Page 57 of Don't Hate the Player
Is Unity going to kick Jake off the team? Did I take all of this from him?
Byunki made me do the numbers on the likelihood of Chronic playing a tank one of Ivan’s better characters has a chance against, and it’s high they’ll pick Reigh or Grendel—the hero or the monster. VANE’s used to playing Morrigan, but Morrigan’s ghost type only has an advantage over heroes.
I should have ghosted Jake after Round 1.
If they go for Grendel, Ivan needs to hulk up and play Jubilee, the only monster DPS in the game. He can handle it. I just have to keep Pharaoh steady and do my job. Once we’re safely in Round 3, I have two more weeks to keep it together, and this tournament will be over. My carriage will turn back into a pumpkin, and I can go back to . . . ?my life, I guess. I’ll keep playingGLOfor fun and look back on this month as a brief, shining moment of glory when I got to do exactly what I wanted to do. And I do it so damn well.
“Ivan should stick Jubilee in his swap spot. Han and Erik will be fine with their main healers since Chronic focuses on strong defense around the payload, and we’ll need a monster if Chronic plays Grendel,” I say. With my computations complete, I feel more like Siri than Emilia or KNOX. “They’ll probably go with Grendel because they know you play Klio. Fire characters are weak to monster, and they might try to turn this into a tankfight. If we were trying to catch them out, we could giveyouthe swap to play as a hero tank, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Good.” Byunki sounds pleased. “Exactly what I was thinking too.” He takes a second look at me and nods to himself, like he’s confirming the results of some assessment I didn’t know I was taking. “That’s really good,” he says again and turns back to the board.
Great, dope. Can we play now? I’ve almost regained my grip on the sweet spot of concentration I need to get through today, and any further hiccups will knock it right out of my hands.
Hiccups like one of the arena handlers knocking on the door of the green room forty minutes early and letting himself in.
“Team Fury?” The handler checks his keyboard. Uh, yeah, that’s us, man. Why is he coming into our green room if he’s not specifically looking for us? Whatever it is, he seems happy to be interrupting us—this random guy is grinning wider than anyone should be capable of this early in the morning (okay, it’s like 8:15; I’ve just had a long week).
“We need you onstage now.”
I look over at Ivan, next to me on the couch. He was right in the middle of ripping open his first pack of hand warmers and is now frozen, mid-tear.
“Now?” Ivan asks.
“We’re not up for another hour,” Erik says skeptically. He peeks up at Byunki, whose smile matches the handler’s tooth for tooth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before. Can’t say I love it.
“Doesn’t matter. Up. Everybody up!” Byunki herds us off the couch and toward the door. Something is going on here. If I were more paranoid and self-centered, I’d think this has something to do with Jake and Team Unity, but there’s no way Byunki’s sense of drama extends to faking me out all morning just to humiliate me onstage . . . right?
Han-Jun, Erik, and I follow the handler backstage and up through the maze of ramps and hallways that lead up to the Wizzard-Claricom Arena’s main stage. I try to catch Ivan’s eye while we’re walking, but he looks as worried as I do. I’m not going to get any answers from him, and hell if I’m asking Byunki what’s going on and wind up looking stupid right after I crushed our pregame meeting.
Even more worrying is the small crowd of people waiting for us in the wings. There’s not a ton of space back here to funnel more than one team through at a time, but the other three teams are crammed in here as well.
In front of us are the five boys from Beast Mode whose black-and-silver jerseys have their names printed across the back in some death metal font that makes them impossible to read. One of them might be named Dave? Or Damien? I never much liked Beast Mode. We haven’t played them, but their reputation out of competition is kind of smurfy. They get off on having power over other players, no matter how mismatched the game.
I’m assuming Chronic is between them, but the Beast Mode boys are tall, and I can’t see much over their heads. All I can tell is that Bob is way up front with the rest of Team Unity. Jake must be with him too. I get the truly dumb notion that I should wriggle through the other teams and tap him on the shoulder just to let him know I’m here and I’m sorry, but that’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever had, and I’m the one who told Penny it was a good idea to tap Connor for VP.
It’s better if I just leave him alone forever like he offered after Round 1. Maybe when this is all over, I can hit restart with him if he wants anything to do with me, but not if it gets him into more trouble.
“And now . . . ?Wizzard Games invites all of our Diamond-tier semifinalists to the stage for a special announcement fromGuardians League Online’s creative director . . . ? Thibault Adige!”
I’m not the only one in the wings who gasps. Thibault Adige is a god. He cofounded Wizzard with Brian Juno when they were still at Drexel and single-handedly came up with the idea forGLO. Every mechanic, map, and new character comes through him, and he’s been the public face of the game since its inception. I’m suddenly glad to be crammed offstage with my gaming peers, because I can’t imagine anyone else in my life understanding the wave of hype that washes over me.
I feel a hand grasp my shoulder and shake me in excitement; color me surprised when I turn and see it’s Byunki.
“Are you ready?” he asks, still grinning from before.
“Ready forwhat?” I squeak.
“He’s about to change our lives.”
From the amplified roar of the crowd, I know Thibault has taken the stage. Ivan and Erik are craning their necks to try to see over the people in front of us, while Han-Jun, always the smart one, taps my arm and points to my left—there’s a monitor by the mic station behind us. I’ve watched everyGLOupfront since the game’s inception, so seeing Thibault on a tiny screen isn’t new, but knowing he’s there on that screen andalsoa few short yards away from me is almost too much to handle. What did Byunki just say? Thibault is going to change my life? I have no idea why he would want to do that, or what I’m supposed to do with that information. My mouth is suddenly wetter than usual. And saltier. I have just enough presence of mind to find that particular anxiety response incredibly revolting before I swallow it out a few times.
“Welcome, everyone, to Round Two of the Wizzard-Claricom Arena’s inauguralGuardians League Onlinechampionship!” Thibault’s French-Canadian accent makes every single word sound so much cooler than it does when the regular announcer says them. Weezard Clah-ree-com Arenah. Shamp-ee-on-sheep. My sugared-up heart can’t handle this.
“Brian and I have a special announcement to make. But first, let’s welcome our semifinalist teams to the stage!”
Each team walks out when he calls us (Unité, Chronique, Biest Mode, and Fyu-ree), and I am absurdly proud of my absurd, sweating body for remembering how to walk. Fury and I move as if controlled by a hive mind, keeping in step with one another behind Byunki as he leads us up to some predetermined spot on the stage. His Cheshire cat grin in the green room and unholy amount of energy are beginning to make sense. He got here early and rehearsed this without us. Byunki knows what’s coming.
Thibault is standing between the pairs of teams, so Bob and Chronic’s captain must have also known to walk past him and hit their marks. I’d look ridiculous leaning over to get a look at how Jake is reacting to this, so I default to looking straight ahead and trying not to wildly dissociate.
