It was my turn to pick the map.
I was down 2-0 to Ninerik, and the pressure was crushing me, a weight on my chest that kept getting heavier.
His stamina was inhuman—his cursor flowed perfectly, not a single mistake.
I was a wreck: sweat gluing my shirt to my back, fingers throbbing.
"If I keep playing like this, I'm done," I kept repeating in my head, scrambling for any way to turn the match around.
I had to flip it—go from 2-0 down to 3-2 up. The thought alone felt impossible.
Scrolling through the map list on the 360Hz monitor felt like leafing through a book of forbidden spells: every title a battlefield, every star a gamble.
"I can't pick another nine-star," I thought, still flipping through the options. "My fingers are at their limit, and he looks like he could go forever."
Ninerik had crushed Dead To Me—a nine-star map—with a precision that made me question everything.
My only shot was to outsmart him, like I did against Gnahus: pick something that dragged him out of his comfort zone.
I went with Lost—8.23 stars, 255 BPM. It wasn't the hardest map I had, but it mixed simple patterns with fast flicks. Perfect for exposing Ninerik's weakness—he was strong on patterns, weak on flicks.
"If I hold combo and he misses even once, I can take it."
I clicked "Ready", the Wacom CTL-472 pen clenched tight in my fingers.
The screen went black for three seconds, the fans in the Taito Station room humming like a low chorus.
Then everything went dark. Not just the screen—the whole room plunged into blackness.
The clack of mechanical keyboards, the murmur of the crowd on the tenth floor, the buzz of the pink neons over the Osu! logo—all gone, replaced by an eerie silence.
"What the hell is happening?" I thought, looking around.
Through the glass walls I could see Akihabara's giant screens still running ads, except the ten streaming the matches, now dead black.
My heart, which had been hammering, started to slow, a thin thread of relief slipping in. "At least I get a second to breathe."
A nervous buzz rose among the players. Some swore, some laughed in disbelief, a few went to ask what was going on.
Ninerik, a few stations over, leaned back in his chair, arms folded, face unreadable in the faint glow of the emergency lights.
Outside the windows, the crowd was stirring—people asking each other about the blackout, some filming it on their phones, others already walking away, convinced the tournament was over.
A crew of technicians came rushing in, LED torches slicing through the dark like lasers, their rapid Japanese echoing as they headed downstairs.
A couple of minutes later they were back, huddled with the tournament director. He grabbed the mic, voice booming through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said in English, tension clear in his accent, "this isn't just a simple power outage. There's damage to the main electrical panel. Repairs will take about two hours. We'll move the dinner break forward—it was originally scheduled after the event. Play will resume at 9:00 p.m."
I checked my phone: 6:30 p.m. "Two and a half hours. Not planned, but it might help."
My fingers, still aching from the earlier rounds, would finally get a real break.
My head was another story. The bet with my father sat on me like a permanent debuff.
Every miss, every mistake, brought me closer to losing the PC, the stream, the community.
I needed to switch off for a bit, ease the pressure. I opened Instagram, hoping for something mindless to watch.
In the top right corner, I noticed a notification had come in. It was Nijiro. «Quarters got postponed, as you already know. Tell the others, we're going out to eat.»
I nodded to myself, a warm flicker of relief in my chest. Nijiro was always on it, even when everything went sideways.
I got up and tracked down the rest of the group.
Mrekk was chatting with a tech near his station, looking completely unfazed, like he was thinking, "I'm winning this anyway".
Ivaxa sat in a corner, studying YouTube videos on his phone, still grinding.
BTMC, freed from commentating duties with the stream down, was answering messages.
"Guys, Nijiro says meet up. We're going for food," I told each of them.
Mrekk nodded, easy as ever. "Not much else to do here anyway."
Ivaxa snapped his phone off. "Perfect. I need a break from screens."
BTMC stood up from the caster couch. "No stream, no schedule—where's he taking us?"
We headed down to the underground parking garage, the air cool and thick with concrete and engine oil.
Nijiro's dark-gray Skyline R34 was parked in the exact same spot as yesterday, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Hey, Nijiro," I said, nodding toward the car. "Same spot again, huh?"
He laughed, keys already in hand. "Third slot, Christian. Lucky number. You don't mess with superstition."
"Didn't peg you for the superstitious type!" I teased, sliding into the passenger seat.
Nijiro revved the engine and changed the subject. "I know you three have already done Shinjuku, but Christian hasn't. We're going there tonight, cool?"
Mrekk shrugged from the window of his rented Corolla. "Works for me. Shinjuku's always worth it."
"You sure?" I pressed, feeling a little guilty. "I don't want to drag you somewhere you've already seen."
"Trust me, Christian," Mrekk said. "Shinjuku's one of the liveliest spots in Tokyo. You've gotta see it."
Nijiro nodded. "He's right. You'll love it."
The Skyline shot onto the Shuto Expressway, engine singing as Nijiro wove through traffic with a precision that put my plays against Ninerik to shame.
Tokyo blurred past: lit-up skyscrapers, glowing kanji signs, the night alive outside the open window with smog, street food, and that indefinable big-city smell.
We made it to Shinjuku in about twenty minutes, traffic barely slowing us.
We parked in a multi-level garage, and the moment we stepped out I was hit by the neighborhood's energy.
Shinjuku was pure neon—reds, blues, purples everywhere. Drunk salarymen stumbling out of bars, tourists chattering, the air thick with the sizzle and smoke of yakitori grilling on the street.
"Welcome to Shinjuku," Nijiro said, gesturing down a narrow alley packed with signs. "This is Kabukicho—the heart of it."
