"...Yes. I'm at the site now. We've just finished checking the progress, and the data collection is complete. Four shifts, in three rotations, yes. Everything should be wrapped up within a day or two. The photo zone, fan meeting booths, program boards, and the food and beverage stalls are all linked and functioning without any issues."

Yongsan Esports Stadium.

The clean yet surreal interior stretched across the vast space, with workers bustling about, making final preparations. Among them, one particularly noticeable figure in a sharp suit moved from place to place, clearly overseeing the work. A drone camera hovered around him like a loyal dog, while he held a small data plate in his hand and wore a badge featuring a striking black phoenix logo. It was obvious to anyone that this person was an employee of Icarus, conducting a final inspection.

He had a lot to check today. It was Wednesday, and by now, Korea’s second team was probably facing the full force of China’s first team. Everyone was busy in their respective roles.

Four weeks had passed since twenty national representatives were selected through the KSM. Under the banner of Icarus, thousands of workers from various fields had been tirelessly transforming the stadium into a venue worthy of a continent-scale event.

From remodeling the existing interior, replacing panels and scoreboards, and upgrading public facilities, to producing an unimaginable variety of individual products, booking affiliated facilities, constructing booths... Managing the schedules of national players and inviting overseas teams was only a small part of the immense undertaking.

And that was just the basics. The Yongsan Esports Stadium, covering Korea, Japan, China, Russia, and Taiwan, was pitifully small for an event of this scale—its capacity capped at a mere 10,000 seats.

‘...Wouldn’t it have been better to rent something like the World Cup Stadium or the Jamsil Olympic Stadium?’

But on the flip side, it would’ve been impossible to build all the necessary facilities, pull in network lines to maintain stable ping, and set up data servers capable of handling millions of simultaneous connections in just four weeks.

Maybe if they had three times as much time...

Regardless, Icarus found a rather unusual solution: holograms. But not just any holograms—on a massive scale. Nearly every wall of the stadium was covered in holographic plates, creating the illusion that hundreds of thousands of spectators were watching, even though the actual number was much smaller.

And with many people likely to connect via VR, the experience wouldn’t be that different.

But that wasn’t all—they had also packed the place with cutting-edge technology, allowing people to experience virtual reality directly in the real world. Though how anyone could fully grasp the entire system was beyond him.

In any case, the end result was that Icarus, through the power of holograms and an enormous budget, had successfully created an infrastructure capable of accommodating hundreds of thousands of people coming to watch the matches over the weekend, all within just four weeks.

Money, manpower, and technology had combined to make the impossible possible.

“...I wonder how many people are running around doing the same thing as me today.”

Of course, the stadium itself wasn’t large enough to handle all the people who would flock to the event, so the surrounding infrastructure had to be leveraged. He guessed that more than 50 employees, including himself, were wandering around doing final checks in the area. It was a grueling job, but there was some small comfort in knowing that seeing everything come together gave him peace of mind.

And it also allowed him to predict what was likely to happen.

‘...Saturday is going to be chaos.’

Judging by the current progress and the quality of the infrastructure, if everything worked smoothly, there wouldn’t be room to breathe in Yongsan due to the sheer number of people.

Considering Dark Zone had only been in service for five years, and Esports had only existed for three, this level of popularity was expected to last well over a decade, with the peak still far off. Saturday’s Asian qualifiers would be the subject of much discussion, no matter what.

Perhaps this year’s turnout would be so overwhelming that next year’s qualifiers would be held exclusively in virtual reality. Or, as he had thought earlier, they might have to use a stadium like the World Cup Stadium, which could hold over 70,000 people... But next year’s event would be hosted by Russia, so that would be their problem to solve.

It seemed like the number of things to worry about was doubling every year.

───Hiss!

He bought a drink from a store inside the stadium, sat down, and cracked it open, the refreshing sound of carbonation followed by the sweet scent filling the air.

As the fizz tickled his throat, he muttered to himself.

“Things will work out somehow…”

For now, all he could do was cheer for the Korean team.

