Chapter 72

It was the height of Valentin’s Day event within the Teamfight Arena.

Team Ascend’s practice room.

Victory (Male) intentionally avoided watching Sol’s broadcast.

She was nothing more than a fiercely skilled rival whose matches left a tantalizing taste for more.

Getting any closer would be disastrous.

Victory wanted to keep engaging in games with Sol and had been specifically warned not to fall for them.

Any superficial camaraderie would end up being more of a poison than a benefit.

A competitive relationship striving for the top spot within the same game was ideal for both of them, and so Victory maintained this distance by focusing solely on practice instead of indulging in Sol’s cooking broadcasts, even when Sol occasionally seemed unwell or broadcasted their loneliness fueled by late-night drinking sprees.

It wasn’t always easy, though.

“Ah! No one got picked!”

“The competition rate was over 1000 to 1, so what did you expect?”

“This chocolate roulette is tougher than becoming a pro!”

Meanwhile, the rest of the team couldn’t stop talking about Sol’s broadcast, making the practice room consistently noisy with discussions on the matter.

“Why doesn’t Teama just hand out rewards during their stream instead of holding a lottery?”

Of course, no one had won the lottery, and one member even complained about the fairness of the draw, saying that if Teama had used a system involving skill, they would have easily won.

Sol wasn’t exclusively a Teamfight Arena streamer, though her most popular and frequent content revolved around it.

The idea was proposed—why not let players compete in a match to earn prizes instead of raffles?

“Should we throw up a donation?”

Squid Oh Jinwoo, the team’s next best young player after Victory, impulsively sent a donation without waiting for anyone’s advice.

Using a casual fan account was acceptable, wasn’t it?

Pro gamers are people too, right?

“Hey, if you’re throwing down $850 just to butter her up, what happens then? Do you realize how toxic that is for a broadcaster?”

“Is that so?”

“Do you even care?”

“But how does Brother even know all this?”

“…”

Elder member Jeon Wooseung couldn’t respond to Oh Jinwoo’s innocent question. How could he confess that, before becoming a pro, he was a jobless gamer glued to streams all day?

“Anyway, it’s not a good idea.”

Viewers were numerous but the broadcaster was just one person. Joohwan had seen countless examples where broadcasters swayed by excessive input from viewers eventually failed.

Though he couldn’t delve into a lengthier explanation, the thought lingered.

‘How harsh it is to expect one person to cater to so many.’

The viewer count was a staggering 30,000.

If a restaurant owner finds it difficult to satisfy the various tastes of ten customers, what must it be like to cater to the preferences of 30,000?

As Wooseung regularly competed in front of several hundred thousand spectators, he sympathized deeply with Sol’s position. Recalling the intensity of criticism pro teams endured when they failed, his empathy deepened.

In time, Wooseung began to silently hope that Sol would continue to maintain her broadcasts for a long while. After all, in a male-dominated pro scene with a gender ratio estimated at 299:1, the presence of a refreshing female streamer wasn’t undesirable, was it? Absolutely, yes.

“Then throw down $85?”

Still misunderstanding the counsel, Jinwoo decided to send a donation of $85 with a message: “Please give me a chance to prove my skills.”

Sol, who couldn’t resist discussions about serious gaming, answered promptly:

“What type of game would you like?”

“Knife Bakery.”

“Come to the Dragon’s Nest.”

And so, Jinwoo’s invitation was accepted. But Sol added that paying for the entrance fee might upset other spectators, so the game entrance would be offered on a first-come, first-served basis.

‘Thoughtful.’

While money was undeniably appealing and the stigma against “goldfish” had diminished, genuine honesty could still win people’s favor. However, someone obsessed solely with money seldom remained liked for long. The way Sol managed to avoid alienating admirers revealed a deep level of consideration. This impressed Wooseung further.

Her first challenger was a Diamond Tier 3 player who displayed impressive tricks before the start of the game but failed to land even a single hit on Sol during their match.

The team was in awe.

“Wow.”

“Jinwoo, can you pull that off?”

“Of course!”

“I might need to be in top form though.”