We walked to an izakaya he had picked: red paper lanterns at the door, wooden sign, cozy inside with dark polished tables, rice-paper screens, and a long counter where the chef sliced sashimi.
The smell hit me—soy sauce, fresh beer, wagyu searing on the grill—and for a moment I forgot the tournament, the blackout, the bet.
We took a corner table, soft light from the hanging paper lanterns playing across our faces.
Nijiro ordered for the group, switching smoothly between Japanese and English as he scanned the menu.
"Got a bit of everything," he said, setting it down. "Yakitori, takoyaki, edamame, sashimi—and Christian, you've gotta try the wagyu here. It's next level."
"Thanks, Nijiro," I said, giving him a grateful nod. "Without you, I'd be stuck eating convenience store ramen."
Mrekk laughed, tapping his fingers on the table. "Don't knock convenience store ramen."
Ivaxa arched an eyebrow, deadpan as ever. "Says the guy eating pizza in Japan."
"Hey, Japanese corn pizza is a masterpiece!" Mrekk shot back, clutching his chest like he had been wounded.
"When you guys come to Italy, just let me know," I said, grinning. "I'll take you for real Neapolitan pizza—no corn allowed."
BTMC shook his head, amused. "Christian, how're you holding up with Japanese food? You're not eating sushi with a fork, right?"
I felt my face heat up and scratched the back of my neck. "Alright, confession time: first time, I ate it with my hands. But I've leveled up with chopsticks, I swear!" I grabbed an edamame pod smoothly to prove it. "See?"
Back in Italy, my family had never eaten sushi—they were convinced raw fish would kill you.
My first sushi experience was with John and Mathew. They're the ones who taught me how to use chopsticks.
The food finally arrived: a spread of color and scent—smoking yakitori skewers, golden takoyaki dusted with dancing bonito flakes, toro sashimi that melted like butter, and grilled wagyu that exploded with flavor.
Every bite gave my overloaded brain a brief reset, but Ninerik kept creeping back in.
"I have to throw off his rhythm. Lost is the right pick, but I need more," I thought, picking up a takoyaki with a hand that still trembled slightly.
We finished the meal with full stomachs and spirits a little higher, laughter bouncing around the izakaya.
Nijiro stood, setting his chopsticks down. "Hey, Christian, step outside with me for a minute. Need to talk."
Confused, I followed him out, leaving Mrekk, Ivaxa, and BTMC still chatting about the tournament.
At the table, BTMC leaned in, voice low. "Any guesses what that's about?"
Mrekk chuckled over his beer. "I know Nijiro. When he pulls someone aside like that, he's about to drop some serious senpai wisdom."
Ivaxa folded his arms, skeptical. "Like what?"
"Either a hype speech or an IGL-level strat," Mrekk said. "Bet Christian comes back fired up."
Outside, we walked down a narrow side street, neon signs painting colored reflections across our faces.
The cool Kabukicho air hit me, thick with street food and cigarette smoke.
Nijiro spoke first, calm but firm. "I've watched every one of your matches, Christian. You've got real talent, but something's holding you back. It's your dad, isn't it?"
I stared at him, stunned. "How did he—"
"Yeah," I admitted after a beat. "The bet's eating me alive. I'm terrified of losing the PC, the stream, my whole community. It locks me up when it matters most."
Nijiro stopped under a ramen shop sign, hands in his pockets. "I can't say I've been exactly where you are—I've never had stakes like that. But one thing I know: you've got way more potential than you think, Christian."
"You really believe that?" I asked, unsure.
"I'm not just talking about Osu!," he said, meeting my eyes. "You're different from the rest of us. There's something about you I can't even pin down—and I'm usually pretty good at reading people."
Then he added, "I haven't told anyone this, but in this tournament I'm rooting for you, not Mrekk. You've got a kind of drive most players don't… but you get stuck in your own head right when it counts."
"That's exactly it," I admitted, fists tightening. "In the big moments, fear just freezes me. Against Ninerik… I don't know if I've got it in me."
Nijiro nodded, certainty flashing in his eyes. "You do, Christian. I'm not messing around. You're in a rough spot, but you'll come out the other side. You know people call me a strategy genius? Not without reason—I'm the IGL for my Apex squad."
"Seriously? You've got something for me?" I asked, pulse picking up. "If Nijiro's got a plan, I might actually have a shot."
"Yeah, but save it for Ninerik only. It won't work on Ivaxa or Mrekk," he warned.
"And remember," he said before laying it out, "this only works if you play to win, Christian—not to avoid losing your setup."
"The first fight you have to win is the one in your head," he finished. "During the match, your dad and that bet have to disappear completely."
Then he leaned in, voice low. "Here's the thing…"
It was simple, but brilliant—a trick that turned the weaknesses I had noticed in Ninerik into a real edge.
I realized Nijiro wasn't just a pro player or an actor. He was a true strategist, someone who saw the game on a level I was only beginning to understand.
I had been chasing complicated technical fixes, but that night I got it: to beat someone, all you need is to know what they're bad at.
"That's crazy. It could actually work," I said, a rush of excitement hitting me—like the match was already mine, forgetting for a second that I was still down 2-0.
We headed back toward the izakaya, my mind racing. "Get ready, Ninerik. Pantera Grigia is coming back… and this time I'm not holding back."
I opened Discord and typed to the community: «Blackout at Taito Station. Dinner break in Shinjuku with the crew. Ninerik's owning me, but I've got a plan now. Next map: Lost.»
Pego_pro fired back instantly: «Lost is perfect. You can still flip this.»
Zenchidori added: «Go Iori, bring the comeback.»
I nodded to myself, feeling lighter. "Alright, Christian. You've got a plan. You've got Nijiro. You've got the community. Time to get back in the game."