After devouring the food as if possessed, I realized that the meal had already come to an end.
Not far away came the sound of slicing. Slicing.
Master’s peeling knife was cutting through the apple skin.
Judging by the few disposable plastic bags on the table, it seemed like they were meant to hold pre-cut pieces to make eating easier.
Before I could think twice, I popped a slice into my mouth.
Just moments ago, I was sure my stomach couldn’t hold another bite. But the thought of the apple’s tangy sweetness was irresistible.
The juice filled my mouth, fresh and sweet. It was delicious. Could this be happiness?
As I felt a smile creeping onto my face, Master asked gently,
“So, how have things been lately?”
“The same. Earning money, going to the hospital. Nothing much, just living like this.”
“Have you seen any improvement?”
“Well, at least it doesn’t seem to be getting worse.”
We were talking about my left leg.
Knowing how much money I’ve spent on medical bills, Master probably worries about it.
How much have I spent altogether until now?
Even if I don’t know the exact number, it’s definitely been a significant amount. This leg of mine, rotting away like spoiled meat. If I had just amputated this trashy extremity, I wouldn’t be living on this studio apartment floor.
Still… I just couldn’t let it go.
Cutting it off felt like the end, like I’d never return to the way things were originally.
“Even though it may seem like nagging, do take care of your health. All parts of the body are interconnected. If you keep putting in effort, someday, something good will definitely happen.”
Master left the sentence hanging a little.
Now, I understood the hesitation. Master was likely afraid of giving me false hope.
Sports, after all, is a cold and ruthless world despite its fiery passion. There’s no in-between in competition. You’re either a winner or a loser. Talent can be mercilessly trampled.
Having spent years in that world, and as an educator, how many disappointments has Master seen? How many hopes have become poisons for students?
Contrary to popular belief, hope isn’t always such a beautiful word.
Yet, Master chose comforting words for me. Rather than the words themselves, I was impressed by Master’s courage.
“I’ll be going on a business trip to Japan soon, so I’ll also try visiting some hospitals over there. If I find anything promising, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m grateful. Please take care of it. Is it a training camp in Japan?”
“Yeah. There’s also some kind of friendly competition, but it’s not a big deal.”
“Well, if you’re going, you should definitely win. Good luck.”
“Alright, I’ll try my best.”
Even though I’m no longer competing, Master remains my teacher.
If possible, I’d still like to watch, at least from afar. Given its small scale, it might not be broadcasted, so I should ask for a video recording.
The word “competition” still resonates beautifully whenever I hear it.
Still, it’s unlikely I’ll return to the world of kendo.
It’s not just because of TS disease.
Kendo doesn’t have weight classes.
Since we wield swords, the difference in weight class doesn’t matter much, and I’ve faced quite a few opponents taller than me.
I’ve also heard that the lack of weight classes is to consider real-life combat… but honestly, I’m not sure.
The real problem is my leg.
Even if it heals, rehabilitation will take considerable time. To get back to a competitive level will require even more, so it feels unrealistic right now.
“You don’t have anything else, right? I heard you’re good at gaming. Something about fighting, right? With your skill, shouldn’t you be able to place in something?”
“Most official tournaments require in-person participation, and we’ll need to use their VR setup.”
“I know that. But still, isn’t there a small-scale event or something, one you can join from home?”
“Nothing has caught my interest yet…”
I avoid participating in smaller-scale tournaments.
Winning one of those would be like drinking seawater to quench thirst. I’ve received numerous invitations to contests hosted by streamers, but I’ve declined all of them.
It felt like it would tarnish my reputation.
Yes, reputation. That’s what it’s become for me.
Right now, I thirst for victories, for being recognized as the best in the world.
Dreams I never achieved. Dreams I can no longer achieve.
I just want to be properly acknowledged, even if it’s not through kendo. I want to reclaim what I lost.
The ambition I cherished before the international tournament turned bizarrely into a monstrosity.
