Fenrir Translations
"Hello, Dark Zone esports fans! Your esports phoenix has returned after a whole year to bring you AP coverage! I’m sure you’ve all been eagerly waiting, and I’ve been just as excited for this match to start. It’s great to see you all!"
"Hello, everyone. I’m Flame, your host today, here to provide a comprehensive overview and commentary on today’s matches."
Tricky—the official Dark Zone broadcast room—opens its doors with a warm welcome.
Among virtual reality games, Dark Zone consistently ranks at the top in popularity, and with that popularity comes an abundance of matches. Consequently, the official broadcast room is always flashing red, delivering the intense match content to eager viewers whenever possible.
And so, in early September, at the border between late summer and early fall, on a day when the summer heat and lingering rain hadn’t yet faded, the official broadcast of the Apex Predator qualifying rank began.
Next to the red light indicating that the broadcast was live, the viewer count had already surpassed 70,000. The Apex Predator matches boasted superior popularity compared to other PVP genres, further boosted by advertisements scattered across internet sites.
The viewer count showed no signs of slowing down even after the broadcast began in earnest following the countdown. It was an expected progression. The number was expected to stabilize well beyond 100,000.
Despite having only been in service for five years and with professionals emerging for no more than three years, the game and the pro scene still held immense potential.
The increasing viewer count, now over 120,000, hinted at this potential.
"The long-awaited tournament rank ended a few weeks ago, and the scrimmage to select numerous new talents and rising stars to lead the next generation of the AP scene has just concluded. Despite the tight timeframe, participation has increased by 300 compared to last time. This suggests that the overall skill level of the participants has improved, doesn’t it?"
"Exactly. Only the top 100 are awarded the Medal of Honor tier, but below that, in Tier 2, which grants the right to participate in the qualifying rank, there isn’t a fixed number. It’s based on the total number of participants, so the more people who enter the tournament rank, the more slots there are."
"Thank you for the excellent explanation."
With a flick of the finger, 16 screens appeared in a 4x4 grid in mid-air. All were matches waiting to start. Sixteen games, each with 100 participants.
Out of all these people, only 100 would advance to KSM. This meant that only six or seven people would survive from a game of 100.
Naturally, the ruthless logic of victory and defeat spared no one. Thus, the players participating in the qualifying rank had to give their all in every match, and the viewers’ enjoyment increased proportionally.
The caster's words drove the point home.
"Today, as always, we’ll see several brutal matches where blood washes away blood. The world of competition is ruthless and even more brutal. Only the strongest can survive and climb higher."
"In a way, this is the motto of AP soloing. Only one person can stand at the pinnacle."
With a swish, the room of 160,000 viewers was split into sixteen. In the blink of an eye, subcategories were created, and the thirty or so commentators waiting in other rooms began their broadcasts in each category.
Given the sheer number of matches taking place simultaneously, two commentators couldn’t cover it all, so more rooms were added for each session.
It was a brute-force approach, but it worked. Viewers could go to the room where their favorite pro gamers were playing rather than finding themselves in a room covering a match they didn’t care about.
The first broadcast room was quickly assigned a session.
As the map was decided and the 100 players waited in the private room before the game began, the commentators continued to build anticipation among the viewers.
"Let’s proceed with the commentary for the first match.
As you can see, the map assigned to our broadcast room is… yes, it’s Poplar Ridge Correctional Facility. This is a prison built underground on an island. The main hazards in the kill zone include crowd control gas, large electric field generators, and seawater flooding."
"Let’s take a look at the player roster. Ah, it’s really full of impressive names. Many familiar names, and quite a few new faces who have made a mark this season. Phoenix caster, are there any players you’re keeping an eye on?"
"I think the Arcadia Games players, who have significant experience in complex terrain engagements, have an advantage here. Given that there’s no concept of ‘outside’ in the indoor map of Poplar Ridge, it will likely be a bloody battle."
"Thank you for the insightful comments. Then I’ll choose… player Yujin."
"Haha, isn’t that a bit too standard of a choice?"
All eyes turned to her.
Then, the number of viewers in the broadcast room quickly surged, surpassing 30,000 in just a few minutes. It was inevitable. In the notoriously difficult battle royale genre, where even top pro gamers couldn’t guarantee victory, Yujin was the only one who consistently reached the top.
Phoenix couldn’t suppress a smile as he glanced at the chat and said a word.
"Haha, did you see what they’re saying in the chat? They’re calling her a ‘moving natural disaster.’ Is there any better way to describe Yujin?"
"I agree. She’s a player who consistently delivers near-impossible physical performances every match. For those in the same game, there’s no greater catastrophe. While we’re at it, let’s take a look at the user’s loadout."
Yujin’s preferred weapons were displayed for all to see.
