"Apex Predator," unlike other Dark Zone content that heavily adapted most of my past experiences, was filled with scenarios I had never actually encountered. My real-life operational range extended no further than from New York to California, which, while a considerable distance, meant I had never physically been to ces like the ones depicted in the game.


    In other words, every battle I faced in Apex Predator was a new experience. However, the path I had walked served as a foundation, a stepping stone for climbing higher. This meant that I was well-equipped to handle unfamiliar situations.


    As I progressed, the skill level of the yers I encountered noticeably increased. Although I don''t want to brag, there were asions when someone other than me would take the top spot. But no matter how far I advanced, the number of participants remained the same. This meant that individual yers drew less attention, and unless someone made themselves stand out, the focus quickly shifted elsewhere.


    Even I found it difficult to keep track of all the yers I defeated. How much harder would it be for the viewers, whose interests changed even more rapidly?


    Regardless, I always focused on what I could do rather than worrying about external perceptions. I’ve always approached each engagement as if it were myst. Although KSM hadn’t even started, and the Asia Qualifiers were still far off, there was no guarantee I would actually see them.


    If, by some chance, all the questions I had about Dark Zone were answered immediately, I would likely finish up and quit the game without hesitation. I’d then reminisce about the past.


    Maybe one day that will happen.


    I’ve rambled on a bit. Anyway, for now, I need to respond appropriately to the other yers who have put in countless hours of effort for this day—though, to be honest, that’s just an excuse.


    <em>[Warning: The current area will be flooded in 3 minutes and 37 seconds.]</em>


    I must have gotten lost in thought because, before I knew it, the ground was already starting to flood. I could swear I’d seen this kind of scene before—maybe it was déjà vu.


    The area would be sealed off soon. While the seawater was rising from the outside, it was also seeping into the border areas under the pretext of facility damage.


    With a ssh, I moved forward.


    "…Kill me, please…."


    "Oh, right."


    Thunk.


    Getting ejected to the lobby quickly is probably better than drowning.


    With a single shot, I put the incapacitated opponent out of his misery. He disintegrated with a faint smile. It felt strange, but I figured it was better than nothing.


    Leaving the flooded area behind, I disappeared beyond the horizon.


    Another ordinary day passed by.


    "Testing, testing… Can you hear me? Hello, everyone?"


    The world of pro gamers, like any other, was diverse beyond measure. From those who preferred to keep a low profile to those who thrived on public attention, the spectrum was vast. And naturally, many pros enjoyed interacting with their fans and viewers through streams. After all, without an audience, a pro gamer wouldn’t have a career.


    Among them was Evler from Arcadia Games, who regrlymunicated with his fans and viewers through streaming—a rtively small but dedicated group. He started his stream right after Thursday’s qualifying rank ended.


    Viewers began to gather, as they always did. Being a pro gamer meant having the advantage of demonstrating exceptional gaming skills on stream, making him a sessful broadcaster in his own right.


    As viewers greeted him with "Eh-Hi"—a short form for "Evler Hi"—the number continued to grow. Due to the excitement surrounding the AP soloing matches, the viewership was higher than usual, eventually stabilizing after surpassing 2,000.


    As more viewers joined, Evler subtly changed the stream title.


    <em>[Stream Title: Let’s Chat About Today’s Qualifying Rank!]</em>


    Now, it was all about how well he could engage the audience.


    Cautiously, he began to speak, officially kicking off the interaction session.


    "I’ve been active as an AP pro gamer for about a year and three months now. And if there’s one thing I’ve realized while doing AP soloing… it’s how amazing it is that there are always more skilled yers emerging."


    <ul>


    <li>If this guy climbed to the first tier in just a year, he’s got talent, right?</li>


    <li>Watching the fights, it’s scary how good everyone is, LOL.</li>


    <li>Every match is legendary, lol.</li>


    <li>Did they gather all the Special Forces in Korea or what?</li>


    <li>Fact: For someone who’s just doing okay, this guy’s always in the top ranks.</li>


    </ul>


    "Oh,e on, ‘talented’? There’s almost no such thing in this field. Everyone here practices until they’re practically worn down. I train for twelve hours a day myself. I’d probably be dead if virtual reality hadn’te along."


    Talent, huh.


    Where did that word evene from? There’s a famous saying from a legendary pianist: if you skip practice for a day, you notice; if you skip it for three days, the audience notices. Who’s out there seeding by just breathing?


    It’s amon misconception, but now wasn’t the time for a debate on definitions. I let the thought drift away like debris in the sea of my mind.


    There were plenty of things I could rte to without getting hung up on that.@@novelbin@@


    A qualifying rank match… could bepared to a random obstacle course. Some parts might be easier, others required every ounce of effort, and some… well, you had to wonder.


    Was that even designed to be ovee?


    The question naturally slipped out.


    "Anyway, the world constantly reminds you that practice alone isn’t enough. I wonder if my perspective would change if I managed toe in first ce just once. My best rank over the past four days has been 5th…."


    <ul>


    <li>5th out of that many people? Damn.</li>


    <li>Seems like you’ll easily make it into KSM. 100 people is pretty lenient, right?</li>


    <li>You can do it, LOL.</li>


    <li>The real problemes after the Selection Match, lol.</li>


    <li>With so many people, every match is a bloodbath….</li>


    </ul>


    5th ce out of that many people.


    It sounded good, but considering that the average number of total sessions a yer participated in during the qualifying rank—aside from the top tier—ranged from 50 to 65, one match wasn’t that significant.


    Many people overlooked how much physical and mental strain tournaments ced on pros. Especially the grueling four-month schedule from regional matches to the Asia Qualifiers and then to the final championship—the "One Above All" match was even more intense.


    There’s always a big difference between what you can say and what you can think.


    Naturally, the topic drifted elsewhere.


    Evler belonged to Arcadia Games, and within their first and second leagues, there were plenty of pros who enjoyed interacting with viewers. After all, pros live closest to the media they canmunicate through.


    As long as the topic wasn’t too sensitive, and it helped improve public perception, it was okay to share some insights about the current situation.


    And those interested in AP matches likely already knew.


    "Still, Arcadia is doing quite well. No one’s particrly struggling, and it seems everyone who’s supposed to make it to KSM will get there without much trouble. It helps that everyone is so skilled."


    Even in such high-level games where you might run into the same pro gamers multiple times in a single match, the qualifying rank was just another start. To meet the best of the best from other countries, you had to climb two steep walls.


    One was the qualifying rank I kept mentioning, and the next was KSM. Out of 1,600, only 100 would remain, and then only 20. After surviving as one of 16, only 20% would remain.


    It felt too early to start judging who was doing well or not.


    Once you realized the challenge of these numbers, you couldn’t help but admire those who were better than you.


    In the pro world, there were always distinctions in skill. There were those slightly better than you, those who consistently ranked high, and those who seemed like they’dfortably make it into the top 100….


    But among them, there were also those who were so far beyond reach that even feeling envious seemed ironic.


    <em>["Luke Gonnanbak" donated 1,000 won for some snacks! Thank you!]</em>


    <em>–What left the biggest impression on you during today’s match?</em>


    "Thank you for the 1,000 won donation! Let’s see… what was it…?"


    The donation’s content naturally triggered a reaction, leading him to think about what had been on his mind earlier.


    As the trigger was pulled, vivid memoriesplete with sensory details that shouldn’t be possible—shed back as if he were reliving the experience. Fragments ofnguage and thoughts surged forward, struggling to form coherent sentences.


    It was his job to gather them into a coherent response.


    "Oh, right… I don’t know if anyone noticed, but there was a time today when I died in a really brutal way. If you’ve been watching AP soloing matches closely, you’ll know what I’m talking about."


    The reaction was immediate.


    Of course, it was.


    <ul>


    <li>Ah, LOL, you got taken out by "that person."</li>


    <li>Why do I know exactly who he’s talking about without him saying it?</li>


    <li>The "Tail Killer."</li>


    <li>A nightmare for pros, LOL.</li>


    <li>I’m dying here, LOL.</li>


    </ul>


    Of course.


    Everyone knew.


    After the tournament rank ended safely, the story of "Yujin," which had only been circting within certain circles like Xi and SSM, was now spreading beyond just the pro scene.


    But as the scrimmages ended and the qualifying rank officially began, she… well, she started flying around as if she was determined to solidify those unbelievable rumors in everyone’s minds.


    No, rather than "flying around"… she was more like a typhoon.


    Her mere existence was like a massive blender.


    "Uh, yeah… everyone knows, it seems. Yeah, it was her. I got totally wrecked. I’d be in better shape if I’d been hit by a car. Is it okay to say this? I’m kind of close with the Reaper Infected team, and Mikael got totally owned by her."


    <em>[Kim Dietermin donated 1,000 won for some snacks! Thank you!]</em>


    <em>–The man who flew with his shield, Mikael, LOL.</em>


    Seriously.


    The endless stream of absurd rumors about her was updated daily, and even one of these incidents could have be a legendary moment in this year’s qualifying rank. Yet it was just one of many in the long list of insane stories about Yujin.


    Suddenly, the floodgates opened, and people started sharing all sorts of stories about her. Once they started, there was no holding back.


    Naturally, the viewers’ engagement skyrocketed. After all, nothing beats hearing a firsthand ount from someone who experienced it. Evler shared everything he knew, and the viewers couldn’t get enough.


    He exined where he encountered her, what his situation was, what choices he made, and how he ultimately met his end… all while passionately recounting the tale.


    By the time he finished, he had lost track of how much time had passed.


    "…Wait, why did the viewer count suddenly shoot up?"


    4,558 viewers.


    Almost twice the usual number of viewers had quietly gathered in the chat.


    But of course, this phenomenon wasn’t unique to him.