The respawn timer finally reached zero.
A soft blue-white glow surrounded Yamashiki's fallen body. The lingering particles of the death animation gathered together before the hero's form reconstructed itself inside the safety of the Base Camp.
A moment later, Yamashiki opened her eyes.
Her health bar was completely restored.
Her position had been reset.
The brief interruption caused by her death was already becoming nothing more than another event in the match.
Inori, however, didn't immediately move.
Her fingers rested lightly over the controls as she stared at the screen.
The battlefield slowly came back into view.
Minions were advancing through the lanes. The jungle camps were beginning their cycles again. Players were repositioning themselves after the first major exchange of the match.
Everything had returned to normal.
Yet something inside Inori had changed.
She smiled.
It was the same smile she had worn during her duel with Ruko.
Except there was something different about it now.
There was more energy behind it.
More anticipation.
Almost an impatience.
As though the First Blood she had given away hadn't discouraged her at all.
Instead, it had made her want to continue.
Across the stage, Ruko noticed.
He had been watching the minimap while waiting for the next wave to develop, but his attention briefly shifted toward Inori's station.
Their eyes met.
Ruko immediately understood what that expression meant.
She was excited.
Not simply pleased with the match.
Not satisfied because she had finally found an opponent capable of challenging her.
She was genuinely hyped.
Ruko had seen that expression before.
A long time ago.
Three years ago, in fact.
Back when Nerva was still together.
Back when the professional scene had been everything to them.
Ruko leaned back slightly in his chair.
"...So that's how it is."
He understood now.
Inori had spent years fighting some of the strongest marksmen in Nervanox. She had gone against players whose mechanical ability was considered exceptional even among professionals. She had faced opponents who could match her aim, challenge her positioning, and punish the smallest mistake.
Some had pushed her to the limit.
Some had defeated her.
Some had forced her to completely change the way she approached the game.
But Inori had always adapted.
That was one of the reasons she had become so dangerous.
A loss was never simply a loss to her.
She studied it.
She remembered the decisions she had made.
She identified the moments where her positioning had failed.
She examined the timing of her attacks.
Then she returned to the game and corrected those weaknesses.
She didn't remain the same player after every match.
She evolved.
And that process had continued for years.
Yet this match was different.
Everyone watching might have assumed the reason was obvious.
Ruko had somehow become strong enough to challenge Inori mechanically.
Perhaps they would assume his skills had finally reached her level.
Perhaps some might even believe that he had surpassed her.
But Ruko knew that wasn't what was happening.
And, judging from the smile on Inori's face, she knew it too.
If they were placed into a conventional marksman duel, there was little reason to pretend they were equals.
Inori's experience in that role was overwhelming.
That was her territory.
Her mechanics had been refined through years of competition. Her aim, positioning, attack timing, weapon management, and understanding of ranged combat had reached a level Ruko had never attempted to replicate.
He could fight her.
He could pressure her.
He could predict some of her movements.
He could even catch her off guard.
But if the question was simply which of them possessed greater skill as a traditional marksman, the answer was obvious.
Inori.
There was no embarrassment in admitting it.
Ruko himself would have admitted it without hesitation.
That wasn't why she was smiling.
The reason was far more complicated.
Ruko understood her.
That was the difference.
He knew when she was likely to attack.
He knew when she was likely to retreat.
He understood the way she positioned herself before committing to an attack.
He recognized the subtle movements she made before using certain abilities.
He knew how she reacted when an opponent attempted to bait her.
He understood the rhythm she naturally created during a fight.
Years of playing together had given him an understanding of her habits that went beyond ordinary game knowledge.
It was almost like watching someone whose next sentence you already knew.
And that created something Inori rarely experienced.
Uncertainty.
For the first time in a long while, Inori couldn't completely trust her own predictions.
Every decision presented another possibility.
Should she attack?
Should she retreat?
Should she reposition?
Should she change weapons?
Should she bait him?
Should she wait?
Each choice opened another branch in the fight.
And somewhere at the end of each branch was the possibility that Ruko had already anticipated what she would do.
That was what excited her.
Not the idea that Ruko was stronger than her.
Not the possibility that he was weaker.
It was the fact that he knew her.
Really knew her.
Ruko continued watching her from across the stage.
Then, without warning, an old memory resurfaced.
At first, it was little more than a vague sensation.
A distant sound.
A familiar voice.
A flash of light.
Ruko frowned.
