Fenrir Translations
"It might not be okay."
"What exactly are you referring to?"
"Yujin's curriculum."
"Haven't we already discussed that?"
Outside, snow was falling.
Of course, it wasn’t something one would expect at the end of September. Snow was something you wouldn’t find unless you were in the polar regions or among the towering peaks of famous mountain ranges.
It was an unrealistic scene.
In other words, this wasn’t reality. It was virtual. The two were in a villa nestled on an unnamed snow-covered ridge. Inside, they sat engaged in conversation.
These two were part of a specially assembled task force made up of the top coaching staff and directors from each team. More specifically, one of them was the director at the core of the team, and the other was one of the coaches.
A brief silence followed, and the director hit the core of the issue.
"You seem anxious."
"Wouldn’t you be?"
A straightforward agreement.
Instead of trying to argue logically, he simply nodded. No matter how one tried to rationalize it, the mind was still headed in the direction the director pointed out.
He was anxious. It was true, and it was inevitable. This had never been attempted before. The problem, however, was that there weren’t many other options either. The task force, though it sounded grand, wasn’t guaranteed to be a miraculous solution.
Both of them knew that. It was only natural. The professional gaming scene and tournaments were only three years old—KSM, the Asian preliminaries, the Final Championship... nothing had been formalized yet.
It was like being thrown a pile of materials and told to build a boat and cross the ocean to reach the finish line. What kind of boat would be most advantageous? What would the weather be like on the way? Were there storms, or...?
What needed to be done?
The answer slowly followed.
"At first, I thought it was a matter of efficiency—analyzing the speed at which the opponent played their hand, their preferred choices, the in-game rules… and then responding accordingly. It seemed like a rock-paper-scissors game analyzed down to the nanosecond."
There was no reaction.
But he continued.
"Have you seen Yujin’s training firsthand?"
"Unfortunately, I haven’t. Have you, sir?"
"Once."
He didn’t say anything more.
But just hearing that much was enough for the coach to immediately grasp how remarkable that was. It was only once—he had only seen Yujin’s actual training once. Yet, that one time had completely changed everything.
The director smiled and added,
"If you increase the number of cards, give them more to work with, there’s no need to focus on crafting an effective tactic to counter the opponent’s strategy. You just need to act accordingly."
"You believe Yujin can make others like that."
"There’s precedent."
A brief pause.
The director didn’t bother to recount Yujin’s journey or her impressive curriculum in detail. After a moment of thought, he simply added,
"What coach could bring someone like Dice to the top in just a month?"
"…."
"Dice isn’t second place. She’s number one. Many people overlook that. Likewise, Yujin... she’s beyond being a 'number one' figure. She’s someone who might not even need the Asian preliminaries."
The conversation continued.
"Recently, I watched her curriculum and personal training."
"How was it?"
"It wasn’t the training of a gamer."
It was a strange comment.
But its meaning was clear.
"…It was more like what you’d expect from an actual operator. It didn’t feel like she was training a professional gamer."
"Should I take that to mean you didn’t say anything?"
"Who knows. It seems like I haven’t said anything since the beginning."
A sensitive point.
With that, the conversation they’d been having faded into the darkness.
Their voices, devoid of much emotion, carried on.
"We’ll take any help we can get if it’s beneficial."
"What will you do when Yujin leaves?"
"Hope the players absorb as much knowledge as they can before then."
At the same time, another remark followed.
"And if all the tactics devised by countless scholars are inferior to what one person comes up with, wouldn’t it be better to be left behind?"
"…Haha. Quite a joke."
"I hope it isn’t."
Haha.
Haha.
Dry laughter echoed intermittently.
─────────────────
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
"Ugh!"
"Wow, they managed to break through even with such a bad position."
"That suppressive fire accuracy is insane! How is this even suppression?"
The enemy was just one, but there were multiple signs of death.
Multiple last words.
The moment there was an opening, geographical and positional advantages were overturned in an instant. Making the same mistake again would result in a bone-chilling attack striking their soft side. Despite being in a small scrimmage, Dice’s moves were relentless, as if it were just another casual game.
For other users higher up in the ranks, where avoiding engagement was more common, this was nothing short of shocking. And it wasn’t even Yujin’s moves, but Dice’s. If they failed to react in time, they’d be overwhelmed in a heartbeat.
Upon death, they were immediately redeployed. That applied to Dice as well. The first goal of the day was to get used to the pressure combat brings.
The battlefield was changing every second, sometimes faster than even seconds could measure. Everyone was scrambling at first, unsure of what was happening, but as time passed, they started to make calmer decisions.
As the scrimmage continued, encountering the enemy became routine, allowing everyone to experiment with tactics and strategies they hadn’t considered before, adapting to different terrains and situations.
But once Yujin got involved, things changed.
"Whoa, what the hell?!"
Killing an enemy through suppression fire.
That’s roughly the kind of crazed motto guiding the battles. As others frantically racked their brains for a solution, Yujin’s database was steadily accumulating key insights.
Little by little, everyone began to realize.
