Chapter 79: The Clash of Strategies: Adaptation and Desperation

The semifinals concluded with a resounding 3:0 victory.

Judging by the score, it seemed rather one-sided, and in reality, the match itself was entirely dominated by our team.

The opposing team’s composition made it difficult for them to counter our team’s strong urban core strategy.

Adding to the chaos, they became overly focused on keeping Bunnyrun in check, leading to the disastrous release of “Ormal.” Honestly, it would’ve been stranger if they had managed to win.

“Shouldn’t I be called the MVP Bunny instead?”

“Bunnyrun, you truly shine when you stay on the outskirts of the battle.”

I glanced at Bunnyrun, who had mercilessly taken down lone enemies on the enemy’s periphery to secure the MVP title for the semifinals.

If this bunny’s teamwork skills were as good as her flanking abilities, my life would’ve been five times easier.

Can’t we upgrade her somehow?

I stared intently at Bunnyrun’s pocket.

She noticed and gave me a serious look.

“Unnie. Why are you looking at my pocket like that? Don’t tell me you’re thinking, ‘Wow, she hasn’t smoked at all during training camp. Her self-control is amazing.’”

“I was wondering how to snatch your hypnosis app.”

“What are you even talking about, unnie?”

Ah, I misunderstood.

The look Bunnyrun gave earlier wasn’t serious.

No, this was her being serious.

Combining the role of a Saint of Purity with the Saint of Seriousness?

What an unusual talent.

“But be careful. If you rely too much on the power of the constellations, you’ll have to pay the price someday.”

“Unnie, look at this.”

Bunnyrun held out a tablet PC in front of me. A short video clip was playing.

“Han Yurim dodges every attack endlessly!”

“This isn’t bravery; it’s as if she doesn’t even have a heart. There’s no way a human could fight, let alone compete in a tournament, with health low enough to die from a single hit. She’s a monster!”

“See? They’re calling you a monster.”

I left Bunnyrun laughing gleefully and headed to the living room.

“…….”

There, I caught sight of Chaetakhaemi TheMadBeast munching on a chocolate bar in a corner.

Where did she even get that? Isn’t everything being tightly monitored?

“…Unnie, this is a misunderstanding. This isn’t a bad chocolate bar.”

“Is it secretly a protein bar disguised as chocolate?”

“…It’s a ‘good chocolate bar,’ with 20 fewer calories than regular ones.”

“Hand it over.”

I didn’t scold her for failing to hold out for just one more day.

Even professional bodybuilders, known as the monks of the city, often overate the day before competitions despite their strict discipline.

To encourage her, I handed Chaetakhaemi some Greek yogurt.

“…Sniff.”

I’ve said it before, but what’s with the sniffles? Do you think being cute solves everything?

Chaetakhaemi, sniffling dramatically (not really), began eating the Greek yogurt.

Meanwhile, I checked out our final opponent.

‘MilinaSeniorCenter.’

As the team name suggests, MilinaSeniorCenter consisted of streamers from Milina, a domestic streaming platform that rivaled V-TV.

Despite the “Senior Center” name, the team had only one member over 30 (the captain), with the rest being in their early 20s.

Their ranks were Challenger, Challenger, Master, Diamond, Diamond, and Silver.

How did such an insane team come together?

The two Challengers were just a few losses away from being demoted to Grandmaster, so they didn’t eat up as many points as someone like me or Paepae.

That doesn’t mean those Challengers weren’t skilled. After all, is there such a thing as an unskilled Challenger? Of course not.

Additionally, streamers typically perform better than their ranks indicate.

Since there wouldn’t be a flood of chat messages or donations during the tournament, their true abilities would shine. They weren’t to be underestimated.

I put on the VR headset and entered the VR room to check on our most concerning member, Fullbbangi.

As soon as I logged in, Fullbbangi greeted me with a bright smile.

“Yurim noona! You’re here?”

“Fullbbangi, you’re always the same.”

I looked down to see Fullbbangi sprawled on the floor, as usual. Nothing new there.

When I looked up, I saw Paepae standing with her arms crossed.

I said, “Since Bbangbbang can’t come anymore, Paepae, you’ll have to teach.”

“I know.”

Bbangbbang had returned to the team following the resumption of the season.

Fortunately, he crushed the first game, so there was no backlash about his skills declining while coaching in the tournament.

As I scanned the VR room, I asked curiously, “Where’s MalrangMabakki?”

“Back to work.”

Even if being a tax accountant offers good work-life balance and summer vacation, they couldn’t completely take time off.

Inevitably, there were moments when they had to attend to their job.

I stood up and pointed at Fullbbangi, who had resumed practicing.

“What do you think?”

“Decent enough to be useful.”

“Really?”

“I never expected much from Iron players in the first place.”

Well, Paepae had opposed the idea of putting together a team with Iron players from the start.

Maybe she liked Fullbbangi because he was at least receptive to instructions.

Personally, I found him promising too.

I nodded.

“Somehow, we made it to the finals.”

“Honestly, it feels unreal. Was I the only one who saw ways to counter our team?”

“I see them too.”

Our team had a critical weakness. If someone exploited that weakness, it would make things incredibly difficult for us.

“But that’s because we understand our team perfectly. From the opponent’s perspective, with limited information, it’s not easy to figure out.”

“This still makes me nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about, Paepae? If we win, you’ll be worshipped, and if we lose, it’ll satisfy your preferences―”

“Stop.”