Team Ascend, without a doubt, was the strongest in Teamfight Arena both domestically and internationally. While Victory held the highest popularity, the victories were team efforts. The rest of the members were no pushovers either.

As the audience transitioned from astonishment to reverence, the team members thought instead:

“Can I do that?”

Rather than mere admiration and awe, they felt a competitive itch to challenge her.

“How about a match?”

The next participant was a professional gamer, Cherry of X6. Though not from a top-tier team, Cherry was respected for their personal skill.

This was an exhibition of such caliber that only the highest praise could suffice. The Diamond 3 versus Sol’s match was laughably one-sided.

Standing at Q’s maximum range, Sol casually dodged skills. The Diamond 3 player, seemingly ignorant that such a feat was even possible, never attempted to close the gap, ultimately failing to land any hits.

“Is dodging by sight even plausible?”

But Cherry was informed.

Knowing that absolute safety lay beyond the maximum range, Cherry attempted to close in, forcing Sol into psychological warfare through brute tactics. Yet, Sol’s peculiar movement patterns and distance management allowed only two hits from Cherry before defeating her with an outstanding 11 hits.

“Me too! Me too!”

“Unless you’re the champion, I doubt you can do that.”

“Let me show you! Please, move aside! I’ll show you!”

Ever since he declared a desire to showcase his skills, Jinwoo had been restless. However, given the vast number of viewers, obtaining the entry password was challenging despite his eagerness.

Yet, there in the lobby, was an unexpected name:

[ ASC selen ]

“Brother Juani! How did you get in?”

“Skill.”

“Trade places with me! Please! I’ll give you chocolate if you switch! I’ll win for you!”

“Would that lead to accusations?”

Unlike many top-tier pros, Juani, a pro since 1998, was not celebrated for his physical reactions. In the gaming arena dominated by teens and those in their early twenties, his mid-20s age was considered old.

Yet, he still wanted to keep going.

He wished to continue proving himself till the very end of his career.

The match started, both sides being dagger artists in a perfectly balanced game.

“Half the range feels safe for dodges, but I need to get even closer.”

This insight would not have been possible without watching Cherry’s defeat. Cherry’s detailed analysis revealed Sol’s comfort zone – the range between 50-70% of Q.

Frankly, it was monstrous.

Having the certainty to perfectly react within this brief range demonstrated his confidence.

In practice, he proved it, taking only two hits from Cherry who forcibly narrowed the distance twice, but dodging all shots outside of 50%.

He dodges.

Always.

Selen, intensely focused, approaches Sol, navigating around her dodging capabilities.

Though confined to a small area in knife bakery to keep the gameplay tight, any skillful distancing management would eventually lead to a close-range confrontation.

Why had Cherry only scored two hits? Because she had been riddled with daggers before closing the distance.

Juani succeeded.

Through extreme concentration, he only took one hit while advancing to under 50%, moving into the psychological territory.

Thinking:

This much, at least this much, he can’t lose to rookies.

Regardless of the prodigy’s talent, psychological warfare was his forte through experience.

“Woah.”

Hitting daggers: 11 vs 5.

Total defeat.

Though he narrowed the distance with unparalleled concentration, losing the ‘psychological warfare’ phase by a double score margin was evident after managing just one hit.

Even in the realm of psychological tactics, Juani had been outshone.

Or so he thought.

“Half of it was dodges by sight.”

Suddenly, standing behind his monitor, was former champion Victory claiming that even in Juani’s psychological warfare region, Sol employed raw reflexes.

“Is that even possible?”

Above the best pros, perhaps beyond human capability.

While reaction speed alone can’t define a pro career, it’s nonetheless a formidable advantage.

“What does dodging 100% at half range indicate? Even closer distances include some seen dodges.”

Ah, true.

“Your rival is crazy.”

And so are you.

Juani thought.

Surely, only Victory could beat such a prodigy?

He yearned to see them face off.

Although their previous encounters in ranked matches existed, they occurred under different characters and teams with numerous variables.

But what about here?

A pure one-on-one, raw physical battle?

It might not be the most decisive skill in this game, but curiosity remained; who would outdo whom in this pure combat?

It wasn’t only Juani thinking this way.

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