That was the best conclusion he could come to.

The screen in front of him was filled with text, text, and more text—accompanied by images, videos, charts, and graphs, making it look like an academic paper. Though it wasn’t a thesis, the language and content were just as specialized, if not more. This was a tactical analysis file on the other nations’ playstyles.

Had he been required to manually type, design, and fill all this information, the project would’ve taken weeks. But thanks to thought-to-text converters and Icarus Gear, the entire document was being created and edited in real-time.

If all the system's functions were maxed out, and there was enough data to back them up, he could generate a page per minute. Not just writing, but also revising, editing, and formatting.

Of course, that still required a lot of mental effort.

───Gulp.

“Hah.”

He poured more sugar and calories into his system. Was this what his channel editors felt like every day?

Though they usually fueled themselves with coffee or energy drinks, he preferred high-calorie shakes with sugar. He’d never been much of a coffee drinker, even during his time in New York.

Back then, to stay awake, he’d relied on caffeine pills, combat stimulants, adrenaline, and norepinephrine. There were days when he thought he might actually die from exhaustion during his five-day support missions.

Things were better now, at least.

Taptaptap.

With one section completed, he moved on to the next. He left out any sensitive or classified information, but crammed it full of critical details about more general tactics.

Right now, he was analyzing the overall movements of the Chinese Federation, comparing them to the China he remembered and focusing on the differences. Of course, there was no People’s Republic of China anymore, so there was no need to mention that.

To sum it up briefly: “As long as we stay cautious, there's no need to worry too much at the first-team level.”

-[Overall, the Chinese Federation's combat style is straightforward. However, their greatest weakness is the lack of uniform individual skill among their first-team players. To put it simply, China selected 20 players ranked between 4th and 35th....]

Even as he wrote, his thoughts continued to race.

This document would be distributed to the coaches of the national teams, so of course, he didn’t include any derogatory remarks about other countries. But the subtle digs—borderline disrespectful at times—were there for a reason.

First, China’s special forces had been formed 30 years later than those in the U.S. or Europe, meaning they lacked experience. The China from his original timeline had the same problem. That snowball had continued to roll to this point.

Second, there was no unified command in their special forces, meaning they often operated independently. This had been true in his timeline as well, but with the country now split into seven factions, it was even worse.

China’s performance over the past two years spoke for itself: they had placed 4th the year before last, and 3rd last year, constantly competing with Taiwan for ranking.

“Next…”

Russia.

To be honest, data on China and Russia had long since been imprinted in his mind and body. He’d encountered the former countless times in California and the latter in New York and Washington.

He could probably ace a blind test at this point.

So analyzing them went quickly. Russia was definitely stronger than China, but their combat style had a distinctly Western flavor—much more so than he remembered. It didn’t feel like they were simply copying Western tactics from spies or curriculum leaks.

Maybe it was because this version of Russia had collapsed and been rebuilt with Western support. Compared to their aggressive stance in Eastern Europe in his timeline, this Russia was much more mellow.

For that reason, analyzing Russia took a bit longer than expected.

-[Russia retains the characteristic wildness of Slavic combat styles, but their method of expression has changed significantly. This is likely due to continuous interaction and development with the West. As such, we should be particularly cautious during close-quarters combat with them....]

Taptaptap.

Fortunately, his concentration was impeccable. Or rather, it had been honed to perfection. One of the many courses in U.S. military training, designed to turn humans into lethal weapons, included a focus-enhancement program.

The idea was to block out everything else and zero in on the task at hand. Here, that meant writing up a curriculum for distribution—he was so focused, he barely noticed the passage of time as he continued the work.

Next was Japan.

The place most heavily influenced by the United States. After the end of World War II and the fall of the Emperor system, Japan had been rebuilt into a republic, supported by the wealthiest nation in the world. The U.S.’s fingerprints were everywhere, especially in their special forces.

Japan’s SOF, or Special Operations Forces, was born from Delta, and even now, they maintained close tactical ties. The Japanese first team he had observed on Thursday reflected that influence. A tough match awaited Korea if they faced them head-on.

