Chapter 14: We decided to call this training

Haah.

Only the cigarette smoke, exhaled in place of a sigh, rose up along the building’s outer wall and then soon dissipated.

Director “After” Kim Hoon blankly raised his hand to his forehead, not caring about the cigarette burning down to the end.

This was because the throbbing pain in his head was almost at its limit.

He suffered from chronic migraines.

And lately, he seemed particularly unlucky, with various incidents troubling him.

Conflict with his fiancée, who he had promised to marry.

His immature younger sibling, who, even in their mid-twenties, kept reaching out for help.

And even the landlord, who brazenly demanded an increase in his lease deposit.

However, if someone were to ask him what was the most pressing issue bothering his head right now, he could answer without hesitation.

It was the constant scream, cursing him, echoing from the phone inside his house, through the computer.

“Director, where did you go?! Director! Director! This isn’t right! Please save me!”

“Why did you pick me? Why did you pick me? Why did you pick me? Why did you pick me? Why did you pick me? Why did you pick me?”

“Just kill me instead… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me… just kill me…”

“Please, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Surely, it was a hallucination.

The landlord had made it quite clear about no smoking, so he could only smoke when he was completely away from home.

But those voices, as if imprinted, were vividly replaying in his ears.

Yes. They were the voices of the players on his team, whom he was supposed to lead, crying out in agony.

He’d heard those resentful, curse-laden words so often that they refused to leave his ears.

How did it all end up like this?

He clutched his head, recalling the past events.

So, right after the auction ended, he had gathered his team and invited them to Discord.

Since they were strangers meeting for the first time, Berserker and Sdak had tried to lead the conversation through an awkward atmosphere, with the rest of the team gradually joining in.

That part had been fine.

Yes, until that point, there were no issues.

The Berserker, who he’d overpaid 920 points for by mistake, had said, “Let’s give it our best,” without showing off, and HoldMedic, in her characteristically cute, girlish voice, shyly cheered, “Fighting!” even fumbling a bit, which made the voice chat burst into laughter—that was all good, too.

Was it after that, perhaps?

When Parfetchino had said, “Even though I’m only in Indigo, I’m confident in my Ambush Rogue play, so trust me.”

When Sdak had boasted, “This time in the tournament, I! Will! Shine!”

Or when Mohae had said, “Trust me, bros, the championship is in the bag,” in his boyish voice?

Or maybe…

When “Saint” had rejoined them after excusing herself briefly, and with an oddly alluring voice, said, “Nice to meet you all,” in a languid tone that was somehow more captivating.

No, not even there.

Then was it during the practice scrim match against Director Maryang, arranged right after they formed the team?

Was it from that point?

The content of the scrim, a single round due to the late hour, had been quite thrilling.

Kill score 48:54.

A fiercely fought game lasting 55 minutes ended in a close loss due to mistakes by Sdak and Mohae.

The Berserker fought hard but eventually fell, unable to get support because Golden Sun persistently marked and harassed Saint, ending the game.

As everyone expressed regret, he, as the director, pointed out each player’s issues as he saw them.

The Berserker was fine.

He had to be, really.

If a 920-point player had flaws, it would’ve been a real problem.

Saint, though… Saint exceeded expectations.

How is this player in Yellow 4?

That phrase kept coming to mind with her continued impressive plays.

She was picked as a healer in Yellow due to a lack of points—the team as a whole was lacking carry potential, but just one match erased that worry.

From his experience as a former player and coach, it was clear that she was easily capable of hitting Orange rank.

She especially had a sharp perception of the battlefield, making her a reliable asset as the main strategist.

But below her, there were problems.

Green 4.

Parry-addict Mohae.

Using the word “addict” for a player he picked was certainly inappropriate, but he couldn’t think of a term more fitting.

Being a longsword warrior without a shield, his preferred skills were mostly focused on offense, leaving him vulnerable in defense.

And he tried to compensate for this weakness in an unusual way.

He relied entirely on parrying for defense.

If he failed, at the very least, he’d sustain moderate injuries; more often than not, he’d die instantly.

Even if his parries succeeded, a slightly skilled opponent would barely suffer any damage.

Higher-ranked players knew Mohae’s playstyle well enough to account for his parries and would attack with that in mind.

It was a classic case of high-risk, low-reward play, but when I pointed this out, he dejectedly responded that he knew it but just couldn’t fix it.

That’s when Saint spoke up.

“Mohae, would you like me to teach you a little?”

“What? How?”

“We can create a training room and practice together. Director, is that okay?”

Kim Hoon’s eyes widened without him realizing it.

Yes, that was it!

The moment he had foolishly agreed, as if entranced by Saint, was the problem!

Hadn’t she just turned twenty?

Mohae, who was at an age where he’d indulge in fantasies just from hearing a girl’s voice, laughed easily and eagerly accepted her offer to practice alone.

And… when the two of them created a new voice chat room and disappeared,

then less than an hour later, when Mohae returned alone with Saint nowhere to be seen…

“Please save me, I’m sorry, please save me, I’m sorry, please save me, I’m sorry, please save me, I’m sorry…”

Mohae was practically a broken man.

“M-Mohae?”

“My mace… the screen, blood… my head’s going to explode… I don’t want to die… save me, Director, save me… that woman isn’t normal!”

“Mohae, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Everyone was bewildered, not understanding what was going on.

Ding.

The sound of Saint re-entering the voice chat room to follow Mohae.

“Eeek!”