“There’s a recent competition announcement that you might not have seen yet.”
“Hmm? I should take a look then. You should check it out with me.”
Though I dismissed it offhand, I couldn’t hide a strange sense of anticipation building within me.
The title of the announcement that the client had sent out caught my eye.
[Notice: Become the Strongest Adventurer! The 1st Infinity Arena is Here!]
As I scrolled through, key details stuck in my mind.
Unlimited participants, no prerequisites, and no stat requirements.
The stats and levels would be categorized into five tiers… Matches would be random one-on-one duels, and contestants advancing from the preliminary round would require at least three wins out of five matches.
In other words, this event was created to find the strongest individual among all the game’s players in a one-on-one duel.
While the prize money, as an event, can’t compare with professional scenes…
That’s not the important part for me.
No matter how great this tournament looks, if I can’t participate, it means nothing, right?
And indeed, at the bottom of the announcement, as expected, was information about “airfare included for finalists” and similar details.
Tch. I ruined my mood by reading this.
But Master is here with me, so I should manage my expression.
“I guess it’s not for me. It’s fine. Maybe there’ll be a good day sooner or later.”
Ku-kung. My heart was racing for no reason.
Calm down. This isn’t the first time, is it?
I clenched my right fist tightly and focused all my strength there.
That way, my facial muscles won’t tense up.
It should soften the rigid, awkward look on my face.
Thankfully, Master was still looking at the monitor.
As I was about to close this distasteful event page, Master’s thick finger pointed at a part of the screen.
“Hey, Da-… Da-eun. What’s this?”
“What is it?”
My vision had narrowed significantly.
It must be because I haven’t slept well for a while.
It wasn’t due to emotional instability, though.
Master’s finger was pointing to another notice posted just a few hours ago, marked as the “next article.”
And it was a title I couldn’t overlook.
[Notice: Infinity Arena Schedule Adjustment Announcement]
– Recently, a volcano in Iceland exploded, resulting in the suspension of most flights across Europe.
– According to experts, the volcanic ash discharge will likely continue for an extended period, and some suggest additional eruptions could occur.
– As a result, despite any future restoration of flights, hosting the event at Reykjavik, the intended venue, is impractical.
At the convenience store, when checking the community board, I had skimmed through a news story similar to this one.
The volcanic eruption.
Though it was unfortunate, I dismissed it as unrelated to me, so I hadn’t bothered reading more.
How unpredictable life can be. While misfortune strikes unexpectedly, so does fortune.
As if entranced, I kept scrolling down.
– The Infinity Arena is an event for all users worldwide.
– Given our shortcomings in preparation, we must ensure finalists can participate without traveling to the venue.
– Hence, this year’s Infinity Arena will proceed online via a dedicated server and be broadcasted live.
I rechecked the notice repeatedly, thinking I might have misread.
Scrolling up and down, I read every single detail, just to be sure.
I even rubbed my heavy, tired eyes and searched through community forums, expecting at least a few related news articles.
I was praying I had interpreted it correctly.
[Exclusive Online Event! Infinity Arena Adjustments]
[What Will Be the Impact of the Rescheduled Arena?]
[Pro Gamers Joining the Infinity Arena!]
All the sources told the same story.
I can participate in this tournament.
Could such an opportunity come around again?
I’m unsure. My head wasn’t clear because it all felt surreal.
I think Master said something, but I doubt I responded properly.
One thing was certain: my hand moved on its own.
At the bottom of the resurfaced event page… I remembered when I had once opened the registration page, wanting nothing more but to click “subscribe.” Instead, I felt the gut-wrenching pain of pressing “cancel.”
Oddly, the participation button this time looked exactly the same as back then.
[Adventurer Gawol’s Infinity Arena Rank: ‘Black’.]
[Do you confirm your participation? Confirm/Cancel]
With my spirit soaring, I pressed “Confirm.”
[Your registration for the Infinity Arena is now complete.]
[We wish you success in your challenge.]
