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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: All Master's Game Stream
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Marusik, who had lost the first round in the most ridiculous fashion, stared at Comet stretching casually, utterly dumbfounded.
'...No wonder Elbow bothered to take him on. And it's only been two days? Just how insane is his game sense?'
Virtual reality games were on a whole different level from keyboard-mashing, mouse-clicking PC games.
They demanded real physical movements blended with game-like flair—stuff that didn't exist in reality—and there was no way an average person could pull that off easily.
To put it in perspective, handing a sports car or race car to someone who'd never driven anything wasn't going to let them floor it like a pro.
But Comet was pulling off the impossible.
He was barely two days into Iron Fist as a beginner.
And even then, it was after one day followed by a few days off, so his instincts should've been rusty by all rights. Yet Comet acted like none of that mattered, delivering a performance straight out of madness.
'Still, I can't lose this pathetically.'
Marusik was a gamer first, streamer second.
By Blue rank, everyone had some pride in their skills.
No matter how much of a monster Elbow had acknowledged him as, the shame of not landing a single hit made his cheeks burn. Slapping his face to snap himself out of it, Marusik steeled his nerves.
[LaRro donated 10,000 won!]
If you land even one hit: 1 Duck Neckbone
"Aigoo~ LaRro! Thanks for the 10k donation! Woof woof! Got the 1 Duck Neckbone!"
On top of that, a 100k won mission by his stream's standards. Marusik hardened his resolve.
Just one hit.
If he could land just one, he'd pocket 100k—no matter the win or loss, he'd come out ahead. Recognizing the math, he dropped into stance.
Snap—
One arm raised to shield his horn, the other poised for combat.
His viewers turned on him instantly.
-Scared? Scared? Scared?
-Uuuu! And you call yourself Sniper Marusik?!
-Drop guard! Drop guard! Drop guard!
It was pure defense, a refusal to take any hits—and that didn't sit well with an audience craving all-out aggression.
But Marusik was dead serious.
'Land just one hit, no matter what.'
1 Duck Neckbone.
100k won wasn't chump change.
Especially for just one hit. He could afford to play ugly.
The countdown ended—
[FIGHT!]
Even as the battle prompt flashed again, neither moved.
Marusik watched his opponent quietly, certain his judgment was spot-on.
'Protect the horn, land one hit.'
For a horned race, that difference was huge. Ugly as it was, he was convinced it was right.
"Hmm, once you hit a certain level, you don't fall for the same trick twice, huh."
"...We gonna fight or not?"
"Nah, gotta handle some stream stuff first."
Marusik bristled at Comet casually chatting up his stream while he awkwardly guarded his horn in a stiff pose. But he held firm.
He'd given up on winning anyway.
Let them call him ugly.
Might as well snag that 100k.
That's when—
"Here I go."
After signaling his fans, Comet sprang into motion.
Tap—tap-tap—tap!
Marusik's eyes bulged as he tracked Comet closing the gap with light steps.
Bang! Ping!
Two Finger Winds shot from Comet's fingertips.
One missed, smacking the wall. The other sliced through the air, nailing Marusik's forearm.
Precisely, it was aimed at the horn beyond, but it didn't reach.
"Guh!"
Defending ate the hit, shoving Marusik back with HP shaved off.
Not a full guard—just pulling away. Still, he'd protected the horn, so he started angling for an opening.
'Just one hit. One!'
Fingering the hilt at his waist for that sole purpose, he watched Comet move again.
"Guarding just the horn is annoying, for sure."
Marusik's horn-obsessed footwork was a real hassle.
Then he spotted it—Comet's opening.
Tap—
As Comet stepped in to close distance.
Marusik whipped out his sword and hurled it at the gap.
'No dodging that!'
Narrow alley, mid-advance—no room to evade properly.
Twist away? Perfect for him.
'Twist, and the angle opens wide—land one hit in that!'
Marusik's raw physicals were superior.
Dodging would expose Comet perfectly for one clean shot.
Damned if you block, damned if you dodge—both fed Marusik.
Sure, "win" was just one hit, laughable. But he wasn't asking for more.
Except it was Comet.
Bang! Clang!
"...He hit the tip of the flying sword?"
A third option in a binary world.
Comet's casual Finger Wind neither blocked nor dodged—it nudged the blade's path off just enough. Momentum unbroken, he unleashed a barrage.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
Ten fingers, ten Finger Winds.
