Chapter 3
“So why can’t you do the 10th stage?”
Tae-woo sighed before beginning his explanation.
“You can’t challenge the 10th stage unless you beat the 9th stage AI. That’s why. And the 10th stage isn’t a normal AI.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s an AI that imitates the best player among those who’ve cleared the 9th stage.”
Oh.
“For the record, the current 10th stage AI is someone you know well.”
“Shin Ha-yeon?”
“That’s right.”
“So, if someone beats the 10th stage AI, does the AI change to that person?”
“It would. For reference, Shin Ha-yeon’s been the 10th stage for the past five years. Anyway, hurry up and start.”
Seo-jun inwardly marveled.
“Alright, got it.”
* * *
‘Finally starting.’
Tae-woo watched Seo-jun with eager eyes.
Seeing him swing the sword once or twice in the air, it didn’t look like his first time handling one.
‘Did they teach that at the academy for gaming?’
There are people like that, they say.
Those who visit real martial arts schools and train their bodies just to get better at games.
But from the perspective of someone who’s been broadcasting for seven years, it’s better to play one more round of any game in that time instead.
Why do some outstanding athletes end up struggling here?
There’s only one reason.
‘Because real-world physical abilities aren’t reflected in the avatar.’
A virtual reality avatar scans your body and moves as you intend, but no one can exceed the set performance.
That means a 2-meter rugby player can lose an arm wrestle to an average 160 cm adult woman.
What counts in virtual reality is skill, experience, and mental fortitude.
And in some games, it’s common for people to move much faster than they can in reality.
‘Still, it’s better than not learning at all.’
But Tae-woo thought it was inefficient.
Beep!
A whistle sounded from somewhere, and Cheol-su started moving.
‘Nervous? He should raise his guard. Pfft.’
Even as Cheol-su gradually approached, Seo-jun stood still.
Kim Tae-woo couldn’t wait to see that relaxed expression on his friend’s face twist into dismay.
When the training ground first came out, he too had challenged the 4th stage without knowing what he was doing and got thoroughly beaten by Cheol-su.
A one-on-one match without skill assistance is harder than you think.
Just when he was expecting his always-composed friend to go flying—
Seo-jun gracefully tilted his body to dodge Cheol-su’s swing, then slashed at him.
Cheol-su’s HP dropped by 1.
The training ground spar had simple rules: each had 10 HP, getting hit by a sword took 1 point, and the first to reach 0 HP lost.
Cheol-su backed away, putting distance.
‘Was that a fluke? But why is Cheol-su retreating?’
Was the 4th stage AI more lenient?
He should counterattack right away.
As Tae-woo questioned it—
“Not coming? Then I’ll go.”
This time, Seo-jun advanced toward Cheol-su.
Tae-woo felt the next scene replaying in his mind.
‘He’s getting cocky from a lucky break. If he rushes in like that, he’ll get stabbed and lose health… what the?’
Cheol-su’s response was textbook, almost too much for a 4th stage.
But Seo-jun deflected Cheol-su’s sword with his own, altering its trajectory. He smoothly diverted it to the side, then rotated his body to land another hit.
The whole sequence flowed so naturally, like water, that even Tae-woo watching from the sidelines felt as if Seo-jun was moving faster than Cheol-su.
‘But this is virtual reality. Physical superiority is impossible.’
His seven years of experience told him so.
That it looked faster because there was no wasted movement in the sequence. The speed of the swings themselves was the same for both Cheol-su and Seo-jun.
Seo-jun lunged at Cheol-su again and began toying with him.
Without stepping back, he blocked Cheol-su’s sword five times in a row on the spot, or tripped him by hooking his leg, then stepped on his sword to keep him from picking it up.
When Cheol-su had only 1 HP left, he started using hands and feet that didn’t cost HP.
Thwack.
Thwack.
To Tae-woo, each of Seo-jun’s moves seemed practiced.
As if he’d foreseen how the opponent would move, he threw his body into the enemy’s range without hesitation.
Even attacks that seemed unavoidable, Seo-jun discovered a way out he hadn’t seen and defused them as if he’d known all along.
“Hey, hey. Did you really only play this seven years ago? Damn, what a letdown. Just finish it and try the 7th stage.”
Why does this guy have skills like that and not play games until now?
What a punk.
A guy who could probably do well just doing cam shows with that face, and he’s got skills too?
But.
‘Still, it’s kind of tough to succeed on skills alone…’
As a friend, he was starting to worry.
When Seo-jun slashed Cheol-su’s neck, a notification popped up.
[Victory in sparring.]