Although they weren’t particularly unique, one common theme was that her choices favored firepower over ergonomics and recoil control. The weapons she used were intimidating: the MK18 Mjolnir, the MG338, and even the Ash-12.7….
The commentators couldn’t help but comment on the intimidating choices.
"These choices clearly show she’s confident in her recoil control. And she really is."
"Indeed. Phoenix caster, do you think Yujin will take the top spot?"
"Well, it’s hard to be certain. Apex Predator is a PVP with countless variables, challenges, and hardships, where only one can rise to the top. Predicting the outcome of such a storm is difficult. It’s like predicting the weather tomorrow; even if the probability is high, it’s not guaranteed."
"Haha, a wise answer to a simple question. Thank you for the response. Let’s proceed with the match commentary."
After the brief discussion ended, dozens of screens floated up into the air.
It was a dizzying array of perspectives.
Like CCTV cameras, some were fixed on key landmarks, others followed players, and still others showed the movements of all 100 participants in real-time, separated from the session.
Now, it was time for lead to replace words.
The match began.
In recent Apex Predator AP soloing qualifying ranks, if you asked pro players what they most wanted to avoid, nine out of ten would say it was getting unlucky.
Whether it was an enemy appearing out of nowhere after you’ve just lowered your guard, or getting caught in a crossfire between enemies through no fault of your own, or any number of other situations, there were plenty of frustrating and poorly timed moments.
But as time went on, just as words change meaning or gain new connotations, the term “bad luck” began to take on a new meaning among AP soloing pro gamers—one of which was the misfortune of encountering Yujin.
Of course, they couldn’t openly talk about it.
After all, if someone whose career depends on their skill deliberately avoids another player because they think they can’t win, that would be a sign they’ve lost their competitive edge.
But.
If that person were right in front of you, could you really say that so confidently?
‘Damn, I think I’m screwed….’
Those who had encountered Yujin and failed to survive—basically most players—said it felt like she closed the distance like a ghost.
You might start an engagement thinking you knew where she was, only to be shocked by her incredible accuracy. Then, if you’re distracted for even a moment by an explosion or something else, she’d ambush you from an unexpected angle.
Unfortunately, that was all true.
—Ratatatatatatat!
In the cafeteria section of the prison, wide yet cluttered with various debris. He had initiated the shooting, and he had landed a hit, but as he pursued her, things were going wrong.
That figure. That avatar was so distinctive that mistaking it would be foolish. The dappled snake tail undulating in the air would burn itself into your retinas with just one look.
But the figure it was attached to blinked in and out of view, moving unpredictably in both route and speed.
Confidence began to waver.
You look at where Yujin should be and wait for her to emerge, but you can’t be sure. Is she really still there?
The tension was suffocating. Is it too late to throw a grenade? Too many thoughts. But he tried to push them out.
He had about 10 to 20 rounds left in his magazine. There was still some room to maneuver. He remembered what she emphasized in her streams.
He needed to create an opening.
—Clink.
He combined the motions of drawing and pulling the pin on the grenade into one.
The smoothly thrown grenade was sucked toward the targeted spot—then, in that brief moment, a shadowy figure blurred and started moving.
That’s it.
"…!"
She’s fast.
Bullets crisscrossed through the deafening gunfire. The hexagonal shield popped up, blocking the hail of bullets.
[Alert: Nanomachine reserves at 77%.]
‘How is her accuracy…!’
Sure, he had revealed his position during the initial engagement, but this was too much.
It was basic knowledge that accuracy dropped steeply when shooting while moving or at moving targets, but apparently, sometimes basic knowledge gets thrown out the window.
Alarms were going off in his head, sending bad signals. He immediately bolted to the opposite cover—only for the gunfire to ring out again. The nanomachine reserves dropped below 30% in an instant.
This isn’t good.
And that thought wasn’t wrong.
—Boom!
"—Ugh!"
The grenade hit precisely as he reached cover to reassess. For a moment, sight, hearing, and all senses were overwhelmed.
His nanomachine shield had completely shattered, and all he’d gained was a brief chance at survival. But his mind was already in chaos. The more chaotic the situation, the more his thoughts became one-dimensional.
It was one of those situations.
He couldn’t even decide whether to fight or flee, and his fate?
Well, it wasn’t going to be good.
—Thud!
"Ugh!"
A dull sound, and his vision spun as the figure came into view. Although his avatar dulled the senses, the last warning messages he saw in the UI were serious.
[Alert: Multiple facial fractures detected.] [Warning: Severe injuries confirmed. Temporary vision loss due to orbital collapse.]
Thud.
Just like that, he felt all his willpower drain out like a tsunami.
He lay down on the ground, signaling surrender, and heard a clear voice. He had heard it many times in videos, but hearing it in person felt different.
"Any last words?"
"…I guess this fall’s off to a rough start."
"Haha."
Bang.
That was the last sound he heard before being ejected to the lobby.