NoveLight ™
For me, this "TS Syndrome" was mostly a curse.
First, my physical abilities drastically diminished. I went from being a sturdy young man to a short girl, so even without my injured left leg, I had lost most of my physical capabilities. The stamina that once allowed me to run full marathons now made it difficult to even walk to the local convenience store.
Strength was also an issue, and since I now had a woman’s body, my muscles didn’t build the way they used to. No matter how much I lifted weights, my arms remained soft and squishy. The pink dumbbells I had bought with such high hopes had become ghosts, wandering somewhere around my room.
I would spot them from time to time when I had nearly forgotten about them, only for them to disappear again. The last time I saw them, they were somewhere under my bed.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. If your house burns down, at least you won’t have to worry about doing laundry tomorrow. There was no need to think negatively about everything.
In terms of taste, there was one improvement. I could no longer eat super spicy ramen like I used to, but I could taste the subtleties of food more clearly.
Like the rich, delicate flavor of melted fat in boiled pork belly. The texture of the meat as it melted on my tongue, or the sweetness that came from crushed grains of rice. And when the richness started to become overwhelming, the sharp tang of cabbage kimchi would cleanse my palate. I could now enjoy sensations I hadn’t noticed before.
It just meant the boiled pork belly I was eating while watching Luce’s stream tasted amazing.
There was still some left from what my instructor had brought over last time. The power of well-cooked meat was as strong as ever. And with instant rice to boot, I felt as fortified as Zhuge Liang was for Liu Bei. No, even more so.
Luce's Arena stream was progressing smoothly. Her signature solid playstyle was shining in this one-on-one environment.
As a Paladin, Luce often played as the frontliner for her team, and there were plenty of times she had to act solo, fending off the opposing team's main damage dealers all by herself. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that this role required the most versatile combat experience in the game. Naturally, individual combat skills were paramount.
In the wide-open corridor, a bullet suddenly flew toward her. The sound of the projectile breaking the sound barrier cut through the air. The shot left a dark mark on her shield.
Her opponent was as tough as expected.
The streamer who created this build called it the “Shotgun Burst Hunter.” Later, those who played it began referring to it as the “Spear Hunter.” It sacrificed the hunter class's usual control over the battlefield in favor of extreme firepower.
All-in builds like this pop up every now and then, but this one was particularly broken. Tanks with front guards were being shredded along with their shields. The basic game mechanics had been overturned, making this an obviously overpowered build. It was a flaw made possible by the large-scale balance changes in the recent preseason patch.
In the current patch, Paladins couldn’t gain the initiative against hunters, nor could they rely on their guards or shields. The only way to counter this was to restore defense and guard gauge through a unique buff when the hunter fired their burst. If timed correctly, it would leave just enough health to survive.
As soon as the distance closed, the hunter pulled the trigger.
"Ooh, clean block. It’d be nice if assassins got a little more guard gauge, too."
Luce succeeded. Despite the storm of shotgun pellets, the Paladin’s life remained intact. The hunter had wasted all their ammo, and their perfectly timed shot had gone down the drain.
She had nullified the hunter's strength and played to her own. The outcome was inevitable now. The “Spear Hunter” had no other tricks up its sleeve after sacrificing everything for firepower.
It was time to finish it.
Her enlarged shield stood like a wall. Luce charged through the crude traps, and the hunter had no time to reload. There was no way a shotgun could pierce the Paladin’s armor now.
The match ended in a one-sided beatdown.
"Ah, that’s the stuff. These one-hit-wonder builds need to be taught a lesson."
It was a satisfying result. Once again, justice was served in Infinity Black.
Players who relied on the meta without mastering the fundamentals were always a disgrace. They only cared about raising their rank when the game was temporarily broken, scrambling to maintain it. How could such players be considered equals, when their rank could rise and fall several tiers with each patch?
The shotgun build, with its wide area of effect and crazy damage, deserved all the hate it got. It turned the game into a battle of timing. Dueling should be a test of wits and psychological warfare, yet these players were relying on lucky punches in the sacred arena!
It was an insult to dueling itself. No, worse—it was like spitting in the face of every Infinity Black player. The streamer who popularized that cursed build had already fallen to my blade twice.
The shotgun’s spread made it hard to dodge, and because of my heightened sensory synchronization, it hurt a lot. If I got hit in the left foot, I could be in real danger.
Normally, sensory synchronization doesn’t affect gameplay beyond 10%. Pro gamers set it a bit higher to avoid checking the interface too often. With mine set at 70%, I was unnecessarily sensitive, risking acute shock. There’s a reason the technology hasn’t been fully commercialized yet.
My early days as a newbie were brutal. The first time I died in-game, I logged out, cried, threw up—the whole mess. Even though my body was physically fine, my throat burned.
As luck would have it, my instructor had stopped by to help me unpack that day. When she found me choking on the floor, she rushed me to the ER.
It wasn’t my best moment.
The test results showed no real injuries. The doctor saw a flustered patient and an instructor who was convinced I was in agony. Naturally, the doctor came to a rather uncommon—though not unheard of—conclusion.
I couldn’t possibly tell the doctor that “I got hurt because I died in a video game.” Not in front of my instructor. Not to the doctor, either. So I just bowed my head in silence, too mortified to correct them.
Still, I’ve gotten used to it now. Humans are creatures of adaptation. I can handle most of the pain. As long as I’m careful with my left foot, I shouldn’t have any problems.
“Should I… do the dishes later? I’ve finished the pork belly, after all.”
Enjoying the stream made me realize I’d finished eating. With my stomach full, it was probably time to get back into the game. But I still wanted to watch more of Luce’s stream.
Well, I still had dessert left. There was a sweet, tangy apple waiting for me. It would be a shame to end the meal now. Once I entered the system, I wouldn’t be able to get out again, so I might as well eat everything while I could.
It’d be terrible if I saved it and it went bad. If that happened, I’d need to take out my frustration by killing at least three KimchiNinjas.
Besides, it’s also about sizing up the competition. I don’t know when I’ll face Luce, so it’s smart to watch her playstyle and take notes. Back in my prime, I never missed the chance to review footage of my opponents.
So no, this isn’t just about not wanting to get up. Luce said she could beat me, right? Then I’ve got to prepare seriously too.
With a strangely excited feeling, I placed my hands on the keyboard.
If I had more money, I’d send her a donation. Maybe if I win the prize money, I’ll donate to her stream at least once.