[HP 10 / 00:02:23]
[Current Rank 107]
Tae-woo was puzzled by the window that briefly appeared.
‘Why is the rank showing up instead of the record? Only the 9th stage compiles rankings…’
Tae-woo noticed that Seo-jun was manipulating the window in the air even after the spar ended.
Then, a cluster of light gathered in front of Seo-jun and began taking a human shape.
He felt a sense of déjà vu at this summon-like scene.
‘No way?’
What was summoned was a robot.
The newly appeared robot also looked human. It wasn’t finely detailed, but the rough outline was female, and the nickname floating above its head was—
[Shin Ha-yeon]
His mouth fell open. Goosebumps prickled all over his body.
“Hey, was that Cheol-su I just beat the 9th stage?”
He hadn’t noticed because of how one-sidedly he’d smashed him.
Cheol-su’s movements definitely surpassed the 4th stage—no, even the 8th stage that he’d barely scraped by!
Seo-jun just chuckled like it was nothing and said,
“Well, it’s not a big deal.”
So he’d easily taken down someone even pros struggled to beat.
‘If he beats the 10th stage too, this is totally…’
It’s a streaming goldmine.
Tae-woo was a streamer to the bone.
Thinking, ‘Nah, there’s no way he’ll win,’ Tae-woo gulped and fumbled to hit the record button.
‘I was going to tease him a bit under the guise of a duo stream, but now am I going to have to beg him to duo with me?’
Before he knew it, his worries about Seo-jun had completely vanished.
* * *
A sense of dissonance was felt.
When walking, when swinging an arm, when breathing.
Even when clashing swords.
But it wasn’t too pronounced.
‘A high-end capsule does make a difference.’
The advances in technology were amazing.
And.
Seo-jun looked at the robot in front of him that was parrying his sword.
[Shin Ha-yeon]
He’d felt it before, but still—a genius.
If this robot perfectly imitated Shin Ha-yeon’s control, then it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Shin Ha-yeon had more talent than anyone he’d seen in his past life.
‘Ah, except for one.’
Anyway, it was astonishing that someone of her caliber could emerge in the roughly ten years since virtual reality had come out.
“Perhaps in another eighty years of training, you might just beat me.”
As Seo-jun was feeling good for the first time in a while, Tae-woo shouted from the side.
“What nonsense are you spouting? Hey, hey, focus on the fight, not me!”
Tch.
Shin Ha-yeon’s HP was currently down by more than half.
By comparison, Seo-jun’s HP hadn’t decreased at all.
Tae-woo seemed thoroughly excited.
And to have the recording on—impressive.
A pro, indeed.
Instead of the charging Shin Ha-yeon AI, Seo-jun glanced at Tae-woo beside him as he deflected the sword.
“Tsk tsk. You still don’t get it after watching all this?”
“I said focus!”
He genuinely looked like an idiot.
Anyway, this was a space where everyone exerted the same strength and couldn’t surpass the same speed, so only mental fortitude and skill mattered.
There was no way Seo-jun, who had memories of his past life, could lose.
Internal energy might be absent, but mastery was eternal.
Shin Ha-yeon’s AI, realizing it shouldn’t swing as usual, began mixing in irregular movements.
‘Is this Shin Ha-yeon’s movement too? Or the AI’s own judgment? For whatever…’
Before Shin Ha-yeon’s sword could reach its intended point, Seo-jun’s extended blade grazed the opponent’s edge, diverting its path.
Kaga-gak!
The sound of blades scraping against each other, long missed, echoed cheerfully.
The thrust aimed at his neck missed by a hair’s breadth, and Seo-jun seized that moment to flick the sword away.
A sound of a sword hitting the floor, and the AI was left wide open, defenseless.
Chwaaaak!
He diagonally slashed across the incapacitated AI’s torso.
[HP 4]
After being slashed, the AI quickly retreated to pick up its sword.
But half a beat faster, Seo-jun closed the distance. As the gap between them narrowed, the AI allowed another hit.
[HP 3]
When your speed matches your opponent’s in a fight, moving first for the next action is key.
To do that, you have to anticipate the enemy’s moves.
And in this situation, what the AI would do was obvious.
Seo-jun precisely stabbed the AI’s arm as it reached for the sword with his blade.
Clang!
The tip of the sword couldn’t pierce the arm, and the sound of metal clashing against metal rang out.
[HP 2]
Despite its arm being grazed by the sword, the AI persisted and managed to grab the fallen sword from the floor.
But Seo-jun recovered his sword and immediately moved to the next action.
A vertical slash that was utterly faithful to the fundamentals.
Kwaaaang!
