"응냐앙…"

"Your avatar might be a cat, but you don’t need to act like a real one."

Lying sprawled on the cold, white concrete floor, Harmony didn’t care about appearances or anything else at that moment. Multiple targets were set up in the distance, making it clear to anyone entering that this was a shooting range. Despite the hard surface and the clattering of the gun on her back, along with the discomfort from the equipment in her bag digging into her spine, it was oddly comfortable. Her exhaustion took over, and she closed her eyes.

"Ahhh…"

"Worked hard today, didn’t you? How does it feel fighting without me for the first time?"

"Let me down first…"

A familiar sight from old adventure movies replayed in her mind. A giant snake, coiling and squeezing, ready to swallow its prey. Yujin’s infamous tail slowly slithered around Harmony’s waist, winding around her torso and lifting her effortlessly into a chair beside her.

"I want one of those tails."

"Unfortunately, it’s not for sale."

After seven long hours of streaming, including a pre-collab practice session with Yujin, Harmony was spent. Even with the toughened nerves she had developed from training under Yujin, today had been a grueling day. Despite receiving Yujin’s message about areas for improvement, her focus was fraying. She had joined to get feedback but could barely stay alert. Wait, what was Yujin asking her? Oh, right—the first time fighting with other players properly.

Using her last bits of concentration, Harmony tried to form a coherent response.

"Uh… It wasn’t too bad, actually."

"That’s what I expected."

Was Yujin predicting her responses? Harmony didn't dwell on it, too tired to care. Yujin glanced at her, encouraging her to elaborate. So, Harmony did, giving her impressions. Yujin’s reaction was, unsurprisingly, subdued—she wasn’t one for big reactions.

"I don’t really know how much I’ve improved compared to before. But I think… combat feels less overwhelming. My body responded better to what I wanted to do."

"You could’ve just said the enemies were easy."

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Harmony had to admit, as much as she hated to boast, she had done well. The intense training sessions and practical application had significantly improved her gameplay. She explained her thoughts, glancing at Yujin, who was still wearing that inscrutable expression. But the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her satisfaction.

"The packaging might look impressive, but that doesn’t mean the contents are much. In small-scale engagements, positioning and calculated movement matter more than raw combat ability. The reason you noticed the enemy’s movements better today is that your awareness has improved from working with me. Isn’t that right?"

"Yeah… that’s true."

"Individual combat skill is broad. It includes decision-making, risk management during shooting, and target detection. Precise shooting is just one part of the equation, and it becomes useful after mastering everything else."

Yujin produced a piece of paper, tossing it into the air where it dissolved into a holographic projection. The screen filled with lines of feedback, detailed notes on improvements—corrections, really. It was overwhelming, seeing how much Yujin had written. It almost looked like Harmony had performed terribly.

"You did well today. I watched your play closely, and domination mode is simple enough that we didn’t have to focus too much on strategy. This let me evaluate your tactical prowess more accurately."

"Moni?" Harmony blinked at the nickname.

"Yeah, everyone calls you Moni. It’s cute."

Oh no.

She had heard it now—Yujin’s cool detachment was unshakable as she continued scanning the notes. Her professionalism was almost infuriating. Finally, Yujin looked back at Harmony.

"Despite all these notes, everything was above average. Tactics, situational awareness, target tracking, and movement were solid. Your shooting could use improvement, but aiming at moving targets is one of the hardest techniques."

"Then… what’s the plan for future training?"

"Let’s focus more on shooting. You’ll have more chances to learn the other aspects, but improving your weakest area will make the biggest difference. We’ll work on increasing your accuracy while moving."

Terrifying.

But Harmony’s body responded naturally. As Yujin adjusted the settings for the shooting range, she threw out casual questions about Harmony’s life, recent experiences, and thoughts on the curriculum. Afterward, it was Harmony’s turn to answer. Yujin asked her about the MCN, her editors, and YourSpace—the platform. Most wouldn’t believe it, but Yujin had only been in the streaming world for less than 40 days.

As Harmony replied, she realized just how much work went into being a streamer, especially for those trying to make a living from it. Streaming wasn’t just about playing games; it required an incredible amount of effort, especially in such a competitive, oversaturated field. Even streamers with thousands of viewers had to hustle constantly to stay relevant.

Maybe that’s why Harmony found Yujin’s training so appealing. Unlike streaming, where she had to plan every step and forge her own path, in Dark Zone, she could focus solely on one clear goal.

There was something freeing about that.

Of course, Yujin wouldn’t leave her to relax.

"Let’s go for about an hour. But if your scores don’t improve, you know what that means."

"Ugh…"

Never mind. Forget everything.

Harmony realized she had definitely bitten off more than she could chew.

100 competitors, 20 tickets.

This weekend, the battlefield will forge 100 players, but only 20 will earn a chance to face the wider world. Only one in five will be given this opportunity, and the fight for it will be fierce.

"KSM? What’s that?"

"The AP tournament. Don’t you play Dark Zone?"

"Oh."

Screens all over the station displayed the tournament ads. Whether on the walls, beside the screen doors, or even on the carbon nanotube displays newly installed on subway windows, the APEX Predator qualifiers were a hot topic, with concurrent viewer numbers breaking 500,000.

The Icarus Corporation had ramped up advertising, knowing the hype for Dark Zone was unprecedented. Everywhere you looked, from television ads to internet banners to the huge building screens in Seoul, the game was everywhere.

The surge in VR headset sales, discounted for universities and students, fueled the trend even further, especially among military returnees. Dark Zone had found the perfect market.

"Isn’t the Asia qualifiers two weeks after KSM? That’s during our midterms."

"College will be there next year, but you won’t get to watch the third APEX Predator tournament if you miss it."

"Guess my test scores will have to be sacrificed."

Even casual conversations like these became common.

The game, once niche, had become a cultural phenomenon. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore—it was a full-blown cultural shift.

"100 players, 20 spots? I wonder who will make it this year."

"20? It’s 19 this year, remember?"

"19? What do you mean—oh."

There was one spot no one could touch. Everyone knew that this year’s competition would be even fiercer. One slot had already been reserved for someone special, throwing off the entire planning for the teams. And no one could forget that.

Even the organizations couldn’t escape it.

"Should we list Yujin as a coach for SSM, or what?"

"Better get permission. With how much attention she’s getting, it’s risky not to."

If Yujin were officially listed, it would complicate things. After she was added to the KSM roster, the SSM team had to scramble to adjust their plans. Dice, in particular, knew Yujin wouldn’t care too much about such details, but not getting her approval was another matter.

At least they had time to prepare. With KSM around the corner, the focus was now on solidifying their roster, including whether Yujin would be part of the three-person team. If not, it would just be two players. Either way, SSM had to prepare for what lay ahead.

"Congrats on making it to KSM. I knew you would. You’re the best AP player we’ve got at SSM. Why don’t you seem happy?"

"I don’t know… I should be happy, but…"

Why didn’t she feel excited?

Dice glanced at his fellow pro-gamer. Everyone knew Yujin’s training methods could be summed up as grinding people down until they became unbreakable weapons. The only saving grace so far was that her curriculum had been tailored for second-tier players and trainees. But now, everything would change.

With KSM guaranteed, and the potential to move on to the Asia qualifiers and beyond, it was only natural to feel overwhelmed.

___________________

"Don’t worry, we’ll get an answer soon. Let’s not stress ourselves over it."

"Yeah, I’m off to prepare for KTM. Catch you later."

As his teammate disappeared, dissolving into the air, Dice sighed and sank deeper into the sofa.

"Tiring. So tiring."

But the real challenges hadn’t even begun.