"Is that the famous 'Fire Snake'?"

"If I were in Dice’s place, I’d be begging for my life on my knees, stark naked."

"Please, can we not talk about that kind of confidence?"

In the waiting room, the eliminated players had gathered. The match was still ongoing, but for those who had already been knocked out, it became a form of entertainment. In the South Korean national team, there was an unspoken rule: the first player to get eliminated had to set up the waiting room, arranging the chairs, snacks, drinks, and screens, and making sure the air conditioning was on.

What had started as a joke or mild punishment turned into an efficient tradition. Even if someone died early in the game, it ensured that the flow of the match wouldn’t be interrupted. Players who showed up after elimination could easily review where they went wrong, how they died, and how the game was progressing.

It also helped ease the transition into the debriefing session when Yujin joined them after the match.

But today, the mood felt a little different.

“How long does it usually take for a shield to break under direct hit from a napalm grenade?”

“About 10 seconds? But Dice had already been in a fight before that and was standing in the middle of the wildfire. I’d say it was closer to five seconds.”

“So, he was literally on fire during that last fight?”

“Exactly.”

“That's insane.”

Despite the disbelief, most of these players had experience fighting while affected by fire or napalm, thanks to Yujin. Normal fire, which didn’t cling to the body, dealt minimal damage to the shield. However, napalm, with its sticky, high-temperature properties, was entirely different. Even at full charge, a shield would burn away within 10 seconds of contact with napalm.

The fact that Yujin had not only endured that but kept fighting in a major tournament, not a scrim or a casual game, was almost unthinkable. It was clear: either Yujin had nerves of steel, or she was just that kind of person.

Everyone knew it was the latter.

Click.

The sound of a door opening made 18 heads swivel toward it, but instead of Yujin or Dice, one of the coaching staff from the task force entered the room. Familiar with each other, the players greeted the coach warmly as he laid a thick stack of papers on the table. Before Yujin arrived, the coach shared some quick insights.

“It looks like we’ve set the tone early in the Sunday match. There were a lot of discussions about how Japan and Russia would react today, but now it’s clear they’ll focus more on the battle for second place. If things continue like this, we should comfortably take first place.”

“How are the other countries doing?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably a funeral atmosphere for them. Rumor has it that three of the lower-ranking countries are already preparing for next year. Oh, and Taiwan’s been performing better than expected.”

“Looks like they’re making good use of scrim data and tournament footage.”

“Yeah, seems so.”

Taiwan, who finished last the previous year, had earned a few advantages as a result. They’d clearly spent sleepless nights reviewing matches, evident from the dark circles under their eyes. While they didn’t receive the same detailed personal analysis that the Korean team had, they still managed to get plenty out of their efforts. Their preparation had shown in their improved performance against China.

After the coach finished sharing the brief update, the room returned to its usual chatter. Yujin and Dice hadn’t arrived yet, but the remaining 18 players were already discussing strategies.

“Taiwan? How much data access do they have?”

“Probably everything, including first-person movement data. But it’s not worth worrying about. Yujin didn’t bother analyzing them, after all.”

“Good point.”

“Man, I just want to finish in the top 10 and get a chance to fly to the U.S. even as a reserve.”

“Ugh, I’m already confirmed as a reserve. Guess I’ll just go and enjoy some steak.”

“You? Confirmed? I’m taking that spot.”

“No way, buddy.”

They bickered lightheartedly.

Unlike other countries, the atmosphere in the South Korean waiting room was relaxed. Even though 10 of the players would have to stay behind in December for the solo AP finals, there was still a comfortable air of camaraderie. The group casually munched on snacks, sipped coffee, and glanced over the paperwork on the table as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

“So, where are those two? They still haven’t shown up.”

Where did they go?

“Wake up!”

“Ow!”

Smack!

The stinging sensation on my backside jolted me out of VR, and I turned my head to see Dice standing behind me, glaring. My butt throbbed from the slap. I rubbed it gingerly, sighing.

“Ow, that hurt. Couldn’t you just say something if you were annoyed?”

“How does anyone keep fighting like that while on fire?! I thought my heart was going to stop!”

“I did mention that napalm grenades can’t kill through shrapnel like fragmentation grenades. Clearly, you didn’t study. If you really wanted to end me, you should’ve aimed for the head—Ow!”

Another slap.

As much as I appreciated the admiration, enough was enough. I adjusted my posture to protect my backside and ran a hand through my hair. Still, it didn’t really bother me. Dice’s sudden sigh of relief made me glance over.

“Was something on your mind?”

“Hardcore mode users... They’re okay in situations like that, right?”

“So that’s what you were worried about.”

He really was a worrier.

It was strange, though—no one had ever openly worried about me like this before. I felt the need to reassure him with a small smile.

