Chapter 34: “I’ll turn that mockery into cheers.”

There is a word called kuse.

In Japanese, it means a habit or custom, but in Korea, it’s often used with a slightly negative connotation.

You often hear examples like, “You have a bit of kuse when you sing; you need to fix it.”

Bad habits.

Habits are a scary thing.

As the saying goes, “Old habits die hard,” and the habits formed early on are difficult to change even as you grow older.

Swish—

The sound of a knife being drawn echoes.

A faint oops is heard in response.

I clicked my tongue and metaphorically picked up a rod.

“I told you not to draw your knife while moving.”

“Ah, it’s just a habit… I press it without realizing it.”

Agents are equipped with a secondary weapon in addition to their primary weapons like rifles, pistols, and swords. This secondary weapon is a short blade that users often mockingly refer to as a fruit knife.

It’s not a term of endearment but more of a jab.

After all, why would you need a fruit-cutting knife in combat?

It has a short range and lacks power, making its combat utility questionable.

So what is this weapon’s purpose?

Equipping the secondary weapon increases an agent’s movement speed.

Significantly faster than when holding their primary weapon.

For that reason, players often carry their secondary weapons at the start of a match or round for quicker mobility.

However, there are a few extreme thrill-seekers or mobility enthusiasts who wield their secondary weapon even in combat situations.

And, well, one of those few is standing before me now.

“Why are you showing off your knife when you might run into an enemy right in front of you?”

“I just felt a bit impatient…”

“This is a shooting game. You’re supposed to carry your gun.”

“But, aren’t you a swordsman, Molu?”

They don’t miss a chance to retort.

Realizing their mistake, they quickly corrected themselves.

Well, it’s not just a shooting game.

“Carry your primary weapon, okay? Only switch to your secondary weapon when you’re absolutely certain of the enemy’s position or when you really need to move quickly for strategic purposes.”

“Understood.”

The player may have bad habits, but at least their attitude isn’t bad.

They’re genuinely eager to learn and are visibly trying hard to correct the things I point out.

“And reloading—why are you reloading when you still have 21 bullets left?”

“Well… doesn’t it feel uncomfortable if the magazine isn’t full?”

“I find your gameplay uncomfortable.”

Whether it’s bullets, magic, or arrows.

If you shoot a few rounds to check or suppress the enemy, there’s always a moment when your ammo count feels awkward.

Slightly over half left or just a handful remaining.

Should you reload?

What if you run out of bullets during a fight?

People who worry about such things reload.

And countless players die because they reload at the wrong moment.

“Unless you’re being rushed by a horde of enemies, you won’t need that many bullets. You’ll die before you can use them all.

And any fight where you lose due to lack of bullets is a fight you’d lose even with a full magazine.”

“Got it. But, um, how long do I have to do this for?”

“Until the things I pointed out are fixed.”

Right now, Tex is not in a custom duel arena but in the training room.

The difference between the duel arena and the training room lies in this:

In a duel arena, you fight against real players, while in a training room, you face AI opponents.

Naturally, AI moves as programmed, making them easier to handle.

It wasn’t that I was telling Tex to just go beat up some AI.

I had him imagine the AI as actual opponents while running drills across the map.

The goal was to eliminate his bad habits while practicing simulations.

In truth, I initially intended to take him straight into the duel arena for live combat training, as I had done with Sua and Daesik.

But seeing his lack of basic skills, I realized it would be meaningless.

It would just become one-sided violence, a way for me to blow off steam.

I found myself newly appreciating the high skill level of my past trainees.

How many laps had we done by now?

Tex, now avoiding the use of the secondary weapon and no longer stressing over leftover ammo after killing AI, showed clear improvement.

It took a long time to get here.

Perhaps realizing his own progress, Tex spoke up.

“Do you think this is enough, Captain?”

“You’ve passed the first stage.”

“First stage?”

“Step out for now.”

With the simulation over, it was time to test his skills in a real match.

“Yes, that’s right, turn left there.”

“Got it, got it. What’s next?”

“Next… you figure it out yourself. Why do you keep asking?”

“Oh, it’s just too convenient. Following your instructions, I can win without even thinking.”

“You’re trying to take the easy way out.”

Ahem—the small cough marked the end of another round.

During the side-switch break after the first half, Tex’s performance stood out.

I’d say he was an underrated talent for his tier.

Now that he had shed his bad habits, Tex was showing gameplay in ranked matches that exceeded his usual level.

I monitored his gameplay in real-time, pointing out areas for improvement as they occurred.

However, Tex wasn’t satisfied with just my commentary and kept asking direct questions during the game.

As an educator who welcomes enthusiastic students, I answered each of his questions without hesitation.

Before I knew it, Tex had started asking for advice on every play, and I found myself unintentionally guiding him through the best moves in every scenario.

But advice only works so many times; this approach wouldn’t help him improve in the long run.

While I could give in-game orders, it wasn’t feasible to micromanage every single decision.

