Chapter 83: “Never Argue with Fools”

Junhyuk didn’t know much about Kayak.

He was an early player who started playing the game before Abyss even began.

Recently, he had become quite a famous streamer, often appearing on V-tube algorithms.

He heard that she was a rising star, a skilled female streamer who emerged like a comet.

That was all Junhyuk knew about Kayak.

He didn’t understand why some of the team members, who also started the game in its early stages like her, were so passionate about her, some even idolizing her like a fanatic.

Sure, she was good at the game, but wasn’t she just an ordinary person, not a pro?

It wasn’t about belittling her; it was an objective assessment.

The league, where players compete in teams, and solo ranked matches, where players face random opponents, were completely different realms.

It wasn’t about who was better or worse, it was about the fields they were active in being different from the start.

Still, he was curious.

The era they all spoke of, the era ruled by Kayak’s skills.

He had entered Abyss late, became a pro, and was now considered the “best player,” as some had called him.

And now, in front of him, he was facing the outcome of his curiosity, catching glimpses of it.

“Why can’t I do this… hmmm…”

“No, there are too many things to think about. I have to worry about pressing things like qw while playing, and not just that, there are all sorts of strange bugs to deal with.”

“But you’re still going to play Camilla, right? I think Camilla is pretty good.”

“I think it fits the current meta, but… a lot of practice will be needed.”

Minhyung was probably going to say that.

He was right.

Junhyuk also thought that handling the hero Camilla properly would require quite a bit of practice.

And that was natural for a pro.

If you were called the best in that game, you had to be able to handle every hero.

Mastery meant being able to play every hero.

If you couldn’t, then you didn’t deserve to be called a pro.

That was Junhyuk’s usual belief.

Then came the unexpected moment.

With Junhyuk’s permission, Kayak started spewing out improvements, and Minhyung, ever so slightly, began to disagree.

“But isn’t this build kind of hard to play? You don’t have any defense for the neutral traits, and instead of Agile Steps, I think Survival Expert or Regeneration would be better for health management.”

It was a reasonable critique.

The build Kayak had made was high risk, high reward.

It was a strategy that would be a bit too much for the pro league.

If it were to be used in the professional league, it would need some adjustments to prioritize stability.

However, the key was how the original creator would take it.

Kayak’s response to Minhyung’s comment was surprising, even to Junhyuk, who had been maintaining a rather calm demeanor.

Her face, resembling Camilla’s—pure, neat, with no blemishes—had a strangely cold, blue gaze.

The way her eyes curved into a crescent shape was unexpected.

Her face, which had seemed so indifferent until now, somehow looked joyful.

“Oh, really?”

“No, no. I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to say you made the build wrong. I just thought the other option might be better in terms of stability…”

Facing her powerful gaze, Minhyung quickly tried to take back his words.

But Kayak didn’t seem upset.

She smiled brightly and continued speaking.

“Stability, huh. I think the idea is to keep the mobility while focusing on ping-ponging, so I think the neutral traits should stay as is.”

Top of Form

“Isn’t this build too risky?

If you take even a single unlucky hit, you’ll end up near death and out of the battlefield.

It’s not like you can avoid every hit when facing Lennox or Jerome…

So instead, why not change the neutral traits or include self-healing in the defense side, as I suggested—”

Kayak shook her head firmly.

“I’ve done more research on this build.

If you do it your way, there’s no point in using this build, and no reason to play Camilla at all.

I think it can work just fine in the league.”

“…Do you even watch the league?”

The remark, laced with sarcasm, implied that someone who claimed to watch the league should at least know Fusion Gaming, the most famous team and the league’s number one organization.

At that, Kayak coughed awkwardly before continuing.

“Anyway, there’s nothing to tweak in this build.

But, well, just saying it like this won’t be convincing…”

She began to walk, heading to a spot slightly away from where Minhyung was sitting.

“How about a match?

Let’s see if I’m right or if the player is right.”

It was a bold, self-assured challenge, almost arrogant, especially when addressed to a professional gamer.

A one-on-one duel, a face-off, a showdown.

This sacred battle occurs more often than one might think.

Not just in Abyss, but in general, one-on-one matches carry a special significance, as victory or defeat depends entirely on individual skill, free from outside interference.

I, for one, have always been fond of such one-on-ones.

How many times have I crushed those who challenged me to duels, insisting I was wrong about something back then?

The sight of confident challengers conceding defeat one after another was always deeply satisfying.

“A one-on-one here?”

“What guts…!”

“No way Minhyung is going to lose, right?”

As the duel arena was being set up, murmurs spread among the crowd.

Whispers about Fusion Gaming’s entry test being fundamentally one-on-one duels and about how the player before me had performed exceptionally well during the test.

Honestly, I felt a bit impatient and rash.

After all, this wasn’t what I came here for.

A one-on-one with a professional?

It wasn’t even remotely useful for learning Camilla’s techniques.

But the reason I proposed a one-on-one duel was simple: I didn’t know how to persuade others any other way.

The people lingering in a dying game were often less reasonable than one might expect.

The intelligence I’m referring to here isn’t about being smart or dumb but about whether one can acknowledge another’s argument or not.

Whether it was about build discussions or debates on a character’s abilities, most people stubbornly refused to budge.

Back then, we used to call such people “idiots” in the community.

For example, if someone posted, “Daggers can never beat longswords,” and dozens of counterarguments were left in the comments, if the poster was an idiot—if their “intelligence” was low—they’d ignore all those comments entirely.

In such cases, there was only one solution: show, don’t tell.

It was a routine matter for me.

After all, I, too, was one of those “idiots” who wouldn’t listen to others.

I was the kind of person who always went around proclaiming that “Camilla is the best,” steadfast and unyielding.

The difference between me and the other idiots, however, was that I had never lost a one-on-one duel that came with a counterargument.

As a result, I successfully established my theory that “Camilla can theoretically defeat every hero in a one-on-one.”

That was a long time ago—memories from the past.

I’ve digressed, but the point is simple.

The winner takes all.

The winner’s opinion is correct.

If someone wanted to object, they could immediately challenge me to a duel and prove me wrong.

Top of Form

It might be considered somewhat primitive and uncivilized, but there was no method as decisive as this.

There’s a reason duels were so prevalent in the past.

Settling disputes through duels has been a traditional method that has stood the test of time since ancient days.

“Is this the right call…?”

Meanwhile, the preparations were already complete.

A league-style exhibition match, a best-of-three duel format.

From the other side, I heard the player’s voice filled with curiosity.

“Um, player? If you’re ready, please go ahead and start.”

I double-checked, just in case.

“You didn’t forget my name, did you?”

“…Of course not. It’s just that I’m not great at remembering names when meeting someone for the first time.”

To be honest, I forgot.

There were too many people here to keep track of.

I hadn’t even properly remembered the names of the players who came earlier asking for autographs, let alone this person.

The only name I remembered was Lee Junhyuk, the legendary player who was both the captain and the oldest member.

As if he could read my thoughts, the voice that came next sounded slightly disappointed.

“It’s Choi Minhyung.

Same as the player name, FG Minhyung, taken from Fusion Gaming’s initials.

I think I already told you earlier.”

“I’m just bad at remembering people’s names…”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you remember.”

That was as good as saying he would leave an impression—essentially, that he planned to win.

Feeling unexpectedly pleased, I let a small smile curl on my lips as I replied.

“That sounds good.”

I hoped he would show his best performance.

I hoped that, unlike my previous opponents, he would surprise me as a professional gamer.

[The game will begin shortly.]

As the mechanical notification announcing the start of the duel played, I felt my blood boil with excitement for the first time in a while.