Chapter 27: The Weight of Responsibility and the Fight to Win

On the way home after the competition, I pulled out my budget smartphone one of those basic models with an affordable plan.

A message from the organizer awaited me on KakaoTalk, revealing a gift certificate code.

“Chicken, huh.”

Could I sell this? Probably not at full price, though.

As I debated my options, a savory aroma teased my nose, and I couldn’t help but sniff the air instinctively.

Turning my head, I spotted a store nearby, showcasing a beautifully roasted rotisserie chicken in its golden glory.

“…”

Right. A person can’t live on jjambbong alone. Sometimes you’ve got to treat yourself to something else.

Today, the 50,000 won prize money would have to suffice.

The real question was how did I even use this thing?

The five-year technological gap felt like a towering wall I couldn’t climb.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm…”

It wasn’t just me. Even Suah, a fresh-faced high schooler at 18, was utterly hopeless with these “modern conveniences.”

After the two of us wrestled with the app for what felt like ages, we finally gave up and called Hong Seol for help.

With her guidance, we managed to place the order.

The crispy fried chicken turned out to be beyond delicious, surpassing all my expectations.

Indeed, chicken never disappoints. Once again, I was reminded of this undeniable truth.

The lights at the jjawang restaurant stay on until quite late,

with the shutters closing at 9 PM just as the sun fully sets, marking the shift into night.

After that, I head upstairs to wrap up the day.

While waiting for Suah to finish showering, I sat in the larger room, deep in thought.

Looking at it again, things felt tighter than I’d anticipated.

Including today, I’d earned 1.05 million won over two days.

With ten days remaining until next Sunday, the funds left in hand were 2.95 million won.

If I managed to win all the upcoming competitions, I might just scrape by…

But considering potential expenses or unforeseen losses, it was hard to feel entirely at ease.

It might be better to prepare for Plan B, just in case.

Judging from yesterday’s competition, the buzz around me seemed to be growing steadily.

That was when the bathroom door opened, and Suah emerged.

She looked radiant, her skin glowing from the steam, her hair freshly damp, and her playful smile lighting up the room.

“All done! Your turn, unnie.”

“Okay.”

The lingering steam and her sweet fragrance filled the air as I entered the bathroom.

I shook my head quickly, pushing away any errant thoughts.

I’d mostly gotten used to it by now, but the fact that I was living alone with a high school girl occasionally stirred up strange pangs of self-consciousness.

I had to stay focused.

These days, she felt like a precious younger sister. Nothing more.

After finishing my bath, I walked out to find Suah sitting in front of the TV, snacking on some chips.

She was so engrossed in her show that she didn’t even notice me.

Curious, I peered over her shoulder and sighed. Another trot singing competition.

I squeezed myself onto the cramped couch next to her, stealing a handful of her chips.

Hmm. The salty crunch of potato chips hit the spot.

“Remote.”

“Unnie! I’m watching this!”

“Oh, hush.”

“Ugh.”

Even as she pouted, Suah handed over the remote without resistance.

She always acted grumpy on the surface but was surprisingly obedient underneath.

“Why are you always watching trot competitions like some grandma?”

“They’re so fun! You’d like them too if you gave them a chance, unnie!”

“Sure, sure.”

As if.

Suah pouted again, shooting me a playful glare.

“And you, unnie, only ever watch boring documentaries.”

“Excuse me? Are you dissing documentaries? Majestic nature, survival of the fittest don’t you see how fascinating that is?”

“Sure, sure.”

When I switched the channel to a documentary, Suah naturally got absorbed into it.

Of course, she did. Who wouldn’t be captivated by the great white sharks of the deep sea,

the lions of the savannah, or the adorable penguins of the Antarctic?

The small room left little choice but for the two of us to sit closely together, bodies inadvertently touching.

The entire building was compact both the first-floor shop and the second-floor living quarters.

The shared living space combined the kitchen and the living room,

along with a large room previously used by the old man, and the small room that Suah currently occupied.

It was a modest two-room setup, with me temporarily using the larger room.

When the old man was in better health, he would occasionally return here to rest, during which I would share the small room with Suah.

Those three months were brief, but they left a lasting impression.

Living in this cozy house made me realize that simplicity had its charm.

A larger house would just mean more cleaning and loneliness.

We quietly watched TV for a while.

Suah, like me, was far from ordinary.

At just 18, she bore the weight of caring for her ailing grandfather alone a responsibility that was anything but easy.

In some ways, we shared a connection born from similar struggles.

Perhaps that’s why we could comfort each other so naturally.

At some point, Suah’s breathing grew steady beside me, her head resting gently on my shoulder as she fell asleep.

I continued watching the documentary while she slumbered.

Once the program ended, I carefully lifted her in my arms and carried her to the small room, placing her on the bed without waking her.

Standing at the doorway, I glanced back at her peaceful, sleeping face.

“Thank you,” I murmured softly.

‘Thank you for staying by my side. I’ll make sure to support you now, so you can live happily without worries.’

That was my only wish.

Five days passed.

The past few days were grueling, packed with intense schedules.

I had to participate in multiple competitions daily.

Online tournaments were manageable despite the strain on focus since they didn’t require physical travel.

The real challenge lay in the offline competitions.

Although I tried to prioritize nearby events,

the hefty goal of earning 4 million won in a single week meant I couldn’t avoid traveling to other regions for certain tournaments.

For competitions within the outskirts of Seoul, I relied on public transportation.

But for tournaments in other provinces, I took express buses.

Most tournaments were held in Seoul, but I attended one in Busan.

The time and travel expenses involved were enough to make me sigh in frustration.

‘Is this all worth it for the money I’m earning?’ I often wondered. But skipping wasn’t an option.

Despite the challenges, I managed to save steadily.

As of now, I’d accumulated 2.8 million won over halfway to my goal.

With five days left, if everything went according to plan, I would successfully gather the surgery funds.

But today, on the fifth day, an unexpected complication arose.

The reason was both simple and significant I might not secure first place in the upcoming competition.

It wasn’t due to a lack of confidence in my skills.

I was utterly confident in my abilities, believing I could defeat even professional players.

However, this particular competition wasn’t one I could win based solely on individual performance.

This was a team competition.

Team competitions were a cornerstone of this game, almost as prominent as solo play.

Even in regular matchmaking, duo and squad modes were more popular than solo.

This trend naturally extended to tournaments, where team-based events were common.

Just a few days ago, I participated in an online duo competition.

My partner, recognizing my username, caused quite a commotion.

Apparently, my victories in various tournaments had made my name somewhat famous.

The reaction to my voice was… well, imagining it was exhausting enough.

Fortunately, it seemed that my identity as a woman hadn’t spread widely.

Without concrete evidence, who would believe it anyway?

Unlike that event, today’s competition was offline.

Normally, team members would enter as pre-formed groups,

but a few crazy individuals including myself had submitted solo entries, opting for random team assignments.

At the time of registration, I didn’t think much of it. Now, it was too late to regret.

The prize money for this competition was significant, and skipping it wasn’t an option if I wanted to meet my financial goal.

As I anxiously reviewed the team roster, my heart sank.

Next to the names of my teammates were their ranks: Unranked Bronze.

A dream team of mediocrity.

While I was the unranked player, which could be ignored, the two Bronze players were an undeniable handicap.

In the online duo competition, I had carried a Platinum-tier partner, which was manageable.

But could I achieve victory with two Bronze-tier teammates?

It didn’t matter whether I could or not I had no choice but to try.

With a “don’t lose” mindset, I steeled myself for the challenge.

The competition was about to begin.