Combat, CQB, and fighting itself were far more complex and difficult the deeper you dove in.
Time ticked away, stained with madness and exhaustion.
Video footage piled up under numerous categories. Invisible, intangible hundreds of transparent cameras were recording every player’s moves from various angles in real time, saving key engagements under specific keywords.
For instance, if the keyword was "time taken to switch to a sidearm when out of ammo," the camera following that player would record the scene and store it under the corresponding category.
Other keywords were similar—how a player handled combat in tight, uncomfortable spaces, their vulnerabilities, their weapon-switching preferences, and even how they adjusted their attachments.
In the end, all that data would come together to create a blueprint of the player.
Sigh.
Even Dice was sweating from the intense labor. And it was no surprise. Data didn’t accumulate quickly.
What Yujin was aiming for—a blueprint with this level of precision—required an enormous amount of information. Naturally, the only way to achieve that was through time.
In short, it was a process of grinding people down.
Even with a break every 30 minutes, the individual mental strength of the twenty players was being depleted at an alarming rate.
"Alright, let’s take a 20-minute break."
"Ahhh, I’m going to die at this rate!"
"My index finger… I can’t feel my index finger, haha…"
Everyone was mentally checked out.
The only one who seemed completely fine was Yujin, of course. Even Dice was sprawled out on the floor, panting heavily. But Yujin, her breathing steady, calmly reviewed the amount of data gathered.
63%. Even with this percentage, there were already plenty of significant insights to help improve performance. And by the looks of it, forcing them to go through any more engagements could lead to negative side effects.
If they were still groaning 20 minutes later, it might be time to consider halting the orientation, even temporarily. Overtraining may sound nice, but it’s not actually helpful.
'What’s left for today?'
Even as she thought that, there wasn’t much that could be done until the orientation was over. Once the analysis was complete, she could break down each player’s strengths and weaknesses and finally get into real training.
She couldn’t offer tips or practical advice for engagements just yet. The people who trained Yujin never did either, after all.
Looking at the data, it was clear that those who had gone through the most diverse combat scenarios were accumulating the most feedback. In other words, those who had thrown themselves into the heat of battle first.
She could give meaningful advice to these people—even if this was just orientation.
"Hmm."
Sitting there for 15 minutes, she looked around. No one was moving. They were lying on their backs, half-asleep, their minds switched off to recover.
It reminded her of the time when they defended HQ and secured forward bases for 48 hours straight without sleep, chewing stimulants, and constantly going out on support missions. As soon as it was over, everyone passed out from exhaustion.
…Not that she had any right to talk, considering she wet herself after the first engagement.
Anyway, it seemed better to either extend the break or just end the orientation altogether.
She changed the surroundings again. Earlier, she had shifted the auditorium into a combat zone, but this time it was the reverse. A return to the starting point, so to speak.
She also swapped out the chairs for more comfortable ones. This time, instead of the regular chairs, they were now lounging in massage chairs or the kind you’d find in a luxurious theater. The sudden comfort made them jolt for a moment.
Then, she spoke.
"Don’t drift off into dreamland, but listen while you rest. The purpose of today’s six hours of combat wasn’t just to help you get used to the pressure of battle, but also to gather data to properly activate the analysis engine."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
But they were too mentally drained to form coherent responses. Like zombies, all they could muster were groans and half-hearted sounds. Forming logical sentences required energy they simply didn’t have.
She added briefly,
"In other words, today and tomorrow will follow the same process. The total data collection rate is currently at 63%, so the orientation should be completed by tomorrow."
"Orientation!?"
Of course, that wasn’t the part they were shocked by.
But the important part was yet to come.
"Doberman. Your weapon’s MOA is fine overall, but your positioning and reaction to sudden events need work. You could function as a sharpshooter. Recommended maps are NBV Desert Base and Atakaia Volcano Island. Avoid high-value research facilities."
"…Huh?"
"To address your weaknesses is actually quite simple. You need to engage in more close-range combat, especially within 30 meters. Your MOA drops significantly during movement shooting, so that’s something to work on too… But shooting isn’t the only solution. The higher you go, the more everyone will have those qualities."
Doberman, a player from Regio Invicta, shot up from his seat, but she wasn’t finished.
"Mikael from Reaper Infected. You’re great in regular combat for someone who mainly uses a shield. But the gap between your two styles is too wide. If you don’t improve your transition speed by at least 50%, it’ll become a long-term headache."
One by one.
She listed them out, dissecting them.
"I have no intention of teaching you how to win tournaments. But I can teach you how to take down every enemy who tries to kill you."
I don’t teach how to pick locks.
Instead, I hand you a blunt weapon to smash the lock, help you build the strength to swing it, and show you the proper stance and method.
That’s everything I’ve learned.
Before long, all nineteen players were making eye contact with me.
I exhaled softly.
There was a smile on my lips.
"There may be those for whom this curriculum doesn’t suit. But seeing as you’re all still here, I don’t think that’s something I need to worry about."
At some point, they had all stood up.
Looking them in the eyes, I spoke again.
"Welcome to the training program."
Applause erupted.