"Ugh…."

My body felt stiff, and my eyes were strained.

It was strange to hear this kind of complaint from people who weren’t even 30 years old, but there was something terrifying about a certain someone's curriculum that seemed to drag imagination into the realm of reality.

One day passed, then two, and finally, three.

And with that, there was only one day left before we entered the third week. Through this time, they naturally came to realize that not only simple and repetitive tasks but also complex and systematic routines were enough to make time disappear.

The sweet end of rest came, and the regular daily routine descended once more on these so-called professional gamers. It was time to feel again the weight of being a professional, something they had momentarily cast off.

Normally, they would have slowly increased the intensity of their training, like clothes gradually getting soaked in a drizzle. But with Yujin involved, the rate of increase in intensity was even faster than before. In short, the level of fatigue they felt rose proportionally.

But the increased quantity was only one of the problems.

"...What the hell is this?"

They were tasked with achieving a certain level of accuracy with lead shots in specific zones.

Killing a set number of enemies while affected by status conditions caused by grenades or other explosives.

Achieving a specific level of accuracy in moving combat while using a certain type of weapon.

And countless other bizarre conditions were laid out before them. Some of these challenges could be found in existing training courses, but it was a different story when all 19 national representatives, except Yujin, received completely different missions.

In essence, Yujin had collected all the gameplay data of each player, analyzed their habits and movements, and crafted a personalized curriculum to enhance their strengths and trim down their weaknesses.

All within just five days.

"...Does this person not sleep and just research?"

"Yeah, seriously."

It was as if everything they had previously known was being denied right before their eyes.

What she had personally crafted from all that data had a raw, unfinished feel to it, but perhaps because of that, it was even more effective.

To be honest, the strategies proposed by the team alliance weren't all that special either. It was more about sharing ideas and absorbing the strengths of other teams' strategies, while searching for better methods.

In other words, if you asked whether these strategies were dramatically different from the curriculums players had received from their teams, it would be hard to give a clear affirmative.

Regardless of the minor grumblings and murmurs, time passed without much incident.

Any complaints or doubts about the curriculum or Yujin naturally faded away. Once the players entered into combat, the question of whether she deserved to be in her position was erased completely.

No one had ever beaten Yujin. Even Dice hadn’t managed that. Despite assembling a team that could be considered formidable even compared to foreign nations, Yujin's dominance remained unshaken.

Of course, everyone was busy, including Yujin. In fact, Yujin was the busiest. Lately, she hadn’t even had time for personal training. Just coordinating various tasks was keeping her occupied.

Yujin and the other 19 had practically merged with the shooting range and training areas. Even members of the task force who came to observe had grown tired and left.

However, as work piled up, so did the limits. It became clear that everything couldn’t be handled simultaneously. That moment arrived for Yujin when the time for scrims with foreign players drew near.

On the last day of the second week, after completing the curriculum, I—Yujin—once again stood on the stage, just like on the first day, in front of the 19 players.

"Good to see you all."

I exchanged glances with them.

It had been less than a week since the curriculum started, but I could already see a noticeable change in their eyes—a shift, in more ways than one. Specifically, their half-dead expressions.

Everything begins with the realization that this isn’t just a joke, but something real. Breaking free of the mental boxes they’ve built around themselves and pushing forward is naturally a difficult task. Especially considering their skill levels, it was inevitable.

I wasn’t saying this for no reason.

I swiped my fingers to bring up a screen.

"Tomorrow begins week three. In other words, scrims are just around the corner. I’m sure most of you have more experience in this area."

Though the schedule might differ slightly from last year, the overall structure remained the same—and around this time, professional gamers from the furthest regions began arriving in Korea.

They would spend a few days adjusting to the time difference and food, communicating with the teams assigned to them by Icarus Korea, and getting used to the equipment and facilities at their hotel—something along those lines.

That was the general explanation.

But the important part lay elsewhere.

"I’ve heard the scrims will follow a unique format. The reason I’ve gathered you all here is because of that."

All scrims would pit a country’s first team against another country’s second team.

For example, I—along with the first team of South Korea, the national representatives, those ranked 1st to 20th—would be matched against the second teams from Russia, Japan, the Chinese Federation, and Taiwan, which consisted of players ranked 21st to 40th.

That meant 100 players in total. The minimum requirement to form an AP was satisfied. The scrimmage would proceed in this format. First teams would never directly face other first teams, and the second teams were tasked with passing indirect information to their first team.

In other words, the first team had to eliminate the second-team players from other countries as quickly as possible to minimize exposure of their strategy and hide their top players. Conversely, second-team players needed to hold out as long as possible to maximize their advantage.

Now, onto the main point.

"Although I’ve only been training you for less than a week, we’ll need to hit the second-team players hard before the scrims start so that you can be well-prepared. The curriculum priority will shift temporarily."

Everyone caught on to what I was saying.

But hearing it spoken aloud carried a different weight.

"We have one week until the scrims and about two weeks until the Asian preliminaries. There’s still plenty of time for your skills to improve. However, the workload has increased, and Dice and I won’t be able to cover all twenty of you on our own."

I had considered leaving the second team’s development to the task force, but after much deliberation, it was clear that wouldn’t yield satisfactory results.

As is typical when money is involved, sudden and extreme measures are frowned upon. In fact, my presence here was already considered a bold, if not extreme, challenge.

In other words, the task force and I had different objectives. It wasn’t a matter of direction but of the height of the goals we were aiming for. I had to look further ahead.

The faster we pushed, the better the outcome.

In that process, everyone—including me—would be pushed to their limits. They were about to face a grueling schedule like nothing they had experienced before. And that was only natural.