But this was merely his opinion as someone writing the curriculum. On a personal level, he didn’t foresee any major issues.

While lost in these thoughts, he glanced at the time.

The LED clock read 11 p.m.

“Three hours…”

He had finished dinner and started working right after a brief broadcast, and somehow, three hours had flown by. He didn’t need to check the clock to know that time had passed—he had another, more telling notification.

-[Notification: 7 missed calls and 22 unread messages from Dice.]

...Why did she call so many times?

In hindsight, he should’ve set an automatic reply for when he was busy, but that was his mistake. He’d finish the file after taking this call—though he did wonder what was so urgent.

He hit the call button, and before the second ring finished, Dice picked up.

“Why did you take so long to answer!?”

“Anyone would think I’d been missing for two days.”

“I wasn’t calling for anything too serious. I just wanted to chat before the Asian qualifiers start tomorrow. But if you’re busy, I can call back later.”

“Then why did you try nearly 30 times?”

“Ugh…”

Well, there was still plenty of time.

He didn’t mind continuing the conversation.

“So, what do you think, Eugene? Do you think Korea has a shot at beating Japan and taking first place?”

“They’ll do fine. I’m sure of a second-place finish at least. Four people will qualify for the finals, maybe five under ideal conditions.”

“But you and I won’t give up our spots, right? So that leaves only three.”

“You’re confident.”

It seemed she hadn’t only absorbed his skills, but his pride as well.

The conversation continued.

“Since we’re on the subject, who do you think will make it?”

“Well, if Mikael had one more month, I think he’d make it for sure. The ones who trained in the U.S. with you last year have a decent shot, especially with the combination of curriculum and experience.”

“Ah, those guys. What about Gambit? He’s been in great form recently.”

“It depends on how he plays tomorrow. To be honest, there’s no way to know for sure. It all comes down to how often they face difficult situations and how well they overcome them.”

“True. I was just curious.”

The second topic they broached was a delicate one, not for them, but for outsiders: the issue of anonymity.

“You said you’d reveal your identity around mid-December, so you’ll be using an avatar during the player introductions, right? Same for me.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame, really. With all these people around, it would’ve been fun, but there are too many restrictions. What about you, Dice?”

“I’ll just stay inside the stadium. There aren’t any hologram projectors set up outside.”

“Mmm.”

Eugene smiled and sent her a link. A pop-up would appear in front of Dice any second now.

Unsurprisingly, her response came quickly.

“A floating hologram projector? Portable? Wait—why do you have this!? Did you buy it!?”

“Harmony said they’d lend it to me for two days. I figured I’d get some fresh air during breaks. Let me know if you need it.”

“Ugh, seriously…”

Well, it would be pretty useless three months from now—though not entirely—so when Harmony had asked earlier, “If we buy this, can we hang out outside?” Eugene had tactfully shut her down. Spending tens of thousands, nearly a hundred thousand won, on something they’d only use for a day or two wasn’t practical.

Dice was grumbling about it, but what could she do? Eugene subtly hinted that Dice should take the opportunity to introduce herself to Harmony tomorrow.

After a brief pause, Dice spoke again.

“It’s tomorrow. A few months ago, I wasn’t even sure I’d make it back to this stage, but here we are. You never know how things will turn out, do you?”

“That’s how life works.”

For better or for worse. Eugene’s life was a testament to that.

But tonight, she chose to remember it in a positive light.

She had so much to say, but the most important thing was that, after almost fifty days, she was back on this stage. Sure, she could’ve returned to the U.S. right away, but that would’ve been too goal-oriented. Life wasn’t meant to be lived that way.

She had come a long way, but it had been worth it.

“Do your best tomorrow. I still have to finish this analysis file, but I’ll send it within 30 minutes, so check it out before bed.”

“Ugh, looks like I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

With that final joke, the long but short call came to an end.

The night was quiet, but the evening before the Asian qualifiers was still far from over.