NoveLight ™
After devouring the meal like a starving person, the meal was soon over.
A little ahead of me, I could hear a soft slicing sound.
Coach was peeling the skin off an apple with a knife.
Judging by the disposable plastic bags in front of him, he seemed to be cutting it into small, easy-to-eat pieces.
Unable to resist, I grabbed one of the cut pieces and popped it into my mouth.
Not long ago, I felt like my stomach couldn’t hold anything more, but the thought of the sweet and sour taste of the apple was too tempting.
The juicy sweetness filled my mouth. Delicious. Is this what happiness feels like?
As a small smile crept onto my lips, Coach quietly asked,
“So, how’ve you been these days?”
“The same. Earning money, going to the hospital. Just living.”
“Is your leg getting any better?”
“They say at least it’s not getting worse.”
He was referring to my left foot.
Knowing how much money I was pouring into the hospital, he was understandably concerned.
I wonder how much I’ve spent on it so far.
I couldn’t give an exact number, but it was certainly a considerable sum.
This rotting leg of mine—if I had just cut it off, I wouldn’t be living on the floor of this one-room apartment.
But... I just couldn’t let go of the hope.
If I cut it off, I felt like I’d never be able to return to how I once was.
“I know you might think I’m nagging, but you’ve got to take care of your health. The body is all connected. If you keep at it... something good will happen eventually.”
Coach’s voice trailed off a little.
I understood now why he hesitated.
He was worried about giving me false hope.
Sports, after all, is a world as cold and harsh as it is filled with passion.
In competition, there is no middle ground. If you’re not the winner, you’re the loser.
And talent—well, it can trample all over you without mercy.
Having been in that industry for so long, both as an athlete and an educator,
How many failures had Coach witnessed? How many times had hope turned into poison and devoured his students?
Hope, despite what people think, isn’t always such a beautiful word.
Even so, Coach chose words of comfort for me.
I nodded, not at his words, but at his courage in offering them.
“I’ll be heading to Japan for a trip soon. I’ll stop by a few hospitals there and ask around. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Is this trip for a training camp?”
“Yeah. There’s supposed to be a friendly competition, but it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Well, since you’re doing it, you’ve got to win. Best of luck.”
“Yeah. I’ll bring back a win.”
Even though I wasn’t an athlete anymore, Coach was still my teacher.
I wanted to at least watch the match if I could.
If it wasn’t being broadcast, maybe I could ask for a video.
A competition... that word still had a nice ring to it, even now.
But it would be hard for me to return to kendo.
Not just because of TS Syndrome.
In kendo, there’s no such thing as weight classes.
Since it involves handling weapons, the difference in weight can be overcome, and I’ve faced plenty of opponents taller than me.
I’ve heard people say it’s designed with real-life scenarios in mind, but... I’m not sure about that.
The real issue is my leg.
Even if my left leg heals, rehabilitation will take a long time.
And it would take even longer to get back into the condition required to compete as an athlete.
Right now, it feels like a distant, unrealistic goal.
“Isn’t there something you can do? I heard you’re good at that game you play. It’s some kind of fighting game, right? With your skills, you should be able to win something, shouldn’t you?”
“Well, most official tournaments require in-person participation. I’d also have to use the equipment they provide.”
“Yeah, I know. But aren’t there any smaller tournaments you could enter from home?”
“Nothing that’s really caught my attention yet...”
I didn’t want to enter tournaments that were too small.
Winning one of those would be like trying to quench your thirst by drinking seawater.
I had been invited to a few streamer-run tournaments, but I turned them all down.
I felt like it would tarnish my reputation more than anything.
Is it even fair to call it “reputation”?
Right now, I was thirsty for things like winning and being recognized as the best in the world.
It was the dream I hadn’t achieved. The dream I could no longer achieve.
I suppose that’s why I wanted to reclaim something I lost due to that sudden accident.
It didn’t have to be kendo anymore—I just wanted to be recognized for something.
Before the international competition, my determination had twisted and turned into something monstrous.
“A tournament notice did come up recently, but I haven’t read it yet.”
“Really? Then you should check it out. I’ll take a look with you.”
I waved my hand dismissively, saying it probably wasn’t anything, but I couldn’t help feeling a strange sense of anticipation.
The title of the notice sent by my client caught my eye.
[Notice: Find the Strongest Adventurer! The 1st Infinity Arena!]
I scrolled through, absorbing the important details.
Unlimited participants. No entry requirements. No restrictions on gear.
The competition was divided into five tiers based on gear and level.
Participants would be matched randomly for 1v1 duels.
For the first round of qualifiers, you had to win at least three out of five matches to move on to the second round.
So, essentially, they were trying to find the strongest 1v1 player across all users in the game.
Since it was an event, the prize money wasn’t anywhere near what you’d get from the pro scene.
But for me, the money wasn’t the important part.
No matter how the tournament was structured, if I couldn’t participate, it meant nothing to me.
And sure enough, at the bottom of the tournament announcement, it said that finalists would be invited to the finals, including airfare.
Tch. I shouldn’t have even looked at it—it just soured my mood.
But with Coach here, I had to keep my expression in check.
“I won’t be able to participate. But that’s fine. Someday, there’ll be a good opportunity.”
Thump. Thump. My heart pounded for no reason.
Calm down. This isn’t the first time.
I clenched my right fist tightly, channeling all my strength into it.
That way, no tension would show on my face.
It helped relax my stiff, awkward expression just a little.
Fortunately, Coach was still looking at the monitor screen.
Just as I was about to close the event page, tired of looking at it, Coach pointed to something in the corner of the screen with his thick finger.
“Hey, Da... Da-eun. What’s this?”
“Which one?”
It seemed like my vision had gotten narrow.
Maybe because I hadn’t slept in a while.
It wasn’t because I was emotionally shaken, of course.
Coach was pointing to a notice that had just been posted an hour or two ago, labeled as the “next post.”
And it had a title I couldn’t ignore.
[Notice: Schedule Change for Infinity Arena]
I vaguely remembered reading about this when I was browsing the community at the convenience store.
It was just a fleeting mention.
A volcanic eruption, huh?
Unfortunate, yes, but I hadn’t thought it had anything to do with me.
So, I hadn’t paid much attention to it.
You really never know what the future holds.
Just as misfortune had come to me without warning, it seemed that luck, too, could arrive without any sign.
I kept scrolling, almost in a trance.
I reread the announcement several times, thinking I must have misunderstood it.
I scrolled back up and then back down, carefully reading every word with wide eyes.
I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, and I even scoured the community, hoping to find news articles about it.
With a notice like this, there should be at least one or two reports on it.
I just hoped I was reading it right.
[The event will be held online! Infinity Inc. announces Arena schedule changes.]
[What impact will the changes in the Arena schedule have?]
[We’ve gathered the names of pro gamers participating in the Infinity Arena!]
They all said the same thing.
This time, I could participate.
Would I ever get another opportunity like this?
I didn’t know. It didn’t feel real, and my head was spinning.
I think Coach said something to me, but I wasn’t sure if I answered properly.
The one thing I knew for sure was that my hand moved as if it had a mind of its own.
Back on the event page, I scrolled to the bottom.
I remembered the last time I had clicked the participation button, only to hit “Cancel” in anguish.
Funny how this time, the button looked exactly the same.
[Adventurer Gawol, your Arena rank is ‘Black.’]
[Are you sure you want to participate? Yes/No]
With my heart racing, I clicked “Yes.”
[Your application to participate in the Infinity Arena has been successfully submitted.]
[Good luck in your challenge.]