"What a gloomy sky."

Kalamaansk – a city near a nuclear waste disposal site.

The sky wasn’t just yellow; it was a deep, murky green-black. The air felt cool but was thick and carried a faint metallic tang, almost like lead. The clouds hanging over the sky were a sickly green, as if they were rotting away, casting an ominous hue. Maybe they were rotting, in some strange, apocalyptic sense.

Icarus International had a knack for creating a dying world atmosphere. Playing through the various maps could make you feel like you were walking through a world in the throes of an extinction-level event. Thick, tar-like black rain poured from the heavens.

This was the Kill Zone of the map—radioactive rain falling from the sky. It was the kind of place that made you wonder if such a desolate city could exist in real life. Maybe players with depression shouldn’t even touch this map.

It felt fitting for someone like me, the last remaining member from SSM.

Sigh.

Just 15 minutes ago, Dice had been selected as the second pre-selected national team member. That meant the player count in this match dropped from 99 to 98, and there were now only 18 remaining national team slots. It was a relief to dodge two natural disasters, but now, I had to rely entirely on myself. No more leaning on anyone for mental support.

Not that I had actually gotten any help during the match, but there was a kind of empty feeling—maybe a virtual hollow in my mind. Perhaps the dreary weather wasn’t helping.

I shook off the feeling and entered a nearby building. Opening a rusty box, I found it filled with completed gear. There were guns scattered across the floor, leaving me spoiled for choice. Big-caliber guns weren’t absent, but wielding something like an ASh-12.7 on a grand stage like KSM felt like too big a gamble for me. Even though I’d played Dark Zone for a while and considered myself experienced, there was always a higher level I hadn’t reached yet.

That was the reality of AP. Even though everyone seemed to be playing similarly, countless invisible variables were at work behind the scenes, all converging to form an outcome—victory or defeat.

What existed between those moments that led to victory in this game? Maybe if I learned more from Coach Yu-jin, I’d start to understand.

Seeing Dice soaring through matches gave me hope.

"So, what now…."

Despite what I said, my body was already moving. My target: the place where chaos was breaking out. Was I being too bold for KSM? That thought crossed my mind, and I didn’t disagree. But, as my esteemed coach once told me:

KSM isn’t just a major event for you, Blooming. Everyone’s feeling the same thing. But that’s precisely where the gap is—where you need to strike.

In other words, more than 90 players were probably thinking similarly. But that also meant there was less resistance to players brazenly running amok.

Of course, pro gamers weren’t fools. They’d prepared for such tactics—but no matter how much a pianist practices, they still get nervous on stage. Tensing up during a match was a primal instinct. At least I had some freedom of movement even in that tension, something I had gained from countless hard-earned experiences.

Tududududu!

Gunfire echoed everywhere, as if someone were roasting beans in the distance. I cautiously made my way to what was probably the most dangerous location in Kalamaansk—a massive shopping mall complex. Some would say others must be thinking the same thing, and I didn’t disagree. But it was all a matter of proportions. In a national selection tournament, where nerves ran high, there would likely be more players making stiff, hesitant moves than those running wild.

That’s something Yu-jin taught me.

At this point, I had rephrased her advice enough times in my head. Instead of just "running wild," it was more about seizing the initiative. I stepped deeper into what had once been a bustling mall.

This was where the skill activation zones began, and the intense game of nerves was about to kick off. But I had memorized every map to the point that they were second nature—even though the layout changed every game. I had a rough idea of where the enemy would be.

Running between cover, I moved boldly toward the source of the gunfire. As I closed in, I could hear shots in the distance. Timing was key now. My nano-machine shield would absorb a few hits, but I had to be careful not to push too far.

After a short while, I found myself flanking an opponent locked in combat with another player. I lined up the red dot sight and pulled the trigger.

Trrrrrrt!

"Ugh!"

As expected—or perhaps not—the sudden intrusion sent the player packing quickly. But there was no time to loot. I had to run. I bolted in the opposite direction without looking back.

I wasn’t sure what to call this tactic—maybe the "wild horse" meta? I doubted it would work again, but catching them off guard was exactly the plan.

But when you hunt, you also have to be prepared to be hunted.

Ping!

"Did I get too greedy?"

Bullets rained down hard on my shield. Another player had arrived, thinking the same as I did, but just a bit too late. The silver lining was that they were coming at me head-on. If I’d been unlucky, I might have gotten caught from some unknown angle.

Normally, I’d try to break through or flee, but the area was packed with players and the layout was too complex. Instead, I aimed to sandwich the enemy between me and other players while dodging their fire.

Tududududu!

Bullets flew everywhere, but I kept my counterfire to a minimum. My nano-machine shield could hold out for a while longer, but I needed to keep things quiet and low-key. I used grenades instead, drawing aggro toward the other player.

With a quick click, I pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. Explosives were easy to find, so no need to hold back.

After creating enough distance, I slowly recovered my shield while maintaining a careful distance from the firefight. Gradually, the noise began to fade.

"They’re gone."