An ideal team, in my opinion, required broad strategic guidance with room for individual judgment.

That was the purpose of this training.

Tex, as the only other damage dealer on the team besides me, had to hold his position firmly.

In most cases, we wouldn’t be together during matches.

Think of it as a detached unit of sorts.

“Wow, you’ve improved a lot.”

“Oh, Coach. How about your group?”

“Chelwoo only needs a final check, so I’ll focus on helping Pappy next.”

Coach Jackie, observing Tex’s gameplay, seemed impressed.

Like me, he was providing feedback and helping teammates improve their skills.

I was training Tex and Ryuah, while the coach handled Chelwoo and Pappy.

Naturally, this division meant the coach had less work to do, while I had to deal with Tex’s bad habits and Ryuah’s inexperience, making my side much tougher.

It was almost absurd that I, a mere player, was doing this level of coaching.

If other teams found out, they’d be shocked.

This was precisely why we conducted these secret training sessions without streaming.

Even the coach seemed to realize this, expressing his gratitude.

“Honestly, I should have coached everyone else too, but thanks to you, I could take a breather.”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been recruited?”

“Exactly. Everyone said our team’s auction picks were a disaster, but turns out it was a great choice.”

“Look forward to the team dinner—I’ll treat you all to something big.”

For a million won, this wasn’t a bad deal. It was even fun in its own way.

“Tex, I’m heading over to help Ryuah now. Remember what I said and play a few more matches. At this point, just keep your instincts sharp.”

“Understood, Captain. Thank you for your help!”

“Good work.”

Leaving Tex and the coach behind, I turned to my next trainee.

“No need to rush, Ryuah. Just focus on doing your part.”

“Y-yes…”

Though better than before, her nervousness was still evident.

The screen showed her priest character darting around the map, supporting allies while occasionally pulling out a pistol to fire.

Ryuah, the lowest-tier member of the team.

I don’t have high expectations.

But then again, the opposing team likely feels the same way.

If I nurture Ryuah well, she could become an unpredictable asset in unexpected situations.

“And stop shaking your head like that, hey, hey, your head’s going to drop again.”

“Yes.” Ah,

“Remember this. If you want to shoot low, just crouch.”

The aim, which had been shaking up and down, stabilizes and returns to its proper trajectory.

A crisp beep sounds, and the enemy falls.

A headshot.

“Wow! Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was a tough spot, but you shot really well.”

“Hehe…”

It’s going smoothly.

Ryuah may have just started playing Aeowar, but she wasn’t without game sense.

Once I taught her the basics, she followed along well.

With only a week left until the tournament, I was confident that with enough practice in the remaining time, her skill would improve further.

She’d be able to play the hidden ace role I had in mind.

As I continued Ryuah’s training, I accessed the Aeowar gallery with one hand.

Unlike Tex, Ryuah’s gameplay didn’t need close inspection, so I started feeling a bit bored.

As I browsed the gallery, a few posts caught my eye.

• 1st Place: Pano’s Team: Led by the solid, reliable Odaeshik, all team members have solid skills, making them a balanced and well-rounded team. No gaps. Scrim record: 4 wins, 0 losses. Perfect.
• 2nd Place: Kim’s Team: Streamers with decent skills but seem a bit out of sync. The team coordination isn’t quite there. They’re essentially a downgraded version of Pano’s team.
• 3rd Place: Jose’s Team: Just average. Plays somewhat decently but gets pushed around by the opponent’s superior analysis. Frustrating to watch.
• 4th Place: Jackie’s Team: Mollru’s one-man army. The coach made strange choices during the auction, bringing in weird players. A tank that only knows how to take hits and a dealer with erratic behavior. A supporter who doesn’t even know how to use agent skills. Watching this team is more irritating than Jose’s team. The only chance is if Mollru carries everything. Scrim record: 0 wins.

oo: Poor Mollru ᄏᄏ Chosen by a weird coach.

Loo: There will probably be a veto power in the auction next time.

Loo: It’s something that should exist to protect the players.

<Mollru <<< He’s just all hype. Big downvote>

Legendary streamer?

Pro-level?

Sure, you might get by in solo queue, but it won’t work in tournaments~~

As soon as you face actual competitive teams, you won’t be able to do anything, right?

oo: The teammates aren’t even human.

ᄋᄋ: But even considering that, they’re underperforming compared to the hype on the gallery.

ᄋᄋ: They couldn’t even put up a fight in scrims.

oo: Was it nerves because it’s a tournament?

There were quite a few posts mocking me and my team’s abilities.

Though a few posts tried to defend me, they were outnumbered.

This was public opinion now.

I skimmed through each one, chuckling to myself.

After just a few scrims with the broadcast on, this was the response?

In a way, I could call it pure.

The gambling genius?

They think I’m all hype?

Next week, the public opinion would flip.

I swallowed the rising excitement in my chest and thought.

Laugh all you want.

Let’s see how long you can keep laughing.

The day when those jeers turn into cheers wasn’t far off.