Chapter 173: The Infuriated Revenger: Burnout

Gathering and scrutinizing information is a highly crucial action in conquering any game. Therefore, let's summarize the commonalities and differences between Sylvia Goldberg—who seems to be the exact same type of gamer as me—and myself.

First is the fundamental playstyle... this is the same for both of us. We're both "tension fighters" whose mental hype directly reflects on our mechanical skill, and furthermore, we're the type to intuitively deal with most attacks. Where Katzo or Pencilgon would approach with pure logic, we're the type to just sprint headfirst and somehow make it work... or rather, force it to work... It's practically a given that we'll eventually trip over some puzzle-solving element.

Even with that gatling gun earlier, hard as it is to believe, she apparently just raw-dogs "predicting the exact time and location of impact based on bullet speed, muzzle angle, and firing sound, and then just sprinting through it." It's likely due in part to her naturally high baseline specs as a gamer, but more than that, her deep understanding of this specific game is the real secret behind those acrobatic feats.

Unless some massive technological revolution happens, the core technology used in games fundamentally doesn't change all that often. And if it's a numbered sequel from the same company, even if the graphics and system UI get overhauled, the underlying programming and other miscellaneous stuff that doesn't need fixing usually just gets recycled.

Unlike a gamer like me who just hops from Trash Game to Trash Game, if she's my literal superior who has poured her heart and soul into this one game, you can assume that level of "familiarity" is on par with an AI perfectly optimized by a computer. After all, there's an entire species of people in this world who pull off Tool-Assisted Superplays entirely manually.

And above all else, she has a perfect grasp on Cursed Prison's frame data and mechanics...!

"Absorbing that fire engine was a misplay, you know. You've already got terrible movement speed against Metius, but doing that just bottlenecks your own range of action even more."

"Look who's talking..."

I was clearly being baited in the latter half. It wasn't like when Pencilgon gets me and I suddenly realize I'm stuck in a trap; my options were actively choked out until I was forced into picking it. She manipulated my pathing. Before I knew it, I was funneled into picking an outer shell that hard-capped my mobility, guaranteeing I'd be her personal punching bag.

More importantly, this fire engine shell is straight-up trash! You literally can't use the main weapon unless you connect the hose to a fire hydrant?! Sure, you can technically swing the ladder around as a melee weapon, but against her, trying to hit her with something that slow is about as effective as screaming a Buddhist chant into a horse's ear at point-blank range... Actually, at least then you'd be doing hearing damage to the horse.

Pulling a win from here is probably impossible... But wait, isn't this already pretty damn good for stalling? It feels like I've survived for over five minutes. Honestly, Pencilgon already cleared the bare minimum quota anyway, so I'm really just a sideshow to the sideshow, the opening act before the main event of Katzo vs. Sylvia Goldberg. Ahh, thinking about it like that, my motivation is instantly tanking...

"Sigh. When you challenged me with Cursed Prison, I thought you might actually have some kind of surprise ready... but it's just a stall tactic, huh."

"Mu."

I get kicked.

"It's obviously weird that Kei still hasn't shown up after all this time. I don't know what your reasons are, but your only goal is stalling until he gets here."

"Mumu."

I get slammed into the wall, followed immediately by a roundhouse kick straight to the neck.

"Which means you picking Cursed Prison was also just a performance to buy time, wasn't it?"

"Mumumumumumu."

"Phew... Well, let's at least make it a good match, okay?"

Right as I was locked into hitstun and couldn't move, Metius leaped into the air. Kicking off empty space, she unleashed a flying kick combined with a somersault. The expression she made the exact millisecond before impact... I was probably the only one who saw it.

Yeah, I recognize that look. It's the exact same face I make when I realize I'm locked into a massive, tedious grinding session in a game.

I get it. Naturally, it's completely justified to feel annoyed when your opponent brings zero intention of winning and disrespects you just to stall for time. No matter what I, the one doing the disrespecting, say in response to that, my words hold absolutely zero weight. Right, sure, that's the generally accepted "correct" take.

I get it, I get it, I totally get it... In that case, what exactly is this switch that just aggressively clicked on inside my brain? What is this feeling, like I just chugged magma spiked with chili paste alongside my caffeine? And what exactly is this incredibly simple, perfectly clear directive floating in my head right now?

I came all the way out here, crammed the game mechanics and meta into my brain overnight, ended up having to eat a stupidly massive parfait, got forced into throwing a match against a non-human freak on Wethermon's level, got exposed to the entire world as a fellow villain alongside Pencilgon, and am currently having my ass beat by Metius live on a global broadcast... and after shouldering all that suffering, the look I get in return is "fed up" and "disappointed"?!

