minē and at my position—an invincible, instant-travel pathway between the two points.

Of course, the Onigiri party tried to punish me for pushing in alone. But before they could shoot, a green-glowing wind swirled around.

‘Ult activated! It’s hitting everyone!’

“Nice…! Come in!”

Roost’s ult, Purifying Wind, damaged the armor of all enemies in range and heavily slowed their movement for a bit. Sluggish characters were easy targets, unable to retreat into the building quickly.

I returned fire at the Cloudcross peeking from the platform. Damage tore through to their health in no time, and they ducked back. A Suigetsu threw out a water-splash smoke to cover them.

Right then, the other two arrived through the portal.

“Everyone’s inside.”

‘Alright. Let’s smoke ‘em out!’

Saying something brutal in her cutesy voice, Minē charged onto the platform and into the smoke.

She held a poison bomb, pin already pulled.

Garden’s ultimate.

‘Tossing the poison grenade! …There, it’s in! They’re eating it!’

“Grenades should do it. I’m going in from the other side.”

When I peeked into the triangular roof from the opposite door, Liz and Minē’s grenades had already blown away the three enemy players.

‘Niceeee! Too easy!’

‘I’ll watch the surroundings! Minē, loot up!’

Liz, usually quiet in fights, gave sharp orders while crouching in a corner to control her hawk.

I’d proposed two big changes.

First, this character comp.

Using Yami solved Roost’s issue of lagging in fights. It didn’t come up much this time, but even if Roost is controlling a spirit far back, Kyoketsu can teleport them to the front instantly.

Second, adjusting the chain of command.

I’d take over fight calls—splitting the load so Liz could focus on rotations.

It was a gamble whether this new setup would work. But for now, we’d cleared the first hurdle.

‘Even with Cloudcross, the whole map’s too fast-paced to keep up, so going aggro and crushing whoever’s ahead makes sense—just like you said, Meru!’

“Not yet. That’s just one party down.”

To Minē, who was getting hyped, and to the viewers watching, I made a vow.

“From now on, we crush every party in our way. Got it?”

‘That’s the way!’

‘Kinda like a shonen manga, huh? I like it.’

Liz was right.

At the heart of the safe zone, Harin’s team was probably waiting.

We’d climb the tower, pass through the gates, and take down every party in our path to reach the final boss—Harin’s squad.

We’re the protagonists, and they’re the final boss.

When we reach the story’s end, we’ll be the strongest.

Match 1: 4th place.

We wiped a party hiding in an abandoned bus and cleared another holed up in a two-story house, making it to the final ring. But Garden’s ult, which should’ve dominated the endgame, had been used up in an earlier fight.

‘Sorry~! I used it as a smoke while rotating~! Got too used to Bubblewalker’s short cooldown~!’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine. Fix that, and we would’ve won.’

Match 2: 12th place.

I pushed a building with Kyoketsu, but an enemy caught me off-guard and downed me. I slipped back through the portal to Liz and Minē, but the enemy closed the distance and wiped us.

“They’re not gonna let us push that easily…”

‘Next time, I’ll pop my ult a bit earlier. That should stop their peeks.’

Match 3:

“I’ll tank with Zetsuseki!”

‘I’m swinging till I drop!’

‘This guy’s low! …No, got ‘em, got ‘em, got ‘em!’

As the final ring closed completely and the safe zone vanished, I used Zetsuseki to slip into the world’s underside, dodging ring damage for a moment.

Liz and Minē kept fighting the last enemy, taking hits, and by the time I returned from invincibility, the enemy was on their last legs.

‘Niiiice!!’

‘Hell yeah!!’

Match 3: 1st place.

I caught my breath amid their cheers, finally able to glance at the frenetic comment section.

One win.

This could just be a fluke. Proving my idea was right would take more.

There’s luck in winning, but no luck in losing—no idea who said it.

“…Going full tank wasn’t great. We could’ve won cleaner.”

‘Maybe I overused the hawk. Gotta shoot and control better.’

‘Nah, Meru and I can handle that.’

“Yeah. I don’t see the big picture well, so in the final ring, I’ll leave the details to you, Liz.”