As the weekend rolled into late October, the state of Dark Zone - AP opinion could be described as utter chaos.

As always, Yujin had never created the situations that others wanted. This time was no different. In other words, the viewers once again faced a situation where they wanted answers but knew they wouldn’t get any.

Moreover, the topic this time went far beyond the usual question, “What did she do in real life?” that had been floating around. Naturally, this new mystery set the entire community ablaze.

And it wasn’t just Korea. The U.S. was also caught up in it.

With hundreds of thousands of people contributing their own opinions, there was a wide variety of takes. But, if you summed it all up, you could boil it down to a few key perspectives:

“So, who exactly is Yujin?”

This was the first reaction from ordinary users who typically didn’t care much about Dark Zone or AP.

“Ah, that skilled Korean player? I didn’t think she’d have connections here, but considering her play style, it makes sense…”

This was the second reaction, indicating that such skill might hint at a broader connection. However, the third reaction, unique to the U.S., had started creeping in online:

<Erickarter donated $9.99>
“I come from America. I contact through your spatial frequency. The issue of rudimentary translator usage exists. There are many questions. I seek your responses.”

“Thank you for the donation, Erickarter. But I thought translators these days were pretty decent. Why go to such lengths…?”

It was questions like these—awkward, machine-translated questions that seemed straightforward yet raised red flags.

The recent surge in foreign donations couldn’t be ignored, especially since among the usual trolls, there were a few who were either former or current U.S. military personnel. Some of these individuals had long stints with JSOC, no less.

Naturally, I handled the questions they asked in a diligent manner. Most of these viewers, likely trying to verify my credentials, asked about details only someone with direct experience would know. I answered to the best of my ability.

Among the more notable exchanges—ones I didn’t share publicly—was:

-[OGAA: I came across some intriguing details from a domestic interview recently. It seems you’re a popular streamer. Could you spare a few moments for some questions?]

-[Eugene: Certainly. Do you work for the CIA?]

-[OGAA: Why would you think that?]

-[Eugene: OGAA typically indicates agency affiliation, and only Delta Force uses such designations. If not Delta, perhaps 1st SAC or SAG?]

-[OGAA: WOW]

-[OGAA: OMG]

Of course, I had a good reason for asking that.

The official title of Delta Force, or “The Unit,” is the 1st Special Actions Group (1st SAG). Back when I was in New York, they would sometimes change the “G” to stand for “Compartment,” depending on the occasion.

I even dug out one of my old uniforms—minus the Icarus patches, of course—and showed it off. The viewer was beside himself. Though I was careful with my words, the viewer had already hinted enough for me to reply.

-[OGAA: MWTR, huh? I recall hearing about it a few years ago. SAG even seconded a few people there, if I remember right. Were you with that unit?]

-[Eugene: I initially joined for data collection and ended up staying. My team included people from Delta, DEVGRU, SAD, and CCT, to name a few. I was there for four years and learned quite a lot. I ended my service as a Sergeant First Class.]

-[OGAA: Ha! I should probably call you a senior. Do you remember anyone from SAG?]

After a brief pause, I mentioned a few names.

-[Eugene: Are you familiar with Sergeant Anthony Owens or Logan, whom I just interviewed?]

-[OGAA: Of course. They weren’t in my squadron, but a few months ago, I heard about a monster on the strike team and checked him out. So he was MWTR too. And the latter, Logan, recently got his Blue Badger. He’s got at least another year before Delta officially assigns him.]

-[Eugene: We’re all acquainted. If you mention my name to them, I think they’ll remember me.]

-[OGAA: If time allows. Honestly, I thought you were a poser at first. Apologies for any trouble caused. I didn’t mean to mislead you.]

-[Eugene: I understand. Serving in the U.S. military and JSOC is a tremendous source of pride.]

This conversation wrapped up amicably. Other inquiries came in from DEVGRU members, but they became allies quickly when I mentioned Christopher.

The questions from those below Tier 1 were often the most frustrating, as they tended to be either low-quality or suspicious. Since I was streaming, it wasn’t always easy to answer them all.

In the end, most who were below Tier 1 had their doubts, even as I proved myself to those above. Fortunately, a few warnings about confidential military information being breached were enough to filter out the noise.

And so, by Saturday, I came to a conclusion.

“Shouldn’t we make a stronger statement?”

“You’re right. We’ve been caught off guard by issues we hadn’t anticipated. I never expected our plans focused on Korean viewers would be rendered useless.”

“At least now we know.”

The multi-voice channel buzzed with activity.

Since meeting Anchorite, I’d networked with most deep-cover agents in Korea. This meant our meetings and discussions were swiftly relayed back to HQ, which adjusted strategies in real-time.

Today’s topic was how to handle the backlash—caused by Logan’s interview, which had too subtly mentioned me.

“It’s true that domestic matters should be handled locally, but it’s unrealistic to think we can control every action of those who have already left the service.”

“Former personnel won’t be easy to influence. They’re often stubborn.”

