Chapter 41: Reconnaissance

<It’s here! Victory!>

<Is this the big one????>

<We’re watching this match live>

<I’m going to tell my grandchildren about this… The greatest achievement of my life was witnessing the first-ever match between Legendary and Victory in real-time.>

<The legend is coming!!!>

<Suddenly, my heart is swelling with pride>

<How many matches has she even played to be matched with Victory? LOL>

<Hasn’t this person played less than 100 hours?>

<A newbie with less than 100 hours vs. Teamfight Arena itself>

<Does Victory fear the rise of Legendary?>

The chat was on fire.

Ninety thousand viewers.

It felt strange.

An experience like this—being watched by so many people—most people would never have it in their entire lives.

‘Wait… Is being good at a game really this amazing?’

My heart pounded a little.

A long time ago…

I had been certain of one thing.

That I was really, really good at games.

But I had never thought of doing anything with it.

I simply enjoyed the time I spent completely immersed in the game.

An empty house.

Time that felt hollow.

Swallowing loneliness.

The suffocating pressure of having to be a “good son,” forcing myself to focus on studying.

I wanted to escape—to do something a model student wouldn’t normally do.

And so, gaming became my occasional act of rebellion.

But… was this something that could earn such admiration from so many people?

Thump-thump.

My heart kept racing.

‘This just makes me want to win even more.’

[1st Row Viewer has donated 10,000 KRW.]

“This is your first match against Victory. Show your POV instead of spectating.”

“Won’t it make everyone dizzy?”

A desire had begun to take root inside me—growing, even if just a little.

A desire to be acknowledged.

To hear others admire my gameplay.

Before I started streaming, I never even realized I had this in me.

<7777777777>

<You have to see this as pure excitement, no other way>

<I can’t wait three minutes for the delayed spectator view! Show us live!!!>

<If you get spoiled, you’ll lose your mind, trust me>

<You guys don’t understand because you haven’t been spoiled before. It’s unbearable>

<Spectators, go watch the official game view>

<Show us live!>

<Taking motion sickness meds, brb>

<Screw it, I’ll just endure the dizziness!>

“Can anyone spectate?”

So there’s something like that.

That means my personal POV is exclusive content, while the match can be viewed elsewhere.

The choice was obvious.

<I’m getting motion sick LOL>

<Wait, this isn’t trolling? She’s actually playing like this?>

<I see now. She’s just a different species.>

<Don’t worry, she only stops shaking the screen when fights break out. Hold on, everyone.>

<Grab the safety bar!!! You’re about to be launched off!!!>

<Is this a roller coaster?>

<No, this is a torture device.>

Seeing everyone react like this…

It was kind of fun.

Thump-thump.

My heart kept pounding.

“Let’s have a good match.”

I whispered to the unseen Victory, knowing he couldn’t hear me.

And with that—the real battle began.

In Teamfight Arena, you can’t afford to stop thinking, not even for a second.

The first thing to do is check where all five allies are starting.

That lets me predict where the five enemies will be.

• I estimate where the enemy team will gather for their jungle rotations.

And then I think.

What path should I take to level up?

Where is the best place to fight?

If an early skirmish is necessary, where and at what level should I join?

In a way, it’s a little like chess.

A battlefield where five chess pieces fight against five others.

Every move matters just as much.

If necessary, I ping.

If that’s not enough, I type in chat.

This is Teamfight Arena.

Not Solo Arena.

To win, all five players need to move as one.

While I continue farming,

I quickly tap pings.

‘The first clash will be…’

The Hero’s Arena map has numerous jungle camps.

A team of just five can’t control them all.

That’s why, in lower ranks, people mistakenly believe they can just farm anywhere.

Of course, that’s a huge misconception.

‘The team that levels up faster at the nearest camps gains an advantage.’

It’s such a simple concept.

I don’t understand how some people still don’t get it.

‘Time is a resource too.’

Even in this game, reality’s logic applies.

Which is why…

Jungle positioning battles exist.

‘We’re stronger early. There’s no reason to give up the Dragon’s Nest.’

I gauge how many enemies can rotate in,

visualizing which team compositions will clash.

At first, I was frustrated about the long grind to rank up—how many matches were needed just to reach Level 30 and unlock ranked play.

But now that I’m immersed in ranked games, I think those countless matches were necessary.

