"Ugh. I feel dizzy."

August.

Rain gently pattered down from the sky, drenching the night, while the thick darkness that painted the cityscape made it clear that the day was already over.

However, while the gamers affiliated with teams and the independent players eligible for the qualifying rank matches were all taking an early rest in preparation for tomorrow, others were losing sleep, working through the night just for the sake of the upcoming day.

In the tall, black building often jokingly referred to as "Yeouido’s Black Tofu," lights still glowed on the upper floors, where many Icarus employees were still at work.

The employees in the building came from various departments—those in the promotions department were busy checking the numerous advertisements for the Dark Zone AP Soloing Tournament, which would start broadcasting tomorrow on TV, YourSpace, Tricky, and countless other platforms, making sure there were no errors. They were also coordinating schedules and times with other broadcasting stations.

In the server management department, staff were working tirelessly to ensure that the servers wouldn’t crash, adjusting traffic routes, and guaranteeing the smooth operation of commentary, spectator modes, and observer functions, which would be implemented in the later stages of the qualifying ranks.

There were also program engineers double-checking the match results calculated by machines, just in case there were any errors. Some of the higher-ups overseeing all this work were still around, along with staff preparing late dinners or snacks for them. And because there was a chance that the transport home could be cut off due to late hours, some employees were checking the sleeping facilities within the building and taking shifts on duty.

Just because one person’s day ended didn’t mean everyone else’s day was over.

In the middle of all this, the promotions department.

Among the people making last-minute adjustments, conversations began to arise.

As always, the familiar topic that came up during every tournament season—whether there would be players who performed well enough to advance to the finals, and if so, where they would come from. Though it didn’t really matter to them either way, as they were affiliated with Icarus, not any specific team.

It wasn’t particularly important, but neither was it completely insignificant. Players who showed excellent performance—like professional gamers—often received requests from Icarus International for advertising deals.

Regardless, the people in this department needed to stay on top of the latest information, with discussions based on updates that changed by the day or even by the hour.

"How do you pick 100 players out of 1,500? If we assume all the pro first-stringers qualify, is there even room left? This is really brutal."

"AP Soloing has a fast player turnover rate, so it’s not something to stress about too much."

"True enough. Which team do you think will dominate this time? Reaper Infected? Xi? Arcadia Games or TK1?"

"No idea. Maybe SSM?"

"They’ve been really focused on developing their newer players. Remember two years ago when all their first-stringers got knocked out in the Asia qualifiers, and Dice had to carry the team alone?"

"We’ll see what happens this time. Are there any notable non-pro players in the mix?"

"We’ll know by the end of the qualifying ranks. Right now, it’s hard to say..."

In the midst of the ongoing conversation, the topic suddenly shifted unexpectedly.

"Manager Jin-cheol... Oh right, you’ve been handling some extra tasks recently. Anything unusual? Any difficulties?"

"Oh, it hasn’t been too tough. The last task was just providing testimony regarding a user suspected of hacking."

"Did you resolve it?"

"Yes, the evidence was clear enough to settle the matter."

"Good. Since it involves an Awakened, be sure to report any issues immediately."

Fortunately, the conversation ended there, but that didn’t stop his curiosity from being piqued. After all, the "non-pro player" they were speculating about was actually the Awakened he knew.

Even those who were well-informed didn’t know everything. Considering Yujin had only been in the gaming scene for less than a month, it was understandable that her level of skill seemed unbelievable.

Or maybe, they simply didn’t know.

Either way, compared to the analysts from professional teams who lived and breathed data, their understanding was a bit less sharp. For those teams, data was money and could even influence the direction of the team.

So while the conversation ended on a mild note, for those in the know, curiosity was inevitable.

What kind of impact would that player make?

For now, it was a secret thrill known only to those in the know.

Meanwhile, what was that player up to?

-[Nyanya Aunty─────!!!]

<ReformedYujin has donated 1,000 KRW.>
-No, damn it, where’s my hot milf Cthulhu Mythos Nyarlathotep, Nyanya Aunty!!!

"...Even if I were Nyanya Aunty, I’d definitely have run away by now. Sure, ReformedYujin, whatever you say."

At the tail end of the Lovecraftian dating sim, I was barely managing to steer a ship full of perverted sailors.

"Nyanya Aunty..."

"Hm? What did you say?"

"Ah, nothing."

Monday, 10 AM.

Two hours before the qualifying ranks were set to begin—in SSM’s dedicated virtual space.

Gathered in the surreal auditorium were all of SSM’s AP pro gamers, regardless of whether they were solo, duo, or squad players, staring intently at the screen in front of them.

In a way, this was the final lecture before the qualifying ranks began. It could also be seen as the last conference aimed at boosting morale and easing anxiety.

After all, these players would soon find themselves in a grueling position where they’d have to compete not only against other teams but also against their own teammates. As always—applause and encouragement for the winners, and comfort for the losers.

In essence, it was a last chance to remind them of what they needed to focus on during the matches and to emphasize the spirit of fair play.

Of course, in the middle of all this, Dice, who had stumbled upon Yujin’s stream the day before and witnessed the bizarre dating sim she had never encountered before, was only half-listening.