The AI raised its sword to block, but the tip of Seo-jun’s blade touched its head.
[HP 1]
From the few fights he’d had, this place had a maximum force limit, but you didn’t exert the exact same force every time.
What mattered was the perfect transmission of power.
The wrist of the AI, which had caught the sword while buckling, bent backward.
‘They’re realistic in this aspect.’
Nevertheless, it kicked off the ground and rushed at him to stab Seo-jun.
A feat possible only because it was a robot that wouldn’t die.
But then a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Isn’t not dying still the same thing?
Rather than dodging the sword, Seo-jun simultaneously stabbed the AI’s body.
In his past life, it would’ve been a double kill, but here it was different.
It was merely losing 1 HP.
[Victory in sparring.]
No blood flowed. And the pain was just a sting.
It was fun.
Seo-jun calmly pulled out the sword lodged in his chest and said,
“How’s that? I beat Shin Ha-yeon. Think I can do a skill-based stream now?”
[The 10th stage AI will attempt to imitate the user.]
Tae-woo grinned ear to ear and replied.
“Didn’t I tell you? You should be streaming.”
Seo-jun smiled back at his foolish friend’s expression.
Since when, exactly.
[Additional sparring is required to mimic the user’s movements. Would you like to register?]
“Hmm, what a hassle. Should I just not do it?”
“Shut up and do it quick, you lunatic.”
* * *
Seo-jun and Tae-woo got out of their capsules, sat in the living room, and chatted while wolfing down ice cream.
“Hey, why’d you do that?”
“Do what.”
“You set the fact that you became the new 10th stage to private. When this gets out, thousands of people will definitely flock here.”
There was a reason for that, of course.
“I haven’t done a single stream yet. Even if a crowd rushes in, they’re all just ghosts. It’s a castle on sand.”
“Castle on sand?”
No matter how estranged he was from studying… hmm.
Seo-jun swallowed the scolding rising from the old man within him and explained the meaning simply.
“It basically means a house built on sand. If the foundation isn’t solid, it collapses easily.”
“Then when will you make it public?”
“After I’ve established myself, when the time’s right. Better than flowing in now and all draining away later; it’s more effective.”
“Aha.”
Perhaps because Tae-woo was a broadcaster too, he understood in a flash.
“Have you been streaming or something? Or maybe you’re secretly from a mega corp. Ooh, that’d give me chills.”
“What foolish talk is this again?”
As if creeped out, Tae-woo rubbed his arm and began his explanation.
“You know what hosting is?”
“When a streamer sends viewers to another streamer’s room at the end of their stream?”
“Exactly, it’s when you broadcast another streamer’s video on your screen. Viewer counts are combined. And when a streamer with a lot of viewers hosts a smaller one, it’s a chance for more visibility and to blow up, but it barely has any effect. Know why?”
“Why?”
“Because most people can’t capitalize on the opportunity. Even if viewers increase like that, there are cases where after a month, only the same old viewers return. That’s exactly the castle on sand you talked about. See, you’re built for broadcasting. In that sense, Seo-jun.”
“What.”
“When shall we do a duo stream?”
Now what’s this nonsense?
“When I upload the video, it’ll definitely go viral! And if we duo stream on top of that!”
Thwack.
Seo-jun kicked his friend spouting nonsense in the shin and said,
“Quit being noisy and go do your backed-up chores.”
“Aaargh! Ah, right, the chores! Hey, can’t you let it slide just this once? Please?”
“No.”
You said there’s no taking it back.
Tae-woo collapsed onto the sofa, clutching his shin.
* * *
The next day. Seo-jun entered the lobby and began preparing for his broadcast.
His goal was to build up some recognition as a streamer within a short period.
So, what game should he start with?
The previous day, Tae-woo had explained it like this:
‘Usually, popular online games have just as many streamers, so it’s not easy.’
Also, to gain attention, you had to climb to the top tiers.
‘Package games are less pressure, but they don’t have many viewers either.’
Each had its pros and cons.
And Tae-woo had grinned and said,
‘But there’s always a best move that minimizes the cons and maximizes the pros.’
Indeed.
The game Tae-woo recommended was famous enough that even Seo-jun had heard of it.
And it perfectly suited his situation.
A strange smile of anticipation on his face, Seo-jun went into Trable to prepare his stream.
After writing the stream’s title, he had to set the category for what game he was playing.
The total number of viewers for that game based on its category was—
“3rd place.”
Seo-jun confirmed the game’s popularity once more, then began downloading it.
A package game that had opened just a week ago and had the series’ immense name value, drawing the highest current spotlight.