To truly understand this game.

To encounter various champions, grasp their abilities, and understand their matchups.

That accumulated experience allows me to make the right decisions.

‘As long as we have three, we can take on any fight. We can win.’

Time is a resource, and traveling long distances comes with a price.

That’s why engaging in a 5v5 fight isn’t always the correct move.

Grouping up too much results in wasted movement; grouping up too little means getting overpowered in fights.

A deep game of positioning and mind games—that’s Teamfight Arena.

Three enemies gathered at the Dragon’s Nest.

Three of our teammates were also there.

We had a slight advantage in matchups.

But that didn’t mean I could let my guard down.

Thump-thump.

My heart pounded violently.

With such a small edge in matchups, a single misplaced skill, a single bad movement, could flip everything.

If I were a player who prioritized safety above all else, I might have given up the Dragon’s Nest and waited for a better opportunity.

Thump-thump.

But… I’ve always had a fondness for dancing on the edge of a blade.

The more intense the fight, the more exhilarating it becomes.

Today, I feel especially focused.

Thump-thump.

Our Wolf Rider dashes in on his mount.

I move in sync with him.

If he exposes himself to the enemy alone, he’ll be shredded in an instant—he’s not particularly tanky.

Sensing my intention, the Barbarian matches our stride as well.

The enemy’s frontline consists of a Spearman—a sturdy opponent who can take a beating.

Behind him stands the Swordsman—my greatest rival, Victory.

I keep an eye on his movements.

If I can take down the enemy Gunslinger in the back, that would be ideal.

At the very least, I need to pressure him enough that he can’t freely fire at us.

Wolf Rider vs. Spearman.

Swordsman vs. Barbarian.

Both sides exchange small pokes, testing each other’s reactions.

At this point, everyone is still capable of retreating.

We keep trading skills and auto attacks, gauging each other’s intentions.

Are you coming in?

Should I go in?

It might look like mindless feinting…

But in reality, every second is filled with extreme tension.

A single wasted skill, a single misstep in movement—and either side will pounce.

‘Now.’

The Gunslinger’s movement faltered slightly.

Of course, he must be scared.

He probably feels like the Barbarian, the Wolf Rider, and I are all staring straight at him.

But he can’t back off too far.

If he does, there will be a two-second gap before he can rejoin the fight.

I blink forward and dump my skills onto the Spearman, shredding his health.

He spins his spear to absorb some damage, but a three-man combo is too much—he’ll die if he stays.

He has no choice but to flash backward to escape.

Victory steps in to block our chase.

At a glance, it looks like we gained a numbers advantage.

But thinking about it rationally—it’s not that favorable.

‘We’ve used all our skills, but their damage dealers still have theirs. We’ve already gained an advantage, so let’s pull back.’

I ping a retreat.

Killing the enemy isn’t always necessary.

Health is also a resource.

• With the Spearman in that condition, they can’t contest us in a fight.

The enemies will be forced to retreat.

‘Don’t give Victory an opportunity to shine.’

Teamfight Arena is a meticulous resource-trading game, but…

Sometimes, unfair trades happen.

Anyone perceptive enough would understand.

‘If you dodge everything and land everything, the trade is completely one-sided.’

Don’t give Victory that chance.

Because if you do… he will take it.

Fortunately, his Swordsman champion can’t make proactive plays until he unlocks his ultimate.

If we don’t engage, he can’t force a fight.

Just as expected, when we backed off, the enemies retreated like defeated soldiers.

<LEGENDARY WINS!!!!>

<Is this person addicted to flashing forward?>

<She used it and got an advantage, though LOL>

<Why do I have no idea what just happened?>

<It’s normal for lower-tier players to not understand high-level fights…>

<Hmm… is she really that good?>

<Why aren’t they fighting more? Are they cowards?>

<Throwing yourself into fights brainlessly isn’t a strategy, you fool.>

<I’m Grandmaster, and that play was actually insane.>

Half the chat didn’t understand.

The other half was cheering.

Why are they acting like I’ve already won?

Don’t jinx it.

Thump-thump.

I can’t afford to relax yet.

I need to keep farming and prepare for the next fight.

<She’s shaking the screen again>

<Is she addicted to screen-shaking?>

<I’ll just assume she’s flustered from all the praise.>

It’s a necessary part of the game.

Don’t misunderstand.