Insane ki control, impossible without mastery. Marusik backpedaled frantically, shielding horn and heart.
But Comet's shots hit weird spots.
Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting!
"...The walls?"
Narrow alley walls.
The invisible barriers marking the fight zone.
Ricocheting off them, the Finger Winds flew unpredictably. Pure terror.
Worse was the kicker.
Clang-clang-crunch!
"...Gahk!"
The ricochets' endgame: Marusik's horn.
Hearing it crack after five or six direct hits, he knew.
'...Broken.'
Snapped like the first round.
Draining strength, he stared blankly at Comet—whose vision filled with mana-charged, malice-infused Finger Winds, amped for destruction.
Kablooey!
Roaring blasts shook the dark alley like it'd collapse. Then the message:
[PERFECT WIN!]
"Goddamn it."
Familiar sight.
Same as last round.
Identical text made it sting worse. And the winner wasn't Marusik.
"When your opponent turtles the horn, break it like this—easy win, folks."
"...I'm losing my mind."
Marusik's mutter became Trica's hot clip of the day.
* * *
Two more perfect wins over Marusik netted another victory, but Comet's rampage didn't stop.
"No way. Cheater?!"
The angel swordsman—whose identity was endless HP—cursed as Comet dodged every close-range swing while blasting Finger Winds.
Two perfect wins later, curses trailing, he logged off.
"...Hey, you streaming? You play dirty as hell."
A human kicker—not grappler like Comet—gave gamer praise at its peak.
Two perfect wins for him too.
Top 10% Green rank, but after Marusik (top 3%) got dusted, percentages meant squat.
Three more matches followed.
"Comet! Land a hit!"
"Man, I'm getting wrecked."
"You think trash like you beats Elbow?!"
Placement wins pulled Blue ranks and snipers.
[PERFECT WIN!]
[PERFECT WIN!]
[PERFECT WIN!]
...
...
...
"Placement's done."
To Comet, they were vending machines: punch, get perfect win.
Casual voice processing Blue-caliber foes like snacks. Chat exploded.
-Wow...
-Godlike;; All perfect wins??
-Mission kids, wake up! Your money's gone!
-Lol, missions on Comet = robbery~
-Mom... ramen diet starts tomorrow...
They'd half-expected failure.
Especially first-time viewers.
But Comet nailed the "impossible."
Perfectly.
Smiling faintly at the chaos, he tallied up.
"Alright, time to settle."
-Nooo! My money!
-Kieeeek!
-Mom, instant noodles! Mom, instant noodles!
-Folks, beef stew or kimchi ramen—which ya recommend?
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Crisp completion chimes as missions cleared.
"Thanks White Snow for 200k. Veteran Tsu for 50k. Comet Nose Comet Centi for 30k. Not sure on my nose height in cm though."
-Wow, White Snow a whale? Big mission first stream, now 200k...
-Just a fool? Thought it'd fail.
-Makes sense.
Total: 280k.
Over half from whale White Snow. Comet nodded along.
'Missions impossible without knowing me.'
Superhuman physique, reflexes—unseen, they were pipe dreams.
5 wins + 10k per perfect.
Placement or not, flawless? Only Comet.
'...Maybe Hyungsu could.'
Only one he figured might perfect-win him.
Not unbeatable—just hard to flawless.
Then—
Whirrr! Click! Click! Click!
"Tier calc time."
Epic screen display had hearts racing.
Comet? Chill.
-Damn, 10-win placement—what tier?
-Green at least.
-Green? Wanna get your face turned green? Blue obvs!
-Yeah, late placement = all Blue.
Most pegged Green > Blue.
Few outliers:
-10 wins all perfect... Purple?
-Fr, unprecedented. No Purple = broken.
Purple.
Pro-level tier off rip.
Green/Blue fans roasted them.
-Dog barking, shut it~
-10-win perfect ain't Purple;;
-Purple's a wall. Full-timers miss it.
-Noobs cloutchasing. Purple? I'll Grand Slam Shinchon car-free street.
Fans united in mockery—until Comet's tier dropped.
Silence.
"Purple, huh. Good thing, right?"
Purple.
The "noobs" they'd trashed were right.
Comet's clueless flex sealed it. Chat: dead quiet.