Luche’s Round of 16 matches ultimately concluded with a win-loss-win record of 2:1.
The match content was impressive. Whenever she lost, it was by a narrow margin, but in the final match, she showed a significant lead and claimed victory.
Given the predictions of a close contest beforehand, this was undoubtedly a better-than-expected result.
Especially in the last battle, I couldn’t help but be amazed at Luche’s performance.
She secured the win with an impeccable counterattack.
As experience increases, it’s common for a player’s tactical sense to improve. But it’s quite rare for physical prowess to also grow.
That truly is a challenging path. Physical abilities are often regarded as a realm of natural talent for a reason. It’s not something that improves with a few days of practice; it requires steady effort for even slight progress. And when you finally reach a certain level, it’s often not the finish line but merely the starting line.
“Because of this, so many fall by the wayside. I almost did too.”
Reflecting on it now is somewhat painful. Nevertheless, it was clear that this small achievement was the result of tremendous effort.
Moreover, her use of vision had markedly improved.
She would hide the trajectory of her attacks behind her shield to reduce the opponent’s reaction time—a tactic that used to be the exclusive domain of Cerberus but which Luche was now deploying.
“The reason fans can’t help but love Luche as a player is this: she never stops growing,” the commentators noted. “Many have defeated her. Those who’ve followed the domestic league will remember how she began—there was a time when her prospects for the following year were questionable.”
“That player has now become, without doubt, the country’s premier Paladin player. Perhaps we’ve underestimated her too often. Just because she seems comfortable in her current position, some assumed she might rest on her laurels. But hasn’t she proven today that she won’t?”
Listening to the commentators made me feel good too. But no one wins all the time.
Sweet moments are bound to end, and matches against formidable opponents were swiftly being arranged.
In the following matches, Reaper eliminated Silphrose’s Witch to make it to the quarterfinals. Cerberus also continued their undefeated streak, earning a spot on the bracket. My opponent was yet to be determined, but the other side of the bracket was now finalized.
Traveller vs. Cerberus.
Luche vs. Reaper.
Traveller’s upcoming Arena matchup was set against this tournament’s most formidable rival. Even domestic fans were pessimistic about their chances, and the commentators’ evaluations were harsh. Traveller must surely understand the objective difference in power.
As for the protagonist of the upcoming battle… they were lounging beside me with a nonchalant expression.
I asked out of exasperation, “Why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To watch the match, naturally.”
“Isn’t it more comfortable watching from outside?”
“Our team has no interest in the Arena anyway, but I’ll head out soon. I don’t need to stay for the next matches.”
Luche’s match was over, and so was Cerberus’. The next players, the ones lined up to face me in the quarterfinals, were preparing. Traveller could only meet them if they advanced to the finals.
I waved them goodbye, and Traveller gave me a penetrating look.
As if gathering their thoughts, they hesitated before making their request, though the actual plea wasn’t particularly complicated.
“Hey, if you have time after watching this, want to do a few practice matches with me?”
“Really, does it have to be now?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Let’s do it just to refine our fundamentals without using skills.”
“Alright then. I’ll help. Let’s go now. We can rewatch the matches later.”
“Thanks.”
I readily agreed.
It was because the money Traveller had promised earlier had finally been transferred. It was even a bit more than initially agreed upon. If the customer shows good faith, it’s only fair to reciprocate with some service.
We located an appropriate open space and began our practice match. Traveller came prepared with a shortsword instead of their usual Glaive. Against an opponent like Cerberus, this was likely to be their preferred weapon.
As we exchanged light attacks, the small talk started.
“Can you win the next match?”
“Of course. Haven’t you seen my interview?”
“I only glanced at the headlines. What’s your real opinion?”
“It’s going to be tough.”
Traveller confidently declared their readiness to face Cerberus in public interviews. In my opinion, it’s commendable how they maintained their composure under pressure. That required great courage.
After all, if they fail, it will provide rich ammunition for critics. As professional gamers often say, the more popular you become, the more detractors you attract.