“Yes.”

I continued checking on Fullbbangi.

Fullbbangi successfully managed to use four skills in a row.

The timing? Barely 200 ping.

He’s so good during practice—why can’t he do this in actual matches?

Maybe he felt my gaze. Fullbbangi paused his practice and tilted his head quizzically.

“Yurim, why are you staring at my chest?”

“I was observing to see if its texture is different from that of humanity.”

“My DNA doesn’t include any avian traits, though.”

As expected of someone from Korea University. He perfectly understood what I meant, even though it was nonsense.

“I think it’s just that I’ve gotten used to you. It’s not related to Korea University.”

“Anyway, don’t worry, Paepae. Fullbbangi is putting in a lot of effort, isn’t he?”

“I’m still anxious, though.”

When you watch fantasy stories involving a Demon King and a Hero, a certain question inevitably arises.

Why doesn’t the Demon King act from the very beginning?

Why does he carefully send weaker enemies first, essentially helping the Hero grow stronger?

There’s even a trope that twists this cliché, suggesting the Demon King does it on purpose.

But even that twist has become overdone now.

The Hero-versus-Demon-King scenario is undoubtedly a worn-out concept.

So why am I suddenly bringing this up? I want to make one thing clear: just like the Demon King might have his reasons, I had my own reasons too. It’s not that I was careless.

“What’s this? They’re using all three bans on Chae Narin?”

“Hmm.”

The morning of the finals had arrived.

If this were the Eternal World World Championship, the opening would’ve been extravagant, with a flashy stage and famous singers marking the start of the finals.

But since this was the Eternal World Olympics, an online streaming tournament, it was much simpler.

The finals started right after a quick interview with the team leaders.

The first set was a classic-versus-classic match.

The opponents banned my three main characters, and we banned their three mains.

Both sides picked standard-tier characters, leading to a head-on clash.

The winner? Us.

Thanks to Moss suppressing their main carry, we managed to secure victory.

But then came the second set.

The enemy’s bans suddenly changed.

They banned Chae Narin’s three main characters, including ‘Cheon Seoah.’

That strategy had already proven ineffective during the Round of 16 when ‘Cotton Candy Fruit’ showed its flaws. So why were they doing this now?

“Could it be…?”

“We can’t be sure yet.”

Though Paepae muttered anxiously, we calmly banned the opponent’s three main characters.

Then they started picking.

For their first pick, they chose ‘Falon,’ a Paladin character with an ultimate skill that grants invincibility to the entire team.

We countered by picking Thierry and Fullbbangi’s ‘Messian.’

Next, they picked ‘Miho’ and ‘Muryeon.’

• These characters possessed powerful ultimates: one with an area-of-effect healing skill and the other with a field that made all characters within it temporarily immortal.

The moment we saw this lineup, we realized their plan.

So, you figured it out, huh?

At first glance, their combination seemed decent.

However, in practice, it wasn’t particularly effective.

It included characters with subpar stats or poor synergy.

Despite this, their setup was exceptionally effective against us.

Why?

Because invincibility, area healing, and immortality fields all had one thing in common—they prolonged the duration of team fights.

Normally, extending the duration of a team fight doesn’t guarantee victory.

You need a proper team composition to capitalize on it.

Otherwise, you’re likely to lose the fight due to insufficient damage output.

But that wasn’t the case against us.

Why?

Because if a team fight lasted even 10 seconds, our main carry would lose focus and die almost instantly.

Actually, it wasn’t even 10 seconds anymore.

How long was Chae Narin’s Yurimization duration when she picked ‘Kwon Sua’?

Six seconds, wasn’t it?

Chae Narin had no mastery with any character.

No matter which one she picked, her performance was always mediocre. That said, she wasn’t completely without main characters.

Her Yurimization duration varied depending on the character.

The longest was 11 seconds with ‘Cheon Seoah,’ followed by 9 seconds and 8.5 seconds with her other two mains.

And ‘Kwon Sua’? A mere 6 seconds. That’s about the same as when she had just started competing.

They figured this out.

It seemed they worked hard to prepare during the short tournament period.

“…Yurim, what do we do?”

“What else can we do? We fight.”

I calmed the flustered Chae Narin and started the match.

Thirty minutes passed.

Our base was destroyed.

The score was now 1:1. Tied.

They’re good at this.

So this is how you want to play?

“Chae Narin.”

“Yes?”

“Use that.”

There’s a theory called Chekhov’s gun.

If a gun is introduced in Act 1, it must be fired by Act 3.

If you’re going to play that well, I’ll respond with everything I’ve got—

“…Yurim, we have a problem.”

“Did you accidentally eat the chocolate bar on the desk?”

“…I think I accidentally threw away the pill bottle with Concerta in it. I thought it was trash.”

“This is worse.”

I had been careless.

I should’ve kept the pill bottle with me the entire time instead of leaving it in a shared space where anyone could touch it.

But who would’ve thought someone would go out of their way to throw out a pill bottle stored neatly in the cupboard? I feel wronged.

If the Concerta appeared in Act 1, shouldn’t it have been used by Act 3?

Even if the gun malfunctions, its presence still counts, right?

“The ban-pick phase is about to start. What now?”

“Ban all the characters that extend team fight durations. We’ll go all in.”

No choice.

If there’s no teeth, we’ll use gums.

It’s an all-out war now.