In truth, Dice was at a point where she didn’t really need to participate. After all, she had not only successfully participated in the Asia qualifiers for three consecutive years, but she had also been one of the four players to reach the finals last year.

For her, this was just another stop along the way.

‘So this is why people watch streams....’

In any case, her thoughts were still stuck on the events of the previous day.

Yujin’s stream wasn’t exactly the type you’d call explosively entertaining. It had its moments of subtle humor, but it wasn’t the kind of high-energy stream that kept you laughing the entire time.

But how to put it? Maybe it was the gap between the iron-willed player you saw during scrims and the casual demeanor she showed while playing that strange game—where she seemed invincible in combat, yet effortlessly tossed out deadpan remarks while navigating through the bizarre events of the game.

It’s strange to say, but it was fascinating to see that Yujin could laugh, had preferences, and, more importantly, reacted to the absurdity of the game with the same bewilderment anyone else might have. It was oddly endearing.

So, I ended up laughing along with her until the stream ended....

"Dice, stop smiling and come up here and share something useful with everyone."

"Uh, no, I’d rather not..."

But having all eyes on her wasn’t a good sign, and she eventually found herself reluctantly stepping up to the podium amidst a round of applause.

It wasn’t unpleasant, though. In fact, it was something she was used to—she had even predicted it to some extent. After all, Dice was one of SSM’s star players, and she had made it to the finals last year.

So, with a microphone in hand, Dice began to speak.

"Is there anyone here who isn’t familiar with the rules for the qualifying ranks?"

Naturally, no one raised their hand. In fact, if someone had, that would have been a problem in itself.

In any case, with nothing else to do until the qualifying ranks began at noon, she decided to take this opportunity to speak her mind.

"Alright then. By now, I’m sure everyone has their qualifying rank schedule, and some of you might have been assigned to the same room as each other. Of course, you won’t know for sure until you enter the room, so it’s not that important..."

Qualifying ranks.

At this stage, it wasn’t like regular ranks where you could grind for hours to significantly change your ranking. You received an invitation code to a room that opened at a specific time, and you had to perform well in that session to climb the ranks.

Other than the fact that it was less well-known at the start, it was essentially an online tournament that lived up to its name.

"From this point on, the broadcast rooms will be active, so don’t use any tactics or tricks you’ve been keeping in reserve unless absolutely necessary. Of course, if you’ve hit a skill ceiling, there’s no choice, but to be blunt, if you’re already struggling in the qualifying ranks, it’s going to be a tough road ahead."

With the broadcast rooms active, it meant outsiders could now observe the matches in real-time. In other words, analysts from around the world would be watching, dissecting every move and tactic.

Of course, tactics—though Yujin’s lecture had somewhat changed Dice’s perspective—were ultimately a paradoxical combination of standardized improvisation, and at least within Asia, it wasn’t as meaningful as one might think.

In other words, the finals were...

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Right on cue, questions started to come in.

The same endless loop of questions she had faced after returning from last year’s finals was creeping back into her mind, but what could she do?

She could only say what needed to be said.

"What’s the level of the finals like?"

"You’ll see things beyond your imagination."

There were many ways to express this, but one of the simplest was to say that you’d feel like an ingredient in a blender.

As the barrage of questions continued, Dice found herself lost in a flashback of her past experiences. Despite fighting tooth and nail, she had been outclassed in every aspect—movement, reaction time, tactical maneuvers, and more.

It felt like battling a bulldozer equipped with auto-targeting turrets while wrapped in bulletproof armor. There was a strong sense of helplessness, a certainty that she couldn’t surpass this threshold.

Aiming swiftly and naturally, pulling the trigger without hesitation, delivering precise shots with pinpoint accuracy, exhibiting terrifying reaction times, and engaging in ruthless close combat.

‘It felt like they weren’t here to play a game....’

How to describe it?

Maybe it was like realizing just how terrifying it would be to go up against the US military.

In that sense, it felt like these players were striving to walk through hell. It was a rebellious thought, but not one she could voice.

After all, not only herself but many others were about to face countless grueling matches where blood would be repaid with blood.

But even so, something about this year felt different, making it hard to give up.

It wasn’t just the basic competitive spirit driving her—it was simply that she wanted to follow someone’s path, to walk alongside them, and to see just how far that person’s journey would take them.

It was a strange motivation, but it was undeniably a driving force.

"How many of you have tried playing in the North American ranks?"

Everyone quickly raised their hands.

But naturally, there weren’t many who dedicated themselves to the North American ranks as much as they did to the Korean server. Even those who tried didn’t go beyond the ranks of SOF.

And the truth was, the real battlefield where they could experience true hell wasn’t the North American ranks.

Dice was the only one who had participated in scrims hosted in North America after passing the Asia qualifiers, and there was... no need to explain. It was like a slightly degraded version of the finals.

So, she added:

"It would be great if you could try scrimming in North America after passing the Asia qualifiers, but if the opportunity arises, make sure to participate in practice matches held in the US.

To become the one and only AP Soloing champion in the world... you’ll have to walk a path of unimaginable hardship. I can guarantee that."

There wasn’t much more to say.

"See you in the Asia qualifiers."

That was the only blessing she could offer them.