The draft phase had only just begun, yet Inori found herself smiling.
It was a subtle expression—so faint that most of the spectators filling the arena would never have noticed it. To everyone else, Ruko's opening ban looked confusing, even reckless.
To Inori, however, it carried a meaning that words never could.
He had banned Rhatlos.
His own signature hero.
The hero that had carried him through countless professional matches, the hero that had become inseparable from his reputation during his years on the competitive stage. For many players, a signature hero was more than a comfort pick; it was an extension of their identity. Giving it up before the match had even begun was the last thing anyone expected.
Whispers immediately spread throughout the venue.
"Why would he ban his own hero?"
"Did he misclick?"
"He's throwing away his biggest advantage."
None of them understood.
Inori slowly lowered her gaze toward the draft screen, the faint smile lingering on her lips.
"So that's your answer..."
By removing Rhatlos himself, Ruko had done far more than eliminate a powerful hero from the draft.
He had challenged her.
Not with words.
Not with arrogance.
But with the same principles they had shared ever since they were teammates.
"You really do know me," she murmured.
If efficiency were all that mattered, then the obvious response was to lock in Raye, the marksman whose name had become synonymous with her own. She had spent years mastering every detail of the hero's mechanics. Thousands upon thousands of matches had refined every movement until controlling Raye felt as natural as breathing.
Both of them knew what would happen if she chose her.
The balance of the match would immediately tip in her favor.
Unlike Ruko, she had never stepped away from competitive play after Nerva disbanded. While he disappeared from the professional scene, she continued climbing, practicing, and polishing every aspect of her mechanics. The years had only widened the gap between the player she once was and the player she had become.
Objectively speaking, Raye remained her greatest weapon.
Yet her hand never moved.
Instead, Inori quietly closed her eyes and released a slow breath.
"...No."
Her pride wouldn't allow it.
If Ruko willingly abandoned the hero that had defined his career, only for her to answer by relying on the hero that defined hers...
Could she honestly call that victory?
The answer surfaced almost immediately.
No.
That wasn't the kind of match she wanted.
She wanted to discover whose understanding of the game had grown further over the years. She wanted to measure the player—not the comfort pick. A true victory left no room for excuses, no lingering thoughts of I only won because my signature hero carried me.
If she won today...
She wanted it to be because she had simply played better.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
A quiet laugh escaped her lips.
"...You got me."
Across the stage, Ruko remained perfectly still, his attention fixed on the draft interface. His expression never changed, but she already knew.
He had expected this.
From the moment he banned Rhatlos, he had predicted exactly how she would respond.
Because he understood her.
Just as she understood him.
The draft had barely begun.
Yet the duel between them had already started.
The draft had barely begun, yet the duel between Ruko and Inori was already underway.
Long before a single hero stepped onto the battlefield, Nervanox demanded that its players fight with their minds. Every ban, every pick, and every hesitation carried weight, shaping the flow of the match before the first skill was ever cast.
At its core, Nervanox was a five-versus-five Multiplayer Online Battle Arena where strategy mattered just as much as mechanical skill. Two teams entered a symmetrical battlefield divided into three lanes—the Top Lane, Mid Lane, and Bottom Lane—while a sprawling jungle stretched between them, filled with neutral monsters and powerful objectives capable of turning the tide of battle.
Each player controlled a unique hero, earning experience and gold by defeating enemy units, jungle monsters, and opposing players. Experience strengthened a hero by unlocking more powerful abilities, while gold allowed players to purchase equipment tailored to their strategy. A single decision in the item shop could determine whether a hero dominated the battlefield or fell behind.
The objective appeared deceptively simple. Victory belonged to the team that either destroyed the enemy Base Camp or secured ten hero eliminations before their opponents. In practice, however, achieving either condition demanded flawless teamwork.
Success in Nervanox was never determined by raw mechanics alone.
Every lane had to be managed carefully. Players constantly balanced farming with defending their structures, while remaining alert for opportunities elsewhere on the map. Staying in one lane for too long often meant abandoning teammates, so rotations became an essential part of high-level play. The best teams were always moving, supporting allies, contesting objectives, and searching for openings before the enemy could react.
Among the countless strategies employed by professional players, none was more feared than the gank—a coordinated ambush in which one or more heroes suddenly appeared in an unsuspecting lane. A successful gank could instantly create a numbers advantage, leading to crucial eliminations and opening the path toward towers, jungle objectives, or even the enemy base itself.
Because of that, awareness was everything. Players constantly read the minimap, predicted enemy movements, and communicated every piece of information they gathered. One careless rotation or a single missed warning could unravel an entire team's strategy.
Adding another layer of complexity was the jungle itself. Beyond providing additional gold and experience, its monsters granted temporary enhancements that often determined which team controlled the middle stages of the game. Securing those objectives required precise timing, map control, and the confidence to fight when the odds were in your favor.