“No need to worry. In dangerous situations, the game automatically triggers a sensory block function. After all, it’s just a game.”

I wondered if Dice would ask about survival mode next, but that was different. The cold wasn’t a direct threat to one’s life in the game. The truth was... I just had a poor tolerance for cold.

I once watched Harmony fight AI enemies in a blizzard while barely wearing enough clothes to stay warm. When I asked if she felt cold, she said she could feel it but not to the point where it affected her gameplay. For hardcore mode users like me, it was much colder, but it still wasn’t life-threatening.

If it were, the game would’ve forcibly logged me out long before it reached that point.

As I explained all this, Dice seemed to accept it.

“I see. Guess that makes sense.”

“You’re not going to blame your loss on that, are you?”

“No! I was just freaked out!”

Was he really that scared?

I should probably check out the replay later to see exactly what I looked like during that match. I had a rough idea, but still...

Anyway, it was time to get back to business. The post-game interview had taken a bit longer than expected, but that was normal for an event like the Asia qualifiers, especially since the broadcast was running in real-time at 1x speed. Five minutes had already passed since the match ended.

It was time for the debriefing.

“So, how was your firsthand experience of the importance of CQC?”

“Ugh, I was fighting a walking tank! What experience?”

...Well, he had a point.

Still, the important part of CQC wasn’t just about melee combat.

“Most people think CQC is all about fighting with close-range weapons, but actually, using a pistol is better. If you can fire a shot instead of swinging a combat knife, it’s always more advantageous.”

“Really? But in movies, the bad guys are always rolling around on the ground without even firing a shot.”

“That’s because they get too close without maintaining proper distance and fall within melee range. Plus, if the bad guy dies too early, the movie runs out of material.”

“True, true.”

Naturally, there was a lot to teach about CQC, from how to fight based on combat distance to various shooting techniques like Center Axis Relock, to different martial arts styles. Of course, I hadn’t learned martial arts myself—I just avoided punches and knives and countered anyone who tried to grapple me. As for those who did, well, they were no longer around to talk about it.

Personally, I preferred to teach things like one-handed magazine changes and fast reloading. But for those advancing to the finals, this was just one small part of the broader curriculum they’d need to master.

Dice’s sharp gaze caught my attention.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re thinking of what to teach me next, right? Something along the lines of what you just explained?”

“You know me too well. That’s scary.”

“Maybe you’re just too much of a workaholic, Yujin.”

“Haha.”

But sometimes, being a workaholic was necessary.

We exchanged a knowing look, and Dice gave a resigned shrug, as if to say, “I knew it.” Like I said before, this training was essential for those advancing to the finals. In America, there were plenty of players far more skilled than Dice.

According to the data I had recently reviewed, eight players from North America would be competing in the finals. Among them were gamers, special forces veterans, and everyone in between. Dark Zone, being a game, had a low barrier to entry, which meant all kinds of talented individuals would show up. Dice would need every bit of preparation to stand a chance. Even placing in the top five would be a monumental achievement.

Dice’s personal goal was to make the top five, so helping him prepare was the least I could do.

I opened the door ahead.

Screeeech!

“Whoa! It’s the Fire Snake! The Goddess of Napalm!”

“I said nothing, Ms. Yujin. I swear.”

In that moment, a mix of emotions surged through me. I knew all too well how to inflict a bit of pain without leaving physical marks, but these guys didn’t need to know that.

Stretching my arms, I cracked my neck.

“Let’s get the debriefing over quickly.”

Sometimes, a bit of intimidation worked wonders.

Faint sounds of discomfort echoed from the room.

After a short, but seemingly endless time for a few, some of the players in the waiting room emerged with looser shoulders and less tension in their backs. They had experienced my “special massage.” It was a sort of punishment for loose lips, but hey—what’s a little pain between teammates?

And now that it was Sunday, unlike yesterday, there wasn’t much need for an extended debriefing.

"Please stop replaying that same footage. It’s getting on my nerves.”

These guys weren’t mistaking this for my highlight reel time, were they?

Still, since Dice had been my opponent in the video, she was already looking ahead to the next match, promising to teach them a lesson. The others immediately shrank back under her looming threat.

My second disciple’s influence was already this strong.

In any case, the relaxed and friendly atmosphere had developed over the last month, especially now that we were comfortably in first place. That allowed for a more casual rapport. But time had a way of eroding things, and so too would this dynamic. As part of the task force, I couldn’t ignore that forever.

There were things that needed to be addressed now, while the opportunity presented itself.

Taking a deep breath, I began.

“With no further debriefing necessary, we’ll now move on to an introduction to the pre-finals curriculum for those preparing for the end of the year.”

The end of the year.

The third week of December.

The finals. Also known as the Final Championship.

It was approaching fast.