"We're still down a marksman! Are you seriously telling me he's not coming?" the tall guy snapped, voice sharp with urgency as he leaned toward his friend.
His companion winced, glancing around nervously. "I told you already, he's got some emergency. Said he can't make it today—nothing we can do."
The taller one ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "So what now? The match is in ten minutes!"
"We could ask someone from here," the other offered hesitantly.
But the first guy shook his head. "Everyone's already grouped. And we don't just need anyone—we need someone above level ten."
The mood between them grew heavy with defeat. Still, desperation pushed them to move. They weaved through the rows of players like wolves in search of a last-minute miracle, peering over shoulders at flashing screens and scoreboards. None met the mark. Some were in teams. Others… weren't even close to level ten.
Just as their hope began to flicker out, the taller one grabbed his friend's sleeve and stilled him.
"Wait."
The other followed his gaze—and froze.
At the very end of the row, tucked in the corner where the lights dimmed and fewer people lingered, sat a girl. Hood up, eyes sharp behind a faint blue glow from the screen. She didn't look like she belonged in a place like this—more like someone who wandered in to kill time and accidentally discovered a portal to another world.
She was locked into a match, her fingers moving with mechanical precision. Each shot fired was calculated, each dodge seamless. The massive gun in her character's hands roared like it belonged to her.
No wasted movement. No panic. No flashiness. Just cold, efficient eliminations.
Her teammates said nothing. They didn't dare. She was carrying the team.
And then it happened—an unmistakable glow enveloped her character as a rare skin was awarded, glimmering across the screen like a crown.
A moment later, a soft chime echoed, and a number ticked upward.
Level 10.
The two guys looked at each other, stunned.
"Did you see that?"
"She's soloing squads. And she just hit ten—right now."
"Who the hell is she…?"
The taller one took a tentative step forward, eyes still locked on the girl in the corner. She hadn't noticed them. Or maybe she had—and just didn't care. Her expression remained neutral, almost bored, like everything on the screen was far beneath her skill level.
"She's it," he whispered. "She's who we need."
The other hesitated. "But she looks like she doesn't even know what she's doing. Like she's just playing for fun."
The taller one gave a sharp grin. "Exactly. That's what's terrifying."
And without another word, they both approached her, unsure if they were about to be saved—or crushed.
At the far corner of the row, Lina sat slouched in a chair, completely indifferent to the commotion around her. She hadn't come here with the intention of joining any kind of competition. With time to kill and no real expectations, she had simply picked a game that looked visually appealing—mostly because the character wielded a massive, over-the-top gun.
Her first few rounds had been a mess. She died within minutes—sometimes seconds—and was berated by strangers in voice chat. A couple of teams even blacklisted her altogether. It would've been enough to make a regular player quit.
But Lina wasn't regular.
She kept going. Switched to different servers. Cycled through new teammates. Always stuck to the same character, the one with the heavy gun and sharp movement. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth match, it all began to fall into place. The way the character moved, the recoil patterns, the ability cooldowns—everything started to feel eerily familiar. Like muscle memory from a place she couldn't recall.
Her fingers began to move without hesitation. She wasn't just surviving anymore—she was dominating.
Time blurred. Match after match, victory after victory. Lina stopped paying attention to the outside world entirely. It wasn't until a soft glow enveloped her screen and the notification for an Epic Rare Skin lit up that she finally stirred from her trance. She blinked at the screen, mildly amused.
Her eyes drifted to the number in the top-right corner.
Level 10.
Not bad, she thought. Especially for someone who had picked the game just for the aesthetics.
Unbeknownst to her, two figures were already standing nearby, watching her screen with a mix of awe and disbelief.
"That's her," the taller one whispered. "I'm sure of it."
Lina noticed them the moment they stepped into her peripheral vision, but she didn't react. Not until the taller one finally cleared his throat and spoke.
"Hey, sorry to bother you, but… we just saw you play. That was incredible. Are you... solo queuing?"
Lina raised an eyebrow. Her tone was calm, almost detached. "Yeah. Just messing around."
The shorter one jumped in, a little too eagerly. "Listen, we need a marksman. Our guy bailed last minute and we've got a ranked match in like, five minutes. You're level ten—and the way you were playing just now…" He trailed off, almost reverently.
Lina glanced at them, her gaze unreadable. She wasn't particularly interested, but something about their desperation amused her.
"What's the reward?" she asked casually, leaning back in her chair.
Both guys blinked, exchanging a look. "Top five team gets premium credits and direct entry to the next month's tournament. The final team gets sponsorship offers."
"And food vouchers," the taller one added quickly, as if it would tip the scales.
"And 100,000 won each." the shorter one added.
Lina gave a small shrug. "Fine. Send the invite."
The two were stunned for a second, like they hadn't expected her to say yes so easily. Then the shorter one scrambled to add her username. "You're a lifesaver. Seriously."
She gave them a polite smile, already returning her focus to the screen.
After all, if she was going to start making money in this strange new world—she might make use of all the chances.