Back in the day, debriefing after engagements was routine. Whether the engagement ended at 8 AM, 4 PM, or 6 AM, two hours of discussion and analysis were mandatory, and the concept of a "biological rhythm" was erased from our vocabulary.

Fortunately, VR had a function that accelerated time by three times, and I planned to use it to its full potential.

At least it would allow us to sleep on time.

"I’ll need to rely on the unfinished strength of all of you to get through this, but that should work itself out naturally."

With a swift motion, I produced bright red hats, the kind typically worn by training instructors, and placed them on the heads of everyone except for Dice and myself.

The reactions varied. Those who had served in the military let out chuckles, while the others either looked confused or touched the shiny hats as if they had a vague sense of what was happening.

Watching this, I smiled.

In two weeks, everyone would understand the weight of these hats.

I waved my hand and quickly explained the upcoming schedule. It was more than double the length of the previous one. Naturally, the interactions with the second-team players and the individual training would run as entirely separate tracks.

Seeing their stunned faces, I added,

"It’s going to be a tough two weeks, so brace yourselves."

Later, Dice would describe hearing those words as feeling like "being on a bus speeding down a one-way road to hell, with the driver flooring the accelerator."

"…What’s going on? Why did they call all of us here?"

Another group of twenty cautiously stepped into the training area.

They weren’t exactly familiar faces. Unfortunately, these were the ones who had just narrowly missed out on becoming national representatives—the KSM ranks 21 through 40, the backup players. Some of them had even participated in last year’s Asian preliminaries.

Their expressions weren’t exactly bad, but they weren’t great either. Being left behind tends to have that effect. And aside from a select few in the top ranks, most of these players were constantly vying for a chance to claim a spot at the top.

But that wasn’t the important part right now. These players knew what was expected of them—they too had schedules filled with interviews and scrim preparations, even if it wasn’t as rigorous as the actual national representatives'.

On top of that, today marked the start of the third week. The representatives from countries furthest from South Korea would begin arriving at Incheon Airport. There wasn’t much time left before the real scrims began.

And now, out of nowhere, a call had been sent to all of them. The reason? Special training. The players entered the room, confused and slightly on edge, unsure of what to expect.

Of course, some of them had already pieced things together.

"What are they going to do all of a sudden… Hey, aren’t you Blooming from SSM? Why do you look so tense?"

"…I’ve got a bad feeling about this…"

"…."

Anxiety is contagious.

And when there are a few people who have already sensed that something might happen, the spread of that anxiety becomes exponential. The phrase "special training" had a certain ominous weight. The professional gamer from SSM seemed to know something, and his rising tension only fed the uncertainty.

It didn’t take long for their curiosity—What the hell is going to happen?—to shift into the hope that someone would tell them, Please, tell me this isn’t what I think it is. But unfortunately, the waves of truth and reality crash down faster than expected.

An ominous voice rang out from the ceiling as the room around them began to rapidly transform.

• [Notice: The 40-player mock battle is now starting.]

"What?! What the hell?! What’s going on?"

"Grab your gun! Do you need a lunchtime lecture on common sense?!"

In the next instant, a flash blinded them all.

When their vision cleared, the twenty players were scattered across a wide map, each placed in different locations. Even those who had been caught off guard had no choice but to snap to attention as the sounds of gunfire echoed from every direction. Instinctively gripping their weapons, they scanned their surroundings.

A brief silence. But it didn’t last long. Before they knew it, enemies with bright red caps—hilariously easy to spot—began appearing one by one. They didn’t know who they were at first, but it didn’t take long to figure it out.

These were the first-team members.

And their eyes showed a dangerous combination of madness and exhaustion.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!

"What the hell is this!?"

The muzzle flared, the firing pin struck the primer with a powerful blow, and steel springs spewed out impossibly advanced arrows and flames simultaneously. Dozens of rounds per second, slicing through the air and slamming into shields with crushing physical force.

And thus began an all-out brawl. Tactical maneuvers unfolded in areas where the objects were bizarrely placed, while other parts of the map, designed with cramped spaces, forced players to switch from rifles to pistols or submachine guns.

The combat was relentless. The data kept piling up. Meanwhile, the snake slithering through the map—whether targeting fully collected 1st-team members or 2nd-team backups—showed no mercy to anyone.

Everywhere on the map, every type of skirmish was being recorded. Hundreds of invisible cameras monitored them from above like a watchful Big Brother. The analysis engine under Yujin's control was in full operation.

The orientation (OT) had officially begun.

And the second-team members slowly began to notice the changes in the first-team players.

...Something’s different from a while ago, isn’t it?

It wasn’t a dramatic change. Their physical abilities hadn’t increased to a degree noticeable to the average person. But to the trained eye, to fellow professionals, the difference was subtle but unmistakable.

The second team couldn’t completely overpower the first team. The skill gap was as thin as a sheet of paper. But when that gap doubled, quadrupled, or even increased eightfold, the situation inevitably shifted.

Moreover, every KSM participant was well-versed in their opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. It was like a game of rock-paper-scissors. However, after just a week of training, the second-team players began to realize that their perception was somehow off.

They struck at what they believed were weaknesses, but unlike before, the first-team members handled these situations with far more skill.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. The first-team players were gradually evolving into players with no obvious weaknesses.

Granted, the improvement was subtle, something you could describe as barely noticeable. Like tickling someone who used to squirm uncontrollably, but now they reacted less and less.

But after just five days? The fact that fellow pro gamers could detect such a shift in less than a week was nothing short of astonishing.

Well, that aside...

"Overhaul everything!"

"Catch them, catch them!"

"Your glory days are over, you rookies!"

"What’s wrong with these guys?! Why are they all so crazy?!"

Even by the end, the twenty 2nd-team players who had been unceremoniously thrown into the battlefield couldn’t understand why the first-team members were so furious.