I see, I see, I see, I see, I see... Hahaha.

Round 2.

"I'm going to beat the absolute shit out of you!!"

Stalling? Katzo's arrival? Throwing the match? Who gives a shit! To hell with all of it! Throw any consideration for that Bakatzo who can't even trigger Unique Scenarios straight into the gutter!!

Yeah, yeah, sure, you're the one in the right here, Sylvia Goldberg, but you know what... Being self-aware of it and having someone else rub it in your face are two entirely different things! I know damn well what I'm doing! To hell with Goldberg! To hell with Number One in the US! I'm gonna rip that gold-plated title right off your damn face!!

Funny, my vision is incredibly clear right now. It's the same refreshing feeling as waking up to the morning sun after sleeping for over ten hours straight. Except, there is only one violently glowing directive etched into my mind. Namely: "Make that wannabe Hero squeal."

"Oh, I get it now. From a lore perspective, getting beaten with a bored, disappointed look on your face is the thing that pisses you off the most...!"

In terms of roleplay, that last round was an absolute disgrace. I didn't have the time to properly act like the character Cursed Prison while desperately trying to handle Sylvia Goldberg. But right now, my heart is filled with rage and resentment toward her—toward the Hero (Metius)... no, that's not quite right... Ah, right, it's that. It's the exact same rebellious defiance you feel when an event battle mechanically forces you to lose to an opponent far below your level, or when you perfectly clear a final boss without taking a single hit, only for the unskippable cutscene to show your character beaten, bloody, and exhausted. I'm operating purely on that thick, dark sludge of absolute rejection of the irrational.

"Bring it on. Bring it the hell on! Yeah, that's exactly right!"

Found it. To counter her speed, I need at least a baseline level of equipment. Fire engines are absolute trash. Why the hell would I voluntarily put a collar and leash on myself, am I an idiot?

"Hello there, Mr. Motorcycle Cops! Would you mind donating your bikes to a poor, heartbroken man? You don't have the right to refuse."

I'll make you cry.

Equipment trouble, an intensely close match, the casters unnecessarily dragging out the commentary... all these little things piled up, causing a massive delay in his return. Sneaking out of the award ceremony, Kei sprinted through the venue, having thrown the helmet he was handed—the one to hide his identity since "Uomi Kei" being here would cause too many problems—right into the face of the Assault Company's manager after the guy cheekily suggested, "Wouldn't this suit you better, Uomi-san?"

Pushing past the shocked backstage staff—and for some reason, getting inexplicably asked "Is your butt okay?" by several crew members—Kei finally made it onto the stage... and slumped into the final empty seat in the Nitro Squad's booth, his home.

".........?"

While he wasn't expecting a massive cheer, Kei assumed there would be some kind of reaction directed at him. Instead, he quickly realized that the audience, Star Rain, the casters... absolutely nobody in the entire venue was looking at him.

"I gotta admit, showing up this late as the boss is almost impressive."

"...Honestly, my bad. Is it Sun... No Face's turn right now?"

"If you'd shown up just a little bit earlier, things might have stayed peaceful..."

Kei tilted his head at the dry, strained laugh coming from Pencilgon, or rather, No Name.

The reason was undoubtedly on the monitor in front of them. Past the Star Rain members, where the match between Sunraku and Sylvia was presumably being displayed. But if that was the case, what was that manic laughter echoing so loudly it threatened to blow out the speakers? What was that sound of tires violently screeching against asphalt?

He recognized that unhinged, screws-loose cackle. It sounded exactly like the laugh his incredibly eccentric friend made right when he fully snapped and went "To hell with everything!"... Actually, it didn't just sound like it. It was it.

"I mean, sure, we're partially at fault here for totally disrespecting her by throwing the match, but..."

"Ah... I kinda figured it out already, but give me the summary."

"A bunch of stuff happened, and he snapped."

"That might be too summarized."

At the undefeated champion, the infuriated challenger laughed maniacally.

Author's Afterword
Heartbroken (Scattering curses born of boiling blood and misplaced rage, and severely contaminated by caffeine)

Riot Blood Tonight
Released this summer in the US, Riot Blood has finally defeated Hypnos, the God of Sleep—! The latest model, said to let you easily survive pulling an all-nighter two days in a row just by popping open a single can. It's a masterpiece reminiscent of the awakening of a brand new monster. Even though it's supposed to be completely legal, it somehow still hasn't been released in Japan yet. Funny how that works, isn't it? The man in the suit holding a battering ram is the trademark logo.