A complete match was played as a best-of-three. While the battlefield reset at the end of every round, restoring structures and respawning jungle monsters, one important element remained unchanged.
The heroes.
Their levels and purchased equipment carried over into the next round.
That single mechanic made every decision matter. A dominant performance early in the match created lasting advantages, while a team that fell behind had to rely on superior coordination and strategy to overcome the widening difference in strength.
It was this unique system that made Nervanox one of the most demanding competitive games in the world. Individual brilliance could win skirmishes, but championships were earned through communication, adaptability, resource management, and the ability to make the right decision under relentless pressure.
Every rotation.
Every objective.
Every team fight.
Any one of them could change the outcome of an entire match.
No lead was ever completely safe.
No comeback was ever impossible.
As the explanation echoed through the minds of seasoned players and newcomers alike, the draft entered its final moments.
One by one, the remaining heroes vanished from the selection pool as both teams finalized their compositions. Above the stage, the massive display updated in real time, each completed selection accompanied by a brilliant flash of light and a stunning illustration of the chosen hero.
The audience leaned forward in anticipation.
The mutual banning of Ruko's and Inori's signature heroes had already transformed the draft into a battle of pride. Now everyone wanted to see how the two former teammates would adapt without the heroes that had made them famous.
The countdown continued to tick away.
Five...
Four...
Three...
Ruko rested one hand on the controls, his expression as composed as ever despite the thousands of spectators watching his every movement. His cursor drifted across the roster before slowing to a stop over a familiar portrait.
There wasn't even a moment's hesitation.
He locked it in.
The arena screens erupted with light as a new name appeared across the display.
Estan.
A wave of murmurs swept through the venue.
"Estan?"
"He actually picked Estan?"
"I thought he'd go for another comfort hero."
Several students exchanged puzzled looks, while others immediately understood the reasoning behind the choice.
"So that's the strategy..."
Estan was a Mage-Fighter who specialized in relentless mobility. Unlike traditional mages who relied on devastating bursts of magic or fighters who excelled in prolonged close-range combat, Estan thrived by dancing between both roles.
His greatest weapon was movement.
Every dash repositioned him before his opponent could react, allowing him to weave effortlessly through the battlefield while launching magical attacks from unpredictable angles. Rather than overwhelming enemies with a single explosive combo, Estan slowly dismantled them, striking from a distance before slipping away again.
Against slower opponents, he was suffocating.
Against impatient ones...
He was a nightmare.
Ruko quietly studied the portrait for a moment before speaking under his breath.
"A fair choice."
Across the stage, Inori finally opened her own selection screen.
Unlike the audience, she wasn't surprised in the slightest.
Her eyes lingered on Estan's portrait for only a heartbeat before a faint smile appeared on her lips.
"I figured."
Without wasting another second, her cursor moved directly into the marksman category and stopped on a single hero.
She locked in her choice immediately.
The arena erupted once more.
Yamashiki.
Gasps echoed throughout the stands.
"No way..."
"She actually chose Yamashiki."
"That's one of the hardest marksmen in the game."
"I've only ever seen professionals use her properly."
Even the commentators exchanged impressed glances.
Yamashiki's reputation wasn't built on raw damage alone.
It came from her complexity.
Unlike conventional marksmen who relied on a single weapon throughout the match, Yamashiki carried four entirely different firearms, each transforming the way she fought. At the center of her kit was Weapon Shift, a unique ability that allowed players to instantly switch between weapons by flicking the cursor toward one of four directional commands.
Changing weapons didn't simply alter her attacks.
It transformed her first and second skills as well, effectively giving players access to four completely different combat styles within a single hero.
Mastering Yamashiki was like mastering four heroes at once.
Every weapon excelled under different circumstances, demanding different positioning, different timing, and different instincts. The constant decision-making overwhelmed most players, causing them to hesitate during crucial moments.
That was why Yamashiki was considered one of the highest skill-ceiling marksmen in all of Nervanox.
Many players attempted to learn her.
Very few succeeded.
Among those rare few...
Inori Nakai stood at the very top.
Resting her chin lightly against one hand, she looked across the stage.
Her calm amber eyes met Ruko's unwavering gaze.
Neither of them smiled.
Neither needed to.
The draft was over.
The heroes had been chosen, and with them, the final layer of psychological warfare disappeared.
From this point onward, there would be no more mind games.
Only skill.
Only strategy.
Only the battlefield.
The arena lights dimmed as the loading screen filled the enormous display overhead.
Silence settled over the crowd before the announcer's voice thundered throughout the venue.
"Round One..."
"...Begin."
For the audience, it was the opening of an exhibition match.
For Ruko and Inori, it was the beginning of a duel that had been waiting for years.