“What if we increased mentions of MWTR on the DoD network? Public perception is what matters, after all.”

“That sounds viable. Let’s add it to the proposal list.”

These folks are certainly talking about some interesting things.

In short, they needed to remind these people that digging into my background was as good as prying into classified DoD matters.

And executing such an approach was relatively simple.

“Why not just place a call to the ones who contacted Yujin a few days later? Be it NSA, CIA, MPs, or the Internal Affairs Division—under the pretense of a risk of leaking second-level military secrets.”

“Good idea. Just creating the impression that they’ve stumbled onto something sensitive should suffice… So, it’s just a matter of having the DoD and Veterans Affairs track down their info.”

“That part’s not our concern.”

Seems the MPs are going to be busy.

They predicted visible results within two or three days. Meanwhile, they’d suggested simultaneous PR strategies to cement public perception further.

If things went well, the U.S. side would be effectively wrapped up.

Korea wasn’t a concern, as no one there could legally force me to answer questions about something that happened overseas. It was why I’d made that statement in the first place.

As usual, the fifth contact concluded smoothly.

“Stay in touch if any issues arise.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

One by one, they logged out of the multi-voice program. After everyone left, the meeting data would automatically be purged within ten minutes.

Our next regular meeting was set for five days later. Thankfully, no urgent issues had arisen so far. I could only hope this would continue.

But still…

I finally felt as if the gears were turning in the right direction.

The memories I had to carry alone before… no longer. Now, all these people reaching out remembered my contributions and acknowledged them in real-time. My sacrifices were finally being repaid.

I was alive.

Suppressing a surge of joy, I exited the room.

Sigh.

I hadn’t felt like this even when KSM or the Asia qualifiers gave us first place. Two months now seemed like an eternity.

What would I say when I met familiar faces again?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, that thought lingered in my mind.

“Sir! The tournament is tomorrow! You’re coming to watch, right?”

“Of course. Where’s it happening?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re renting out a big venue like KSM or the Asia qualifiers. It’s all virtual reality, so everyone’s participating from home.”

“Ah.”

I suddenly realized—tomorrow was Monday.

Time had flown. It had already been a week since the Asia qualifiers ended. It seemed like November had snuck up on us.

I still couldn’t give Harmony any advice. Personal conversations were allowed, but she hadn’t asked for advice since. Not that we hadn’t spoken at all; it was more like she was respecting my boundaries.

I had been quite busy, after all.

“Anyway, how’ve you been? It feels like forever since I last saw you, even though it hasn’t been that long. And, uh…”

“Speak freely, please.”

“…Well, never mind. Just, if anything’s troubling you, let me know! I’m not much of a counselor, but I can listen.”

“Ah.”

I had a sense of what she’d been worrying about.

After a brief consideration, I opted for a short, blunt answer instead of a long explanation.

“Do I look like someone who’d be shaken by some speculative rumors?”

“…Ah.”

Harmony finally relaxed, her tense expression softening. Maybe she added that comment as a courtesy, but it wasn’t long before she seemed at ease again.

“Yujin, I knew you wouldn’t worry about such pointless things. I might have been overstepping.”

“It wasn’t an intrusion. You care about me, so you don’t need to phrase it that way. And don’t worry—most of these things will blow over soon. Focus on the tournament instead. Leave this to me.”

“Right.”

And so, I smoothly steered the conversation elsewhere.

We moved to a more neutral topic—rank games. I rarely played Domination Mode, and since I wouldn’t be giving her any advice before the tournament ended, I mainly agreed with what she said.

Harmony began recounting her journey to the top tier, a process that had stretched from Monday onward.

“…I reached Tier 1 on Wednesday. I actually hit Tier 2 the Monday before, but I couldn’t tell you in real-time. Still, I’m glad I can share it now.”

“Is the air up there clearer?”

“Ah, there’s definitely a difference. I died a few times while playing. But with some traps and perseverance, I managed.”

“Haha.”

She’s really done well.

It was a shame I couldn’t offer her any advice. So, I just continued listening to her self-praise.

Having never reached such heights before, Harmony seemed full of gratitude for me and pride for her accomplishments.

In that regard, Harmony might as well be a special forces member.

After chatting for quite a while, the clock had already struck 11 PM.

Harmony let out a long yawn, somewhat embarrassed as she added:

“Ah, I still have so much to say. I haven’t even asked what you’ll do in America, or where we’ll stay after the tournament.”

“Is tonight the only night? Think about your condition.”

“You’re right…”

Without openly saying so, I could see that Harmony had been diligently streaming and training for the tournament, even on the eve of competition.

She needed a break.

We agreed to continue our conversation post-tournament and enjoy a chat after the Streamer Tournament was over. I offered her a small word of encouragement.

“You’ll do well tomorrow, right?”

After a pause, she grinned and replied,

“I’ll crush them all.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“…Wait. Should I have just said I’ll do my best?”

“...Maybe.”

What a conversation for the night before a tournament.

I might have to review my training materials to check for elements that encourage aggressiveness in students.