It was disappointing not to finish them off, but there had been gains. And as long as I was alive, I could always hunt again. Thinking about that drained some of my energy. How did the people who taught me this stuff do it so casually?

Sshhh.

"Ugh, what is this…?"

Where did this sudden chill come from? Was I imagining things?

"Well… converting MOA to a score, that’d be 57 points. Yu-jin set the target score at 85, so you’ve still got a ways to go. Using grenades to redirect the chaos instead of engaging directly wasn’t bad, but what do you think?"

"The approach wasn’t bad, but the method was risky. I think I’ll break down the tracking phase into more detailed steps. Want to sit in?"

"…Yes."

Of course, it wasn’t my imagination.

The real horror was that Yu-jin and Dice were watching me, evaluating my every move in real time.

Q: When did you first meet Yu-jin?

"Before the qualifier rankings started, I joined a scrim hosted by Xi. That was the first time I faced her. It was maybe six minutes into the match, and I got completely wrecked by a mind game. I even used a wildcard but didn’t get a rematch. I’m not sure what piqued her interest after that, but… well, here we are."

For pre-selected players, time flowed differently from the rest of the competitors. After about 20 minutes, the hosts had returned with a new set of questions for the joint Dice & Yu-jin interview. Meanwhile, the 6th game had ended, and the 7th was entering its late stage.

At this point, Blooming had finished the Kalamaansk Nuclear Waste Disposal map with a solid 4 kills and a 9th-place finish. But Yu-jin and Dice only had a rough idea of the results—after all, the interview was their main focus.

Q: This is your second time being selected as a national team member. How do you feel about it?

"Hmm, how do I put this… I’m taking it more seriously than I did last year. Back then, I kind of expected to be selected, but looking back, I think I lacked a sense of responsibility. This year, I’m trying to show more of my own style."

She continued.

"When you’re not just part of the top 20% of KSM but representing a whole nation, people start getting curious about you. Last year, I think I felt burdened by the attention. But this year, I want to showcase my individuality more."

"That’s a great attitude. I’m sure fans are eager to see more of what makes you unique in this interview and beyond."

The host, nodding in understanding, pulled up the next question.

Meanwhile, Yu-jin’s hand hadn’t stopped moving. She was scribbling notes about Blooming’s performance, detailing areas for improvement, strengths, and training plans. By now, the stack of papers had grown quite thick.

Though Dice was the focus of the interview, Yu-jin was more of an observer—only stepping in when necessary.

Seeing this, Dice wore a half-resigned, half-amused expression as the questions kept coming.

Q: Is this how you usually build your curriculum?

"Pretty much. That stack of papers is Blooming’s, so I’m really glad it’s not mine. We use the notes to create tailored training programs."

"I see. Is it usually this much? How was it for you, Dice?"

"It was about that thick until not too long ago."

Ha-ha.

Laughter was exchanged all around.

Now, the real meat of the interview began.

Q: What’s your relationship with Yu-jin like?

"In the beginning, it was purely business. I don’t have to say much about her skills—they speak for themselves. But personally, she’s actually a lot of fun to be around, so we’ve gotten pretty close."

"Surprisingly close?"

"Oh, no, no, no! I mean… Oof!"

Yu-jin, sneaking up from behind, executed a textbook rear-naked choke on Dice. The hosts couldn’t help but wonder where such strength came from in Yu-jin’s small frame.

Though the interview wasn’t part of an active game, time still didn’t stop. The pre-selected players’ eventful Saturday was nearing its end. In other words, the interview was also wrapping up soon—but that didn’t stop their playful exchange.

Q: Last time, we saw Yu-jin put you in a cobra twist. Are you two comfortable playing around like that?

"Yeah, pretty much. With our jobs, we spend more time online than in real life. Even though we meet for training, we hang out a lot too. It’s only natural that we’d get close. Right, Yu-jin?"

"Hmm…."

"Hey! What’s with that look? Was I the only one serious about this?"

"Haha, just kidding. Kidding. A light joke—ouch! Why are you biting my tail?!"

"Gah!"

Ah.

So that’s how they played.

Seeing Dice playfully bite Yu-jin’s tail, the hosts chuckled to themselves. But they couldn’t help wondering if this entire segment needed to be edited out.

Dice, now dazed after receiving a solid smack, tumbled off her chair, only for Yu-jin to calmly lift her back up with her tail. Then, excusing herself for a quick break, Yu-jin disconnected from her avatar. The two hosts took the opportunity to mute Dice temporarily.

Above their heads floated the unmistakable logo of Icarus International’s PR team—the black phoenix.

"As always, it’s amazing how freely she moves that tail. But this is off the record, so don’t worry about it."

"Yeah, I’ve practiced for a long time. I like to make the most of what I have."

"Have you told Dice about it yet?"

"Hmm."

Yu-jin let out a small laugh and added:

"There’s no real precedent for this, but… she’ll find out soon enough. I’m curious to see how she reacts when she does."

Click.

Dice returned, and the mute was lifted, ending the brief conversation.

The tournament's end drew near on a Saturday night.