"Let’s begin the summary of the 3rd Asia Qualifiers!"

"Why do you look so happy?"

"Hehe, does it show? Thanks to a certain hotshot’s teachings, I managed to climb up to second place!"

Triumphant, almost majestic music blasted from the speakers, filling the arena with energy. The spectators, both in-person and virtual, were engaged in heated cheering competitions, all hoping their favorite players would come out on top. The massive holographic plates lining the walls, displaying the avatars of VR viewers, only added to the excitement.

Technically, Dice and I were also participants and VR viewers in a sense. To maintain anonymity, our bodies were being projected as holograms onto the central stage by ceiling-mounted projectors.

Still, Dice's constant compliments were getting more casual and frequent. Or maybe it was more accurate to say she’d completely lost her sense of embarrassment. Whatever sense of shame she had lost, I seemed to have gained in spades.

I was thrilled that we’d secured a spot in the finals, but in this case, I could let it slide—she was speaking to me in private. Still, I needed to change the subject quickly.

"Was it like this last year?"

"It was. But the facilities weren’t as nice back then. This time, the separation between players and spectators is so well done that, honestly, after a match, it’s hard to tell whether we’re in the Asia Qualifiers or the off-season."

"That’s a bit much."

Dice seemed to ramble on whenever the word "last year" was mentioned. Not that I could avoid bringing it up—it’s something I’d have to deal with. In the future, though, I’d try to just brush past the subject lightly instead of hitting the button directly. Of course, Dice had a habit of pushing the conversation in unexpected directions, but I’d manage.

As for my current feelings, I guess "relieved" would be the right word. It wasn’t so much that it felt nostalgic, but more that a long-standing issue had finally been resolved. While I could technically leave for the U.S. at any moment, earning a legitimate ticket to the finals at the end of my journey felt more meaningful.

Though, to be fair, they hadn’t even announced the solo qualifiers’ finalists yet. I was probably jumping the gun with these thoughts, but they were just thoughts after all.

"Now, we’ll reveal the national rankings!"

The holograms shifted, and the announcement proceeded smoothly. At the top of the leaderboard was the South Korean flag, towering over the others. It wasn’t just Dice and I who had secured victory—South Korean players, on average, had scored higher than those from other nations, and even better than last year.

Sure, I could have felt proud of that, but I had already experienced enough of everyone’s progress through countless debriefings over the past two days. No need to dwell on it further.

Still, the sight of the cheering crowds never got old.

"Five finalists. Last year, we only had three. But even then, it doesn’t feel like much of an increase. With you and me taking up two slots, that only leaves three spots."

"You think you’ll make it?"

"Just watch, it’s all right there."

The five flags shifted from a vertical to a horizontal arrangement, and beneath them, familiar usernames appeared on the holographic list. Yujin, Dice, Mikael, Gambit, and Ink.

Reserve players were Summit, Corvus, Crossline, Doberman, and Ebler. A similar list appeared beneath the flags of Japan, Russia, Taiwan, and finally, China.

The finalist list was now official.

Unlike KSM, where the stage would transform and forcibly bring the finalists to the host’s side, the Asia Qualifiers’ setup didn’t involve any dramatic stage antics. Players would receive their qualification notices electronically. For those of us projected in VR, like Dice and myself, it came via email.

The email contained a first-class plane ticket for mid-December, along with an attachment—a hefty PDF detailing the expected schedule. I was about to ask if it was the same last year, but Dice's nonchalant reaction suggested that it probably was.

Woooooo!

This time, the cheers were for all the finalists, equally celebrating their achievement. Yet, for some reason, the sound felt like a desperate attempt to cling to the passing moments. I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

But now wasn’t the time to be sentimental. My role as a mentor was winding down, and this was likely the last time I’d be here. Well, unless I came back next year, but a year is a long time. A lot can change.

As these thoughts floated through my mind, Dice and I locked eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Take care of yourself."

"Take care...? What do you mean—"

Bzzzz.

Suddenly, my vision blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was standing next to the host.

Looking up at the ceiling, I noticed the holographic projector was slightly angled differently than before. That’s VR for you. Not being physically present here meant the possibility of being teleported without warning.

The reason for being brought here was simple: an interview.

As a montage of my gameplay from the Asia Qualifiers played behind me, I found myself holding a microphone—something I should have anticipated. It wasn’t surprising for the top player of the Asia Qualifiers to give an interview.

The host's voice rang in my ears as I scanned the crowd of thousands before me.

"Congratulations on being named this year’s Asia Qualifier Player! How do you feel?"

"I’m mainly thinking about how to prepare for the finals—does that sound too inhuman?"

"Haha, don’t worry. You’re already more than human!"

...My image was ruined.

I could already imagine how much Dice would tease me about this when we got back.

Unlike KSM or the ranking matches, the questions this time around were a bit more personal and less focused on strategy or gameplay. No one was asking me about how I maintained top rankings or what my mindset was during matches anymore.

Instead, viewers and players alike submitted their questions in text format, which the host then read aloud. Fortunately, anything too sensitive was filtered out beforehand.

But among the questions that slipped through was one from an anonymous Korean player—a minor yet memorable query.