“I analyzed every possible detail of Cerberus’ matches until the early hours of the morning. I knew they were exceptional, but the deeper I study, the higher the wall seems.”
“Indeed. They’re very good.”
“Suddenly, it felt like I lived in an entirely different world when compared to them. I’m only beginning to see what they see, so it’ll take some time to catch up.”
As if hinting at defeat.
If asked why they gave such an interview, they would answer this way:
“But I am a professional, right? If I start trembling from fear before even engaging in battle, what message does that send to the audience?”
“That mindset is admirable.”
“And… well, I hesitate sharing this with an amateur, but watching your matches recently made me reflect. You know, I used to be so consumed by my pride as a rookie.”
“Really? Never would’ve guessed.”
From the beginning, Traveller was a picture of pride. Now, though, they are unrecognizable compared to their earlier days when they played brashly and drew a lot of criticism. Their pride seems undiminished yet here they are, praising me so highly.
It must mean that this one has kept whittling themselves down to reach their current level. But have they refined the weaknesses they demonstrated last time?
To test this, I attempted the same move to aim low, but nearly ended up getting a shield planted in my chest. Apparently, they’re not taking that blow sitting down anymore. Trying it resulted in my precious guard gauge being decimated.
“I say this because you’ve seen Luche’s matches, right? That was entirely influenced by your play.”
“Is that so? How so?”
“Our analysis team reviewed your play in detail. We could have done the same, and Sigma or Cerberus probably already has. It seems the days of treating you as an amateur are over.”
No wonder their guard felt so solid today.
It seems like my habits and preferred attack routes have all been deconstructed.
A valuable insight. From now on, my Chain Scythe is retired. Honestly, I’ve sensed its limitations since battling Reaper. Without improving my expertise, it’ll just lead to an expected and complete defeat.
“Since I’ve given you some useful info, how about you share something with me?”
“Depends. I do abide by business ethics.”
“Why are you so obsessed with winning?”
“Hmm.”
That stung.
Did I mistakenly bring up a painful topic?
“Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a severe mental condition. Back then, I thought it was just a strong competitive spirit, but looking back, I think it was a disorder.”
When Traveller was in school, a particular card game was all the rage. Skill mattered, but so did luck. Naturally, one could win or lose.
Traveller hated losing.
They were a demon of competitiveness, desperate to always win.
To the point where they didn’t care about playing by the rules.
They developed sleight-of-hand skills to improve their card-game chances, marked cards subtly with barely noticeable nail scratches, and did whatever it took to ensure a win. Winning was a joy in itself.
After hearing this, I gave an honest opinion.
“Wow, you’re really breaking character here. Tell me, did you also bet money?”
“Sure did. I returned any winnings when I won, and handed it over without question if I lost.”
“Crazy. Why would you do that?”
“Having something on the line makes the competition more significant. Knowing I’ll get another chance if I return the money keeps things going. Anyway, I’ve always had plenty of pocket money since childhood. Winning was more important than the money.”
What an irksome guy.
My exasperation made Traveller chuckle.
“Pro gaming really suits you. Except for the cheating part, that is.”
“Right? But I quit cheating once I hit high school. Fighting fair is way more fun.”
“Good thing. I almost mistrusted you there.”
“Why do you speak with such disdain? Anyway, let’s attribute my obsession to my mental condition. What about you?”
The other party had exposed a personal shortcoming, so maybe I should reciprocate a bit.
But dredging up old memories is painful. If I say I want to become a professional gamer, they might naturally wonder why I haven’t yet.
Hence, I had no choice but to respond this way:
“Declined. I don’t intend to say. Ask something else.”
“Cheeky brat. Fine, I’ll just count it as a debt.”
“Sure, sounds good. I’ll even add some interest.”
One day, the debt will be repaid—I am meticulous in such matters.
Afterward, Traveller and I engaged in four intense practice matches. They fought with relentless determination.
A few days later, the quarterfinals began.