“Mohae, where are you going? We’re not done practicing yet. You haven’t succeeded with a single parry.”

“Wh-what are you? Why aren’t you a warrior and just a healing priest?”

“That’s mean. Are you going to act like this in the tournament too if you don’t keep up with me?”

“Nooooooo—!”

Mohae was then practically forced into Saint’s training.

And by the time he returned the next day, at dawn, he could occasionally block the Berserker’s attacks, which he had never dared to face before, and even managed to counterattack a few times.

At that point, I thought nothing of it.

In fact, I was probably moved and thrilled by the changes in this “parry addict.”

I never imagined things would turn out like this.

That’s why I said it to Saint so casually.

“Saint, our Mohae changed overnight! How did you manage that?”

“The character’s head is a bit big, so it’s satisfying to break.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, I was up all night teaching and got up early, so I’m a bit out of it. Sorry, I said something weird.”

“Ah… you should get some rest. Hmm, so I guess I’ll have to leave Sdak’s training to the Berserker.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine now. Just leave it to me.”

Just leave it to me.

I should have caught onto that ominous laugh.

In truth, I hadn’t expected much from Sdak.

He had the stubborn pride of a bull; I had even watched in real-time as he refused to change despite one-on-one coaching from Kang Tae-jun, the “scholar,” a commentator who had mastered the game.

So I left Sdak’s training to Saint.

That evening, in the Discord chat room, Saint spoke to Sdak in her characteristic, soothing tone.

“Sdak, are you going to awaken again?”

“N-no… no… no… I… I can’t…”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“A-a-awak…en…”

“Sdak, there’s no need to talk about awakening. Just do what you’re told, okay?”

“A… awaken…”

“Or… do you want your head smashed again?”

“Just… just kill me…”

“They say people die when their heads get smashed.”

“I don’t want to die. I won’t mention awakening again. I’ll behave. I hate the mace, ugh!”

“How obedient.”

What on earth was she doing to turn people into nervous wrecks?

And not just anyone—Sdak!

Sdak, who could barely be humbled even after the esteemed commentator Kang Joon-tae, known as the ‘Scholar,’ bombarded him with harsh facts and crushed his pride, telling him he’d never win the game with that attitude. Yet here he was, now obeying Saint like a loyal dog, bowing to her commands.

Once his pride was shattered, his hidden skills started to sprout, and he could finally be trusted to take his place in the frontline as a solid sword-and-shield warrior.

…The mistake was my curiosity about her methods.

I fed Parfechino, the rogue player from Indigo 4, to Saint.

Despite Parfechino’s visible anxiety, I coaxed him, saying, “Mohae and Sdak turned out a bit odd, but look how much their skills improved. I’d love it if you could help the team out like that.”

And what I got in return…

“Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that to me? Why did you do that to me? Why did you recruit me? Why did you recruit me? Why did you recruit me? Why did you recruit me? Why did you recruit me? Why did you recruit me?”

Parfechino’s words were filled with resentment, and Kim Hoon had no response.

This time, he’d witnessed Saint’s training in real-time.

It was more like torture.

Torture disguised as training.

A mace, smashing his head over and over again…

Within hours, the training room had turned into a living hell.

Could a place with hundreds of broken heads scattered all over the floor be called anything but hell?

Saint’s character turned and gave a pitch-black smile at the observer’s view.

It sent shivers down my spine.

“Director, it’s not nice to hold a grudge.”

“G-get away from me…”

“Director, would you have picked a player like Parfechino if you’d had a choice? He only ended up on this team because he didn’t pass anywhere else. He should be grateful to you for taking him in. Isn’t that right, Director? I’m grateful to you too.”

“Just… let me go… just this once… please…”

“Oh dear. Why are you acting like this?”

“I hate this! It’s terrifying… Director, please, save me.”

“Now, if you don’t block, your head’s going to get smashed again, okay?”

“You… demon!!”

Saint did not respond and simply smiled quietly.

The laughter that once seemed like a heavenly voice now sounded like a demon pretending to be an angel.

Of the melee classes, only the Berserker, who was naturally talented, had yet to fall under her influence.

Saint continued to relentlessly train Mohae, Sdak, and Parfechino.

It was baffling to think that someone who claimed she hadn’t played melee for over 8,000 matches could fight so well with only a mace and no armor.

Her play was flawless to the point where, by now, you’d think the three men might defeat her just once by sheer luck, but not a single one managed to best her.

Still…

As with any game, there are always lessons to be learned through failure.

Now, five days later, the team under Coach “After” boasted an impressive scrimmage win rate of 80%.

What kind of player had he recruited?

In truth, he hadn’t recruited them at all.

The only players he’d actively chosen were the 920-point Berserker and the 80-point Hold Medic.

Saint, Mohae, Sdak, and Parfechino were all left-over, zero-point players assigned to him after they went unpicked by anyone else.

Yet under Saint’s leadership, they were now shining stars on the team…

So what if he got a headache from the occasional insult from the teammates he’d begrudgingly taken on?

As long as they won, that was all that mattered.

With that thought, he stubbed out his cigarette, now a stub, and headed back inside.

The voice from Discord soon reached him.

“I wasn’t happy with our last game, so how about all three of you follow me this time?”

“Why… why… why… why… why… why… why… why… why… why… why… why…”

“I’m going to curse the coach. Curse the coach. Curse the coach. Curse the coach. Curse the coach. Curse the coach…”

As long as they won, that was all that mattered… right?