"Haha, next question! Let’s see... Ah, this is an interesting one! It’s been a while since we’ve had a question about Yujin’s personal life. Don’t worry, it’s not too sensitive... hopefully. Someone wants to know: who’s better at handling their liquor?"

"Liquor?"

Oh...

Racking my brain, I tried to recall any relevant memories... but none came to mind.

One thing I vaguely remembered, though...

"I’m not entirely sure, but I do recall hearing that I can’t handle alcohol very well. I remember someone saying my face turns bright red after just a little. But I don’t know why that is."

"Haha, that’s a surprising answer!"

The crowd erupted in laughter, but I was left with no clear answer. Large chunks of my memory were missing, after all. This only highlighted another weakness I hadn’t thought about in years—alcohol tolerance. It wasn’t something I had experienced since returning here.

What a curious bunch they were.

"Thank you for your time! Now, moving on—"

After fielding a few more questions, the host thanked me and sent me back to my original position. Next up was Dice’s interview.

As the clock on the ceiling showed 6:30 p.m., other players were also being called up to the stage. Judging by the names being summoned, it seemed they were drawing from the finalist list.

The evening was winding down—well, almost.

"The Asia Qualifiers aren’t over yet."

"What?"

"You forgot, didn’t you?"

The host's voice echoed once again, but this time with a different announcement.

"Thank you to everyone who watched today’s matches! We look forward to seeing you next year. But the Asia Qualifiers aren’t done just yet!"

Whooosh!

The stage split into five sections, extending outward into the crowd.

At that moment, I recalled one of the tournament explanations I had read earlier.

"We’ll now begin the player-fan raffle meet-and-greet!"

Oh.

The host’s excited voice announced the fan meeting lottery, and as I stared at the holographic panels displaying the raffle results, I let out a resigned sigh.

Of all the things to forget...

Man-made structures may seem enormous, but when faced with a mass of people, their size shrinks considerably.

Why am I saying this?

"How many fans are participating in today’s meet-and-greet?"

"1,500 offline, and another 1,500 online, so... about 3,000 total."

"That’s a lot."

The stadium felt cramped.

Even in a massive venue like the Yongsan eSports Stadium, a crowd of thousands made the place feel suffocatingly small.

There was one fortunate thing, though. The meet-and-greet wasn’t just for me and Dice—every player who participated in today’s qualifiers was here. In public service terms, it was like having twenty people working five service counters. Sure, the Korean players would have the longest lines, but it meant the process would move faster than expected.

However, the unfortunate part was...

"It’s so crowded..."

"Don’t get too close to Yujin, or her hologram will glitch!"

With a hundred players split across five sections, the space was far more cramped than anticipated. It felt like a human disaster waiting to happen, not an "elite gathering."

Additionally, both Dice and I, still hesitant to appear in person, were attending the fan meeting via mobile hologram drones. This limited our mobility even more. If one of the drones malfunctioned, that would be the end of it.

But time marched on.

"Could we take a picture where I’m wrapped in your snake tail?"

"..."

"Ah, sorry, I’ve never done that before, so no."

"Why not?"

Of course, "fan meeting" didn’t mean everything was simple.

Some fans were oddly fixated on my tail. Even though I was just a hologram, they seemed obsessed with it—a sentiment I couldn’t quite understand. I still considered myself a regular person with common sense.

And then there was Dice, opposing the tail request for equally bizarre reasons.

I didn’t know who to deal with first.

Snap!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is this really a hologram? The quality is amazing."

"Ah, hurry up! Stop complimenting the tail!"

"Hehe, today’s match was awesome! Keep up the good work!"

Ah, seriously...

Well, a fan meeting is a fan meeting.

In the end, I relented and took pictures as requested. Naturally, I couldn’t just do that for one fan, so I ended up doing the same for everyone else waiting in line. They all had various requests involving my tail—it was mentally exhausting.

That aside, the line of 1,500 fans moved faster than I expected, thanks to the efficient staff and the tightly controlled movement paths. In about an hour and a half, all 100 players had finished their meet-and-greet sessions with the in-person fans.

Now it was time for the virtual fans who had been selected through the online raffle.

As the staff busily set up more holographic projectors, Dice brought up my earlier interview, particularly fixating on the bit about alcohol.

"So, you really can’t handle alcohol?"

"I don’t think so. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll drink tonight or not."

"Aww, let’s drink together! What’s your limit? Do you get tipsy? Get all stubborn and angry? That would be so scary."

"I told you, I don’t know."

"Then I’ll take the lead."

"Does ‘taking the lead’ now mean satisfying personal curiosity?"

"Hehehe."

I swear, I can’t deal with her sometimes.

I didn’t raise a student—I raised a rebellious frog.

"Notice: the fan meeting is resuming."

"Ughhh."

"Come on, we’re almost done."

The newly installed holographic projectors cast light down from the ceiling, and soon, hundreds of virtual avatars appeared in an orderly fashion.

Was all of this really necessary? I shook off the stray thoughts.

It was time to end things on a high note.

The curtain was about to fall on the Asia Qualifiers' solo event.