The memory had been buried beneath years of experiences he had deliberately tried not to revisit.
But now, something about Inori's expression had brought it back.
A room.
Rows of chairs.
The distant roar of an audience beyond the walls.
The nervous energy of players waiting for the biggest match of their lives.
Three years ago.
Ruko closed his eyes for a moment.
And suddenly—
He was there again.
Three years earlier.
The waiting room was much smaller than the arenas they would eventually become accustomed to.
Yet at the time, Ruko had thought it was enormous.
He sat quietly in one of the chairs, his elbows resting against his knees as he stared at the floor.
The sound of the crowd seeped through the walls.
Thousands of voices blended together into a constant rumble.
Every now and then, the noise became louder, shaking faintly through the building.
The World Championship.
The biggest stage Nervanox had to offer.
And Nerva was one victory away from becoming champions.
Ruko could still remember the strange weight hanging over the room.
Nobody was speaking particularly loudly.
Nobody wanted to waste energy.
There was no reason to pretend they weren't nervous.
Everyone knew what was waiting for them.
One more victory.
That was all.
One more game.
One more win.
Then they would become World Champions.
Nearby, Inori was having considerably more trouble sitting still.
She shifted in her chair, clasping her hands together before looking toward the door.
Her excitement was impossible to hide.
"Just one more win."
There was unmistakable happiness in her voice.
"Just one more win and we win the World Championship!"
She turned toward Ruko.
Her face was bright.
Her eyes were filled with anticipation.
And she wore that same expression.
That exact expression.
The one Ruko had just seen on her face moments ago.
The excitement.
The anticipation.
The hunger to play.
The desire to find out what would happen once the match finally began.
Ruko remembered looking at her back then and wondering how someone could possibly be this excited before playing the most stressful match of their career.
Across from them, Aina glanced toward Inori.
Her pinkish-purple hair fell around her shoulders, and despite the pressure of the championship, she carried herself with the confidence expected from someone who had already earned the title of The Mage God.
She sighed.
"Can you at least try to calm down before the match?"
Inori immediately shook her head.
"No."
Aina stared at her.
"...You didn't even think about it."
"I already know the answer."
A faint laugh escaped someone in the room.
The tension eased for a moment.
Then another voice joined the conversation.
A boy with black hair and brown skin leaned back in his chair.
Kalix.
Nerva's Fighter.
The player known throughout the competitive scene as The Uncrowned Fighter.
He looked toward Inori with an amused expression.
"It's natural."
Inori turned toward him.
Kalix continued.
"The more excited Inori gets, the stronger she becomes."
Aina raised an eyebrow.
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
Kalix smiled.
"Her play becomes more aggressive too."
Inori nodded enthusiastically.
"Exactly!"
Aina immediately covered her face with one hand.
"That's the part I'm worried about."
Inori laughed.
Ruko remembered that sound.
It was the kind of laughter that made it difficult to believe they were about to step onto the biggest stage in their careers.
For a brief moment, they were simply friends.
Teammates.
People who had spent countless hours together practicing the same game.
Then the waiting-room door opened.
Two more members of Nerva entered.
The first was a girl with long, light-blue hair.
Ester.
The player known as The Support Queen.
Even before the championship, Ester had possessed the calm presence of someone accustomed to keeping the entire team organized. While everyone else was dealing with their nerves, she somehow remained composed.
Beside her walked a boy with dark black hair and two different-colored eyes.
Luxia.
Nerva's Tank.
The player feared throughout the professional scene as The Deadliest Tank.
He was eating snacks.
Ruko remembered staring at him for a moment.
They were minutes away from playing the most important match of their careers, and Luxia was eating as though he were waiting for a train.
Ester looked around the room.
"Mikasa is waiting for us in the hallway."
Luxia paused with another snack halfway to his mouth.
"What about Mitsuru?"
Aina answered without looking up.
"She's still doing the interview."
Luxia nodded.
"Figures."
The team began gathering their belongings.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Headsets were checked.
Players made final adjustments to their equipment.
Nobody needed to explain what they were doing.
They had performed the same routine before every major match.
But this time was different.
This time, there was a championship waiting on the other side of the stage.
Ruko followed the others into the hallway.
The atmosphere outside was quieter than the waiting room.
The crowd was still audible through the walls, but the sound had become distant and muffled.
The hallway itself was almost strangely peaceful.
Then Ruko saw her.
A girl with long black hair stood at the end of the corridor.
Mikasa.
The captain of Nerva.
The player known as The Perfect Jungler.
She stood with her arms folded, patiently waiting for the rest of the team.
When she noticed them approaching, her expression softened into a smile.
"Everyone's here?"
Ester nodded.
"Everyone except Mitsuru."
"She'll catch up."
Mikasa turned toward the entrance leading to the stage.
Her expression became serious.
"Let's win this."
The words were simple.
But nobody needed anything more.
One more victory.
One more game.
One more step.
Everything they had worked for had led to this moment.
The practices.
The losses.
The victories.
The arguments.
The long nights.
The countless hours spent playing together.
Every failure they had endured.
Every improvement they had made.
All of it had brought them to that hallway.
Ruko remembered standing beside them.
He remembered Inori's excitement.
Aina's confidence.
Kalix's calmness.
Ester's composure.
Luxia's ridiculous habit of eating snacks before important matches.
Mikasa's leadership.
And then—
Mitsuru.
For some reason, that particular memory felt different.
Ruko tried to hold onto it.
He tried to picture her.
But the image wouldn't stay.
The hallway began to fade.
The room disappeared.
The voices became distant.
The memory slipped away from him like an old photograph slowly being washed by rain.
Ruko opened his eyes.
The arena returned all at once.
Bright lights illuminated the stage.
The roar of the audience filled his ears.
The monitors glowed in front of him.
The minimap was still active.
Estan was still standing near the Bottom Lane.
The match had continued while he was lost inside the memory.
Ruko's gaze slowly moved toward Inori.
She was still there.
Still smiling.
Still preparing Yamashiki for her return to the lane.
Ruko stared at her for several seconds.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
The memories of those three years had become strangely blurry.
He could remember the events.
He could remember the voices.
He could remember the feelings.
But some of the faces were becoming increasingly difficult to reconstruct.
Especially one.
Mitsuru.
Ruko tried to remember her face.
The shape of her eyes.
The expression she wore when she smiled.
The way she looked when she became excited during a match.
He tried to force the image into focus.
Nothing happened.
The details refused to return.
He could remember that she had been there.
He could remember playing beside her.
He could remember countless matches.
He could remember the sound of her voice through the headset.
But her face...
Nothing.
It was as though someone had slowly taken an eraser to the memory.
Not destroying it completely.
Just removing the details little by little.
Ruko lowered his gaze.
"...I really did forget."
The words escaped quietly.
He had tried to forget Nerva.
He had tried to forget professional Nervanox.
He had tried to forget the people who had been part of that period of his life.
He had convinced himself that leaving everything behind would make things easier.
For a while, it had.
Or at least, he had believed it had.
But now, sitting across from Inori, he could feel those memories returning.
Not completely.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Enough to remind him that the past had never truly disappeared.
He had simply buried it.
And perhaps that was why Inori's expression bothered him so much.
Because he recognized it.
He had seen that excitement before.
Three years ago.
Back when Inori had been his teammate.
Back when she had looked at every difficult match as an opportunity to discover how far she could push herself.
Ruko returned his attention to the battlefield.
His expression gradually became serious again.
Inori had already begun moving Yamashiki toward the lane.
She was ready.
More importantly, she was excited.
Ruko understood what that meant.
The Inori he remembered wasn't going to be satisfied with the first exchange.
She wasn't going to retreat simply because Seishin Academy had secured First Blood.
If anything, losing that first battle had given her another reason to push herself.
A reason to fight harder.
A reason to test her limits.
A reason to find out just how far Ruko could take her.
Ruko looked at the screen.
Then he looked toward Inori.
He remembered the expression she had worn three years ago.
The same excitement.
The same anticipation.
The same hunger.
And finally, he understood what he was seeing.
"...You're coming back."
His fingers tightened slightly around the controls.
"Stronger than before."
The next wave of minions entered the lane.
The match resumed its rhythm.
The audience continued to roar around them, unaware of the memories passing through Ruko's mind.
Three years ago, he had stood beside Inori as her teammate.
Today, he stood across from her as her opponent.
The roles had changed.
The circumstances had changed.
Nerva was gone.
Their championship days were over.
Yet one thing had remained exactly the same.
Whenever Inori encountered someone capable of pushing her beyond the limits she had grown accustomed to...
She smiled.
And for the first time in three years, Ruko found himself wondering